T H E I N V I S I B L E H O O K

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T H E I N V I S I B L E H O O K

Th

e Hidden Economics of Pirates

P E T E R T . L E E S O N

P R I N C E T O N U N I V E R S I T Y P R E S S

Princeton & Oxford

Copyright © 2009 by Princeton University Press

Published by Princeton University Press,

41 William Street, Princeton, New Jersey 08540

In the United Kingdom: Princeton University Press,

6 Oxford Street, Woodstock, Oxfordshire OX20 1TW

All Rights Reserved

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Leeson, Peter T., 1979–

Th

e invisible hook : the hidden economics of pirates / Peter T. Leeson.

p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 978-0-691-13747-6 (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Pirates—

History—Economic

aspects. 2.

Economics. I.

Title.

G535.L44

2009

330—dc22 2008049639

British Library Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available

Th

is book has been composed in Gotham and Arno Pro

Printed on acid-free paper. ∞

press.princeton.edu

Printed in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Ania, I love you; will you marry me?

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Litt le Villains oft ’ submit to Fate,

Th

at Great Ones may enjoy the World in State.

—Sir Samuel Garth, Th

e Dispensary, 1699

Let not his mode of raising cash seem strange,

Although he fl eeced the fl ags of every nation,

For into a prime minister but change

His title, and ‘tis nothing but taxation.

—Lord Byron, Don Juan, canto III, stanza 14, 1821

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C O N T E N T S

List of Illustrations

xi

Preface and Acknowledgments

xiii

1 Th

e Invisible Hook

1

2 Vote for Blackbeard

Th

e Economics of Pirate Democracy

23

3 An- arrgh-chy

Th

e Economics of the Pirate Code

45

4 Skull & Bones

Th

e Economics of the Jolly Roger

82

5 Walk the Plank

Th

e Economics of Pirate Torture

107

6 Pressing

Pegleg

Th

e Economics of Pirate Conscription

134

7 Equal Pay for Equal Prey

Th

e Economics of Pirate Tolerance

156

8 Th

e Secrets of Pirate Management

176

Epilogue: Omnipresent Economics

194

Postscript: You Can’t Keep a Sea Dog Down

Th

e Fall and Rise of Piracy

197

Where Th

is Book Found Its Buried Treasure

A Note on Sources

207

Notes

213

Index

257

x

I L L U S T R A T I O N S

Figure 1.1. Adam Smith, father of modern economics

and the “invisible hand”

3

Figure 2.1. Captain Edward England, popularly

deposed by his crew

31

Figure 3.1. Captain Th

omas Anstis’s crew holds a mock

trial 73

Figure 4.1. Captain Bartholomew Roberts’s fl ags wave

in the background

93

Figure 5.1. A pirate crew administers “the sweat”

115

Figure 5.2. Th

e terrible image of Captain Edward

Teach 122

Figure 6.1. Joseph Swetser’s “ad of force,” from the

Boston News-Lett er

154

Figure 7.1. Anne Bonny and Mary Read, cross-dressing

pirates 173

Table

Table 7.1. Th

e racial composition of 23 pirate crews,

1682–1726 158

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P R E F A C E A N D

A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S

I’m not a historian. Nor am I a pirate. I’m an economist with

a long-standing interest in privately created law and order

who happened to wonder one day how pirates cooperated

since they had no government. Like many others, my interest in

pirates goes back many years. I went to Disney World when I

was eight; Pirates of the Caribbean was my favorite ride. My parents bought me a “silver” skull ring with “ruby” eyes from the

Pirates of the Caribbean gift shop. I think I still have it, and I’d probably wear it if it still fi t. A few years later my parents went on vacation in the Caribbean. Th

ey brought me back a carved

pirate “coconut head.” I loved it and used the pirate head as a

still life for drawings with colored pencils. Some of these draw-

ings are still in existence. Th

ey’re not highly sought aft er, but I

believe they should be.

My academic interest in pirates didn’t emerge until much

later. Several years ago I read Captain Johnson’s General History of the Pyrates and was enthralled. Soon aft er, I read everything else on the history of pirates I could fi nd. It was all fantastic but seemed to be missing something crucial. Th

at something was

economics.

My interest in economics is nearly as old as my interest in pi-

rates and runs even deeper. I have a supply and demand tatt oo

on my right bicep. I got it when I was seventeen. Th

is book is the

marriage between these two great passions of mine, economics

P R E F A C E A N D A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S

and pirates. I hope you enjoy the result. I certainly enjoyed producing it. I think writing this book was the most “academic fun”

I’ve ever had and I only work on projects I fi nd fun in the fi rst place.

As I mentioned above, I’m not a historian. Th

is has undoubt-

edly impaired my study of pirates in one way or another. I hope

historians will forgive me if I’ve gott en some piece of the his-

tory wrong. I’ve done my best to avoid this. Working on pirates,

of course, means working with historical records. I wasn’t

“trained” to do this. My comparative advantage isn’t historical

method but rather bringing economics to the table. I hope this

skill—the ability to “fi lter” the historical record through the

“lens” of economics—makes up for my lack of historical train-

ing. I’ve tried to be as careful as possible throughout this book in indicating where this “fi ltering” process provides only speculative results. Importantly, this speculation emerges because of

the incompleteness of the historical record (or my understand-

ing of it), not from a defi ciency of economics. Despite the in-

conclusiveness in certain cases, I’m convinced economics brings

us much closer to the “correct answers” than the history does

alone, or than the history would if fi ltered through some non-

economic lens.

Several people besides me were critical to writing this book.

First and most important is my girlfriend, Ania Bulska. She’s

been a constant source of encouragement, a superb sounding

board for ideas, and a tireless research assistant helping me re-

trieve historical documents and surrendering hours of her free

time photographing records from the Manuscript Reading

Room in the Madison Building at the Library of Congress. She

even helped gather the images in this book. I can’t thank her

enough and, as with everything, I don’t know where I’d be with-

out her. In this book’s dedication I ask her to marry me. If I’ve succeeded in hiding my plans from her since writing this, she

x i v

P R E F A C E A N D A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S

should be very surprised. I hope she says “yes.” If she doesn’t, I might have to turn to sea banditry, which would be tough since

I don’t know how to sail (though I’ve tried to learn).

I also owe inestimable thanks to Seth Ditchik, my superlative

editor. Seth’s editorial assistance, comments, suggestions, and

guidance throughout the process of writing and putt ing this

manuscript together have been invaluable, and this book is in-

calculably bett er because of him. Another individual to whom

I’m extremely grateful is Tim Sullivan, formerly an economics

editor at Princeton University Press who recently moved to

Penguin Books. Tim is the person who originally approached

me about writing this book. If not for him, it wouldn’t have been writt en. I wasn’t planning on turning my research on the economics of pirates into something longer until he suggested this

and gave me the opportunity to do so. I’m also very grateful to

the others at PUP who assisted with this project.

I owe special thanks to my mom, Anne Leeson, who read

and off ered comments on every chapter of this book. I improved

the readability of more than a few sections because of her re-

marks. My close friends and colleagues, Pete Boett ke and Chris

Coyne, as always, provided extremely helpful comments and

advice throughout the preparation of this book, making fun of

me along the way where appropriate. Th

ey always improve my

work and this project was no exception.

Several others also deserve special thanks. Early on, Edward

Glaeser encouraged me to write a book on the economics of pi-

rates, which helped me decide to pursue this project. Steven

Levitt published my fi rst paper on the economics of pirates in

the Journal of Political Economy, which was a risky move since I have no established name and the article doesn’t contain a single equation or regression. I’m extremely grateful to Professor

Levitt for his willingness to take this risk and for giving my

paper a shot even though it doesn’t fi t the stylistic mold staked x v

P R E F A C E A N D A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S

out by our profession. Th

is paper, entitled, “An- arrgh-chy: Th

e

Law and Economics of Pirate Organization” (University of Chi-

cago Press, 2007), formed the basis of many of the discussions

in chapters 2 and 3. I thank University of Chicago Press for al-

lowing me to reuse parts of it. Similarly, I thank the New York University Journal of Law and Liberty for allowing me to reuse portions of my paper “Th

e Invisible Hook: Th

e Law and Eco-

nomics of Pirate Racial Tolerance” ( NYU Journal of Law and

Liberty, 2009) in chapter 7.

Andrei Shleifer, on this project as on many of my others, has

been a source of superb suggestions and encouragement, and

I’m extremely thankful for his support. A number of others have

also off ered helpful comments and criticisms along the way.

Th

ree anonymous referees provided useful and thorough com-

ments on an earlier draft of this book. Others deserving special thanks include Tyler Cowen, James Hohman, Ben Powell, Bill

Reece, Russ Sobel, Virgil Storr, Werner Troesken, Bill Trum-

bull, and especially David Friedman. I also thank Kate Huleatt ,

Chris Werner, and Robert Wille for helping me gain access to

diffi

cult-to-fi nd historical records crucial to this project. Doug

Rogers provided particularly helpful research assistance in

combing through eighteenth-century newspaper articles and

helping me negotiate other obstacles I confronted. Finally, I

thank the Earhart Foundation and Mercatus Center at George

Mason University for their generous fi nancial support without

which I couldn’t have aff orded to write this book.

It’s common to tell the reader that while the acknowledged

individuals and organizations are responsible for the “good”

parts of the work they’re about to consume, these individuals

and organizations aren’t responsible for any of the work’s mis-

takes. Th

at’s also true for this book. Th

ough, I’d like to suggest

to the reader that if he or she wanted to apply the reverse stan-

dard, I wouldn’t at all object.

x v i

1 THE INVISIBLE HOOK

Charybdis herself must have spat them into the sea.

Th

ey committ ed “a Crime so odious and horrid in all

its Circumstances, that those who have treated on that

Subject have been at a loss for Words and Terms to stamp a suf-

fi cient Ignominy upon it.” Th

eir contemporaries called them

“Sea-monsters,” “Hell-Hounds,” and “Robbers, Opposers and

Violators of all Laws, Humane and Divine.” Some believed they

were “Devils incarnate.” Others suspected they were “Children of the Wicked One” himself. “Danger lurked in their very Smiles.”

For decades they terrorized the briny deep, inspiring fear in

the world’s most powerful governments. Th

e law branded them

hostes humani generis—“a sort of People who may be truly called Enemies to Mankind”—and accused them of aiming to “Subvert and Extinguish the Natural and Civil Rights” of humanity.

Th

ey “declared War against all the World” and waged it in ear-

nest. Motley, murderous, and seemingly maniacal, their mys-

tique is matched only by our fascination with their fantastic way of life. “Th

ese Men, whom we term, and not without Reason,

the Scandal of human Nature, who were abandoned to all Vice,

and lived by Rapine” left a mark on the world that remains

nearly three centuries aft er they left it. Th

ey are the pirates, his-

tory’s most notorious criminals, and this is the story of the hidden force that propelled them—the invisible hook.

C H A P T E R 1

Adam Smith, Meet “Captain Hook”

In 1776 Scott ish moral philosopher Adam Smith published a

landmark treatise that launched the study of modern econom-

ics. Smith titled his book, An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations. In it, he described the most central idea to economics, which he called the “invisible hand.” Th

e invisible

hand is the hidden force that guides economic cooperation. Ac-

cording to Smith, people are self-interested; they’re interested

in doing what’s best for them. However, oft en times, to do what’s best for them, people must also do what’s best for others. Th

e

reason for this is straightforward. Most of us can only serve our self-interests by cooperating with others. We can achieve very

few of our self-interested goals, from securing our next meal to

acquiring our next pair of shoes, in isolation. Just think about

how many skills you’d need to master and how much time you’d

require if you had to produce your own milk or fashion your

own coat, let alone manufacture your own car.

Because of this, Smith observed, in seeking to satisfy our own

interests, we’re led, “as if by an invisible hand,” to serve others’ interests too. Serving others’ interests gets them to cooperate with us, serving our own. Th

e milk producer, for example, must off er

the best milk at the lowest price possible to serve his self-interest, which is making money. Indirectly he serves his customers’

self-interest, which is acquiring cheap, high-quality milk. And on the other side of this, the milk producers’ customers, in their capacity as producers of whatever they sell, must off er the lowest price and highest quality to their customers, and so on. Th

e re-

sult is a group of self-interest seekers, each narrowly focused on themselves but also unwitt ingly focused on assisting others.

Smith’s invisible hand is as true for criminals as it is for any-

one else. Although criminals direct their cooperation at someone

2

Figure 1.1. Adam Smith: Father of modern economics and the “invisible hand.” From Charles Coquelin, Dictionnaire de l’économie politique, 1854.

3

C H A P T E R 1

else’s loss, if they desire to move beyond one-man mug jobs,

they must also cooperate with others to satisfy their self-inter-

ests. A one-man pirate “crew,” for example, wouldn’t have gott en far. To take the massive hauls they aimed at, pirates had to cooperate with many other sea dogs. Th

e mystery is how such a shift y

“parcel of rogues” managed to pull this off . And the key to un-

locking this mystery is the invisible hook—the piratical analog to Smith’s invisible hand that describes how pirate self-interest

seeking led to cooperation among sea bandits, which this book

explores.

Th

e invisible hook diff ers from the invisible hand in several

respects. First, the invisible hook considers criminal self-interest’s eff ect on cooperation in pirate society. It’s concerned with how criminal social groups work. Th

e invisible hand, in contrast,

considers traditional consumer and producer self-interests’ ef-

fects on cooperation in the marketplace. It’s concerned with

how legitimate markets work. If the invisible hand examines

the hidden order behind the metaphorical “anarchy of the mar-

ket,” the invisible hook examines the hidden order behind the

literal anarchy of pirates.

Second, unlike traditional economic actors guided by the in-

visible hand, pirates weren’t primarily in the business of selling anything. Th

ey therefore didn’t have customers they needed to

satisfy. Further, piratical self-interest seeking didn’t benefi t wider society, as traditional economic actors’ self-interest seeking does. In their pursuit of profi ts, businessmen, for example, improve our standards of living—they make products that

make our lives bett er. Pirates, in contrast, thrived parasitically off others’ production. Th

us pirates didn’t benefi t society by

creating wealth; they harmed society by siphoning existing

wealth off for themselves.

Despite these diff erences, pirates, like everyone else, had to

cooperate to make their ventures successful. And it was self-

4

T H E I N V I S I B L E H O O K

interest seeking that led them to do so. Th

is critical feature,

common to pirates and the members of “legitimate” society, is

what fastens the invisible hook to the invisible hand.

Th

e Invisible Hook applies the “economic way of thinking” to pirates. Th

is way of thinking is grounded in a few straightfor-

ward assumptions. First, individuals are self-interested. Th

is

doesn’t mean they never care about anyone other than them-

selves. It just means most of us, most of the time, are more interested in benefi ting ourselves and those closest to us than we’re interested in benefi ting others. Second, individuals are rational.

Th

is doesn’t mean they’re robots or infallible. It just means indi-

viduals try to achieve their self-interested goals in the best ways they know how. Th

ird, individuals respond to incentives. When

the cost of an activity rises, individuals do less of it. When the cost of an activity falls, they do more of it. Th

e reverse is true for

the benefi t of an activity. When the benefi t of an activity rises, we do more it. When the benefi t falls, we do less of it. In short, people try to avoid costs and capture benefi ts.

Economists call this model of individual decision making

“rational choice.” Th

e rational choice framework not only ap-

plies to “normal” individuals engaged in “regular” behavior. It

also applies to abnormal individuals engaged in unusual behav-

ior. In particular, it applies to pirates. Pirates satisfi ed each of the assumptions of the economic way of thinking described

above. Pirates, for instance, were self-interested. Material con-

cerns gave birth to pirates and profi t strongly motivated them.

Contrary to pop-culture depictions, pirates were also highly ra-

tional. As we’ll examine later in this book, pirates devised ingenious practices—some they’re infamous for—to circumvent

costs that threatened to eat into their profi ts and increase the revenue of their plundering expeditions. Pirates also responded

to incentives. When the law made it riskier (and thus costlier)

to be a pirate, pirates devised clever ways to off set this risk.

5

C H A P T E R 1

When pirates off ered crew members rewards for superlative pi-

rating, crew members worked harder to keep a lookout for the

next big prize, and so on.

It’s not just that economics can be applied to pirates. Rational choice is the only way to truly understand fl amboyant, bi-zarre, and downright shocking pirate practices. Why, for exam-

ple, did pirates fl y fl ags with skulls and crossbones? Why did

they brutally torture some captives? How were pirates success-

ful? And why did they create “pirate codes”? Th

e answers to

these questions lie in the hidden economics of pirates, which

only the rational choice framework can reveal. History supplies

the “raw material” that poses these questions. Economics sup-

plies the analytical “lens” for fi nding the answers.

When we view pirates through this lens, their seemingly

unusual behavior becomes quite usual. Strange pirate behavior

resulted from pirates rationally responding to the unusual eco-

nomic context they operated in—which generated unusual

costs and benefi ts—not from some inherent strangeness of pi-

rates themselves. As remaining chapters of this book illustrate, a pirate ship more closely resembled a Fortune 500 company

than the society of savage schoolchildren depicted in William

Golding’s Lord of the Flies. Peglegs and parrots aside, in the end, piracy was a business. It was a criminal business, but a business nonetheless, and deserves to be examined in this light.

Avast, Ye Scurvy Dogs

Many discussions of pirates use the terms pirates, buccaneers, privateers, and corsairs interchangeably. Th

ere’s a reason for this;

all were kinds of sea bandits. But each variety of sea bandit was diff erent. Pure pirates were total outlaws. Th

ey att acked mer-

chant ships indiscriminately for their own gain. Richard Allein,

6

T H E I N V I S I B L E H O O K

att orney general of South Carolina, described them this way:

“Pirates prey upon all Mankind, and their own Species and Fel-

low-Creatures, without Distinction of Nations or Religions.”

Eighteenth-century sea bandits were predominantly this ilk.

Privateers, in contrast, were state-sanctioned sea robbers.

Governments commissioned them to att ack and seize enemy

nations’ merchant ships during war. Privateers, then, weren’t pi-

rates at all; they had government backing. Similarly, govern-

ments sanctioned corsairs’ plunder. Th

e diff erence is corsairs

targeted shipping on the basis of religion. Th

e Barbary corsairs

of the North African coast, for instance, att acked ships from

Christendom. However, there were Christian corsairs as well,

such as the Knights of Malta. Th

is book’s discussion primarily

excludes privateers and corsairs since they typically weren’t

outlaws.

Buccaneers, in contrast, typically were. Th

e original bucca-

neers were French hunters living on Hispaniola, modern-day

Haiti, in the early seventeenth century. Although they mostly

hunted wild game, they weren’t opposed to the occasional act

of piracy either. In 1630 the buccaneers migrated to Tortuga, a

tiny, turtle-shaped island off Hispaniola, which soon att racted English and Dutch rabble as well. Spain offi

cially possessed His-

paniola and Tortuga and wasn’t fond of the outlaw sett lers. In

an eff ort to drive them away, the Spanish government wiped

out the wild animals the hunters thrived on. Instead of leaving,

however, the buccaneers began hunting a diff erent sort of game:

Spanish shipping.

In 1655 England wrested Jamaica from the Spaniards and

encouraged the buccaneers to sett le there as a defense against

the island’s recapture. Buccaneers spent much of their time

preying on Spanish ships laden with gold and other cargo sail-

ing between the mother country and Spain’s possessions in the

Americas. Many of these att acks were outright piracy. But many

7

C H A P T E R 1

others were not. Eager to break Spain’s monopoly on the New

World under the Treaty of Tordesillas (1494), England and

France commissioned these sea rovers as privateers to harass

Spain. “Buccaneering,” then, “was a peculiar blend of piracy and

privateering in which the two elements were oft en indistin-

guishable.” However, since “the aims and means of [buccaneer-

ing] operations were clearly piratical,” it’s standard to treat the buccaneers as pirates, or at least protopirates, which I do in this book.

Although buccaneers weren’t pure pirates, they anticipated

and infl uenced pure pirates’ organization in the early eigh-

teenth century. Because of this, it’s important to draw on them

at various points, as I do, throughout my discussion. Th

e same

is true of the Indian Ocean pirates operating from about 1690

to 1700. Th

ese sea rovers represent a bridge between the more

privateerlike buccaneers and the total-outlaw pirates active

from 1716 to 1726. In the late seventeenth century, the Indian

Ocean pirates, or “Red Sea Men” as their contemporaries some-

times called them, sett led on Madagascar and its surrounding

islands where they were well situated to prey on Moorish trea-

sure fl eets. For the most part, Indian Ocean pirates were pirates plain and simple. But some of them sailed under a veneer of legitimacy, which their successors abandoned completely. While

this book covers pirates from about 1670 to 1730, it focuses

on the fi nal stage of the great age of piracy (1716–26) when

men like Blackbeard, Bartholomew Roberts, and “Calico” Jack

Rackam prowled the sea.

Jamaican governor Sir Nicholas Lawes described these sea

scoundrels as “banditt i of all nations.” A sample of seven hun-

dred pirates active in the Caribbean between 1715 and 1725,

for example, reveals that 35 percent were English, 25 percent

were American, 20 percent were West Indian, 10 percent were

Scott ish, 8 percent were Welsh, and 2 percent were Swedish,

8

T H E I N V I S I B L E H O O K

Dutch, French, and Spanish. Others came from Portugal, Scan-

dinavia, Greece, and East India.

Th

e pirate population is hard to precisely measure but by all

accounts was considerable. In 1717 the governor of Bermuda

estimated “by a modest computation” that 1,000 pirates plied

the seas. In 1718 a diff erent offi

cial estimated the pirate popula-

tion to be 2,000. In 1720 Jeremiah Dummer reported 3,000 ac-

tive pirates to the Council of Trade and Plantations. And in

1721 Captain Charles Johnson suggested that 1,500 pirates

haunted the Indian Ocean alone. Based on these reports and pi-

rate historians’ estimates, in any one year between 1716 and

1722 roughly 1,000 to 2,000 sea bandits prowled the pirate-in-

fested waters of the Caribbean, Atlantic Ocean, and Indian

Ocean. Th

is may not seem especially impressive. But when you

put the pirate population in historical perspective it is. Th

e

Royal Navy, for example, employed an average of only 13,000

men in any one year between 1716 and 1726. In a good year,

then, the pirate population was more than 15 percent of the

navy’s. In 1680 the entire population of the North American

colonies was less than 152,000. In fact, as late as 1790, when the fi rst national census was taken, only twenty-four places in the

United States had populations larger than 2,500.

Many pirates lived together on land bases, such as the one

Woodes Rogers went to squelch at New Providence in the Ba-

hamas in 1718. However, the most important unit of pirate so-

ciety, and the strongest sense in which this society existed, was the polity aboard the pirate ship. Contrary to most people’s images of pirate crews, this polity was large. Based on fi gures from thirty-seven pirate ships between 1716 and 1726, the average

crew had about 80 members. Several pirate crews were closer to

120, and crews of 150 to 200 weren’t uncommon. Captain Sam-

uel Bellamy’s pirate crew, for example, consisted of “200 brisk

Men of several Nations.” Other crews were even bigger than

9

C H A P T E R 1

this. Blackbeard’s crew aboard Queen Anne’s Revenge was 300-men strong. In contrast, the average two-hundred-ton merchant

ship in the early eighteenth century carried only 13 to 17 men.

Furthermore, some pirate crews were too large to fi t in one

ship. In this case they formed pirate squadrons. Captain Bar-

tholomew Roberts, for example, commanded a squadron of

four ships that carried 508 men. In addition, pirate crews some-

times joined for concerted plundering expeditions. Th

e most

impressive fl eets of sea bandits belong to the buccaneers. Buc-

caneer Alexander Exquemelin, for example, records that Cap-

tain Morgan commanded a fl eet of thirty-seven ships and 2,000

men, enough to att ack communities on the Spanish Main. Else-

where he refers to a group of buccaneers who “had a force of at

least twenty vessels in quest of plunder.” Similarly, William

Dampier records a pirating expedition that boasted ten ships

and 960 men. Th

ough their fl eets weren’t as massive, eigh-

teenth-century pirates also “cheerfully joined their Brethren in

Iniquity” to engage in multicrew pirating expeditions.

Nearly all pirates had maritime backgrounds. Most had sailed

on merchant ships, many were former privateers, and some had

previously served—though not always willingly—in His or Her

Majesty’s employ as navy seamen. Based on a sample of 169

early-eighteenth-century pirates Marcus Rediker compiled, the

average pirate was 28.2 years old. Th

e youngest pirate in this

sample was only 14 and the oldest 50—ancient by eighteenth-

century seafaring standards. Most pirates, however, were in their mid-twenties; 57 percent of those in Rediker’s sample were between 20 and 30. Th

ese data suggest a youthful pirate society

with a few older, hopefully wiser, members and a few barely

more than children. In addition to being very young, pirate so-

ciety was also very male. We know of only four women active

among eighteenth-century pirates. Pirate society was therefore

energetic and testosterone fi lled, probably similar to a college 1 0

T H E I N V I S I B L E H O O K

fraternity only with peglegs, fewer teeth, and pistol dueling in-

stead of wrestling to resolve disputes.

Yo Ho, Yo Ho, a Lucrative Life for Me

Pirate fi ction portrays seamen as choosing piracy out of ro-

mantic, if misled, ideals about freedom, equality, and frater-

nity. While greater liberty, power sharing, and unity did prevail aboard pirate ships, as this book describes, these were piratical means, used to secure cooperation within pirates’ criminal organization, rather than piratical ends, as they’re oft en depicted.

Th

is isn’t to say idyllic notions never motivated pirates. In his

book, Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea, historian Marcus Rediker considers pirates in the larger context of eighteenth-century life at sea. Rediker persuasively argues that, in part, pirates acted as social revolutionaries in rebellion against the au-thoritative, exploitative, and rigidly hierarchical organization of pre–Industrial Revolution “state capitalism.” Others have suggested pirates may have acted partially out of concerns for

greater racial and sexual equality.

Despite this, most sailors who became pirates did so for a

more familiar reason: money. In this sense, though its popular

treatment is riddled with myths, the traditional emphasis on “pi-

rate treasure” is appropriate. Sea marauding could be a lucrative business. When, during war, would-be pirates could work as le-galized sea bandits on privateers, they oft en did. During the War of the Spanish Succession (1701–14), for instance, English sailors happily cruised on private men-of-war. Shipowners and gov-

ernment took a cut of privateers’ booty; but a successful voyage

could still earn sailors a substantial sum. Britain’s Prize Act of 1708 sweetened the pot for these sailors by granting them and

their shipowners the full value of their captures, government

1 1

C H A P T E R 1

generously foregoing its share. Privateering was thus a desirable option when war was raging. But when it wasn’t, privateering

commissions dried up. What was a sea dog to do?

One possibility was to seek employment in the Royal Navy.

But at confl icts’ end the Royal Navy let sailors go. It wasn’t interested in hiring them. Th

e year before the War of the Spanish

Succession concluded, for instance, the British Navy employed

nearly 50,000 sailors. Just two years later it employed fewer

than 13,500 men. Most sailors’ only other legitimate maritime

option was the merchant marine. Th

is was fi ne for those who

no longer had a taste for sea banditry and didn’t mind taking a

pay cut. But it posed a problem for those who did. Between

1689 and 1740 the average able seaman’s monthly wage varied

from 25 to 55 shillings; that’s £15 to £33 a year, or about $4,000

to $8,800 in current U.S. dollars. Th

e high end of this range was

during war years when privateers and the navy bid sailor wages

up. Th

e low end was during peace years when hordes of ex-pri-

vateer and navy seamen fl ooded the labor market searching for

jobs. A privateer, or even a merchant seaman, who had become

accustomed to higher wages during war couldn’t have been

pleased about his pay falling by half when war ended.

Th

en there was piracy. Piracy had several advantages over

working on a merchant ship. For one, it allowed ex-privateers to

continue in the trade they knew best—sea banditry. Several pi-

rate contemporaries understood this draw and feared an explo-

sion of piracy following peace precisely because privateers pro-

vided a sort of pirate training ground during war. As Captain

Johnson put it, “Privateers in Time of War are a Nursery for Py-

rates against a Peace.” Another man close to pirates, the venera-

ble Reverend Cott on Mather, noted this as well. As Mather put

it, “Th

e Privateering Stroke, so easily degenerates into the Pi-

ratical.” Other pirate contemporaries identifi ed the increase in sailor unemployment aft er government recalled privateers when

1 2

T H E I N V I S I B L E H O O K

war ended as the root problem. Jamaican governor Sir Nicholas

Lawes pointed to this trouble when the short-lived War of the

Quadruple Alliance fi nished in 1720. “Since the calling in of our privateers,” Lawes complained, “I fi nd already a considerable

number of seafaring men . . . that can’t fi nd employment, who I

am very apprehensive, for want of occupation in their way, may

in a short time desert us and turn pyrates.” Lawes was right.

Many ex-privateers did, “for want of encouragement” in their

former trade, decide to “go a roveing about.”

Th

e downside of piratical employment was that, unlike pri-

vateer work, piracy was illegal. But the prospect of suffi

cient

gain could compensate for this inconvenience. And piracy

could pay extremely well—even bett er than privateering. Un-

like privateers, pirates didn’t have pesky shipowners who took a

cut of their hard-earned loot. A pirate crew enjoyed every penny

of its ship’s ill-gott en booty. Although there aren’t data to com-pute the average pirate’s wage, the available evidence suggests

that, at the very least, piracy off ered sailors the opportunity to become incredibly wealthy. “At a time when Anglo-American

seamen on a trading voyage to Madagascar were collecting less

than twelve pounds sterling a year . . . the deep-water pirates

could realize a hundred or even a thousand times more.” In

1695, for example, Henry Every’s pirate fl eet captured a prize

carrying more than £600,000 in precious metals and jewels.

Th

e resulting share out earned each crew member £1,000, the

equivalent of nearly forty years’ income for a contemporary

able merchant seaman. In the early eighteenth century, Captain

John Bowen’s pirate crew plundered a prize “which yielded

them 500 l. [i.e., pounds] per Man.” Several years later, Captain Th

omas White’s crew retired to Madagascar aft er a marauding

expedition, each pirate £1,200 richer from the cruise. In 1720

Captain Christopher Condent’s crew seized a prize that earned

each pirate £3,000. Similarly, in 1721, Captain John Taylor’s

1 3

C H A P T E R 1

and Oliver La Bouche’s pirate consort earned an astonishing

£4,000 for each crew member from a single att ack. Even the

small pirate crew captained by John Evans in 1722 took enough

booty to split “nine thousand Pounds among thirty Persons”—

or £300 a pirate—in a matt er of months “on the account.” Not

bad considering the alternative, which was toiling on a mer-

chantman for £25 a year.

Th

is evidence must be interpreted with caution, of course.

More modest prizes were certainly more common. And many

pirates nearly starved searching for the score that would make

them rich. Still, unlike employment as a merchant sailor, which

guaranteed a low, if regular, income, a single successful pirating expedition could make a sailor wealthy enough to retire. And at

least a few pirates did just that. Richard Moore, for example,

who a crew of pirates captured and brought to their destination

at Réunion, overheard some of Condent’s men say “they had

got Riches enough (by pirating) to maintain them handsomely

as long as they lived & that therefore . . . they had left off pirating.” Bartholomew Roberts suggested that sailors who chose le-

gitimate employment over piracy were schlubs. “In an honest

Service, says he, there is thin Commons, low Wages, and hard La-bour; in this, Plenty and Satiety, Pleasure and Ease, Liberty and Power; and who would not ballance Creditor on this Side, when all the Hazard that is run for it, at worst, is only a sower Look or two at choacking. No, a merry Life and a short one, shall be my Mott o.”

Th

e prospect for substantial booty wasn’t the only material

concern driving some sailors’ choice for piracy over the mer-

chant marine. Ships’ working environments played an impor-

tant role in this decision too. Merchant ships engaged in long-

distance trade spent months at sea. An important part of the

overall “compensation package” to consider when making em-

ployment decisions was therefore what life was like aboard these

vessels. Unfortunately for sailors whose timidity or scruples

1 4

T H E I N V I S I B L E H O O K

prevented them from entering piracy, sometimes unpleasant,

even miserable, working conditions att ended merchant ships’

relatively low monetary pay.

Merchant ships were organized hierarchically. On top was

the captain, below him were his offi

cers, and far below these

were ordinary seamen. Th

is hierarchy empowered captains with

autocratic authority over their crews. Captains’ authority ex-

tended to all aspects of life aboard their ships, including labor assignment, victual provision, wage payment, and of course,

crew member discipline. Th

e law permitt ed captains to dock

sailors’ wages for damaging freight, insolence, or shirking in

their duties. It also supported the captain’s right to administer

“reasonable” corporal punishment to “correct” his sailors. Chap-

ter 2 discusses the reasons for this autocratic organization. Here, I want only to point to its consequence, which was to create signifi cant potential for captain abuse. As British marine com-

mander William Betagh characterized the problem, “unlimited

power, bad views, ill nature and ill principles all concurring” “in a ship’s commander,” “he is past all restraint.” Th

e trouble was

that merchant captains were tempted to turn their authority

against their seamen, preying on them for personal benefi t.

Predatory captains cut sailors’ victual rations to keep costs

down or to leave more for them and their fellow offi

cers to con-

sume. As one sailor testifi ed, for example, although the mem-

bers of his crew “were att short allowance and wanted bread,”

the offi

cers “were allowed . . . their full allowance of provisions

and liquors as if there had been no want of scarcity of any thing on board.” Th

ey fraudulently docked sailors’ wages or paid in

debased colonial currency, and voyaged to locations where their

crews hadn’t contracted to sail.

To keep their hungry and uncomfortable men in check, abu-

sive captains used all manner of objects aboard their ships as

weapons to punish insolent crew members. Th

ey hit sailors

1 5

C H A P T E R 1

in the head with tackle or other hard objects, crushing their

faces. In some cases captain abuse was so severe it killed sailors.

In 1724 one merchant ship captain dealt two of his sailors

“above a hundred Blows with a Cane upon & about their Heads,

Necks & Shoulders with great force and violence in a very cruel and barbarous manner.” A few days later the sailors died. Another abusive captain, “without any provocation, came . . . and

knock’d” one of his men “down and then stamped upon him

twice with all the violence he could.” Apparently it was violence enough. Shortly thereaft er the sailor expired. Cruelty like this makes Captain Nathaniel Uring’s treatment of a “seditious Fellow” on his ship seem downright charitable: “I gave him two

or three such Strokes with a Stick I had prepared for that pur-

pose . . . the Blood running about his Ears, he pray’d for God’s

sake that I not kill him.”

Some captains used their authority to sett le personal scores

with crew members. Since Admiralty law considered interfer-

ing with punishment mutinous, captains defi ned when disci-

pline was legitimate. Th

ey could therefore abuse targeted sea-

men at will. Other predatory captains abused their authority in

more heinous ways. Captain Samuel Norman ordered one of

his ship’s boys “to fetch a Pail of Water . . . to wash his Leggs, Th

ighs, & privy Parts.” Th

e boy resisted, but Norman compelled

him “& whilst he was washing the same, he the said Samuel let down the [boy’s] Trousers . . . & had the carnal use of him.” Th is

wasn’t an isolated incident. Captain Norman used the boy “in

the same manner” later. Outrageous treatment like this led

some sailors to conclude “they had bett er be dead than live in

Misery” under a predatory merchant ship captain.

While the historical record contains plenty of charges of

captain predation, it’s important to avoid overstating this abuse.

Although merchant offi

cers had ample latitude to prey on their

crews, this wasn’t without limit. Economic and legal factors

1 6

T H E I N V I S I B L E H O O K

constrained captain predation to some extent. But none was

able to prevent it entirely. English law, for example, created several legal protections designed to insulate sailors from captain

predation. To a certain extent these protections were success-

ful. Merchant seamen could and did take predatory captains to

court for their actions, many times successfully.

However, as is oft en the case with the law, many other times

it failed. Part of the diffi

culty stemmed from the uncertainties

of the sea. Once afl oat in the briny deep, there were rarely im-

partial spectators to verify a sailor’s word against a captain’s. Did a captain dock a sailor’s pay because the sailor damaged freight, as he was entitled to under the law? Or was the captain simply

self-dealing? Had a captain exceeded the powers of corporal

punishment aff orded him under the law? Or was his discipline

justifi ed? In many cases it was diffi

cult to say. Further, the law it-

self regarding these matt ers could be unclear. Some sailors suc-

cessfully sued their captains for merely pinching provisions. In

other cases the law supported far more abusive captain conduct.

In one case a captain beat his sailor with a one-and-half inch

rope for cursing. Th

e court found he “had Lawful provocation

to Correct the Complainant and had not Exceeded the bounds

of Humanity” and dismissed the sailor’s claim.

Reputation also constrained some captain predation. Al-

though the sailor population in the mid-eighteenth century ap-

proached eighty thousand, there were far fewer captains. Th

e

relatively small population of captains facilitated information

sharing about captain behavior. Since merchant ships had to

voluntarily att ract sailors, this dampened some captains’ preda-

tory inclinations. Nevertheless, some captain-sailor relations

were anonymous and nonrepeated. For instance, when in 1722

merchant ship captains Isham Randolph, Constantine Cane,

and William Halladay petitioned the colonial governor of Vir-

ginia for greater authority to discipline their sailors (who they 1 7

C H A P T E R 1

complained were insolent for want of “fear of correction”), they

wrote: “It is frequently the misfortune of Masters of Ships at

their fi tt ing out in England, to be obliged to ship men for for-reign Voyages of whose disposition and character they have no

knowledge.” Th

eir lett er suggests that in some cases the market

for merchant sailors was anonymous. Captains sometimes

didn’t know the sailors they employed, which implies sailors

sometimes didn’t know the captains who employed them. A

number of sailors were the “fair weather” sort, drift ing between employment at land and at sea, as job and pay prospects permitt ed. Others went to sea between regular work and only had

sporadic interaction with a few members of the maritime com-

munity. Th

ese features of the merchant sailor labor market

made information sharing more diffi

cult and rendered reputa-

tion a less-eff ective constraint on captain abuse.

In light of cases of captain predation like those discussed

above, it’s not surprising that “the too great severity their Commanders have used both as to their back and bellies” was near

the top of pirates’ list of reasons for entering their illicit trade. Pirate captain John Phillips, for example, called one merchant ship offi

cer he captured “a Supercargo Son of a B—h, that he starved

the Men, and that it was such Dogs as he that put Men a Pyrat-

ing.” Pirate John Archer’s last words before being put to death

echo Phillips’s remarks. As he lamented, “I could wish that Mas-

ters of Vessels would not use their Men with so much Severity,

as many of them do, which exposes us to great Temptations.” In

1726 the pirate William Fly pleaded similarly while awaiting his

execution. “Our Captain and his Mate used us Barbarously. We

poor Men can’t have Justice done us. Th

ere is nothing said to our

Commanders, let them never so much abuse us, and use us like Dogs.”

Th

e noose around his neck, Fly off ered a fi nal warning to the

mob gathered to see him hanged: “He would advise the Masters of 1 8

T H E I N V I S I B L E H O O K

Vessels to carry it well to their Men, lest they should be put upon doing as he had done.”

Th

e potential for captain abuse on pirate ships is the subject

of the next two chapters, so I won’t spoil that discussion here.

Suffi

ce it to say, pirates organized their ships so they largely

overcame this threat. In doing so, pirates created an improved

work atmosphere on their vessels. Combined with the potential

for substantially higher monetary rewards, for many sailors this

created a more att ractive total “compensation package” com-

pared to what they could expect on merchant ships. Of course,

unlike in merchant shipping, in piracy you could have a leg

blown off by a canon ball or meet an untimely state-sanctioned

death. But the lure of more money and bett er treatment was

hard to resist. Indeed, it att racted some four thousand sailors to piracy between 1716 and 1726. Th

ese seamen entered their

trade out of material concerns and, as I describe in later chap-

ters, adopted their trademark practices to maximize the mate-

rial rewards of life under the black fl ag.

A Compass for Navigating This Book

Th

is book has six main chapters and a conclusion. Chapter 2

explores pirate democracy. In contrast to the organization of

seventeenth- and eighteenth-century merchant ships and gov-

ernments, pirates democratically elected their “leaders” and

voted on all other important matt ers that aff ected their society’s members. Pirates didn’t adopt this democratic form of political

organization by accident. It grew directly out of sailors’ experiences on merchant ships where captains had autocratic authority

that some abused with impunity. Merchant vessels’ ownership

structure drove this autocratic organization. However, pirates,

1 9

C H A P T E R 1

who were criminals, and thus stole their ships, had a very

diff erent ownership structure for their vessels. Th

is important

diff erence—driven by pirates’ criminality—allowed pirates to

create a system of democratic checks and balances that held

captains accountable and reduced captains’ control over im-

portant aspects of life on pirate ships. By constraining captains’

ability to benefi t themselves at crew members’ expense, demo-

cratic checks and balances facilitated piratical cooperation, and with it, pirates’ criminal enterprise.

Chapter 3 delves deeper into the order and organization

aboard pirate ships by examining the constitutions pirates used

to govern their fl oating societies. For the bett er and more peaceful preservation of their criminal organization, pirates created

“articles of agreement,” or “pirate codes,” which acted as constitutions aboard their ships. Th

e rules and regulations these con-

stitutions embodied prevented “negative externalities” that

could abound on pirate vessels from undermining crew mem-

bers’ ability to cooperate for coordinated plunder. Pirate con-

stitutions also created a “rule of law” that placed pirate offi

cers

on equal “legal” footing with other crew members. Pirates’ sys-

tem of constitutional democracy predated constitutional de-

mocracy in France, Spain, the United States, and arguably even

England.

Chapter 4 applies the economic way of thinking to the pi-

rates’ infamous fl ag, the “Jolly Roger.” It introduces an idea

economists call “signaling” and illustrates how pirates capital-

ized on this mechanism to improve their bott om line. Th

e skull-

and-crossbones motif was more than a symbol of pirates’ way

of life. It was a rationally devised mechanism for encouraging

targets to surrender without a fi ght. Th

e Jolly Roger’s success

not only enhanced pirates’ profi t; it also “benefi ted” their victims by preventing unnecessary bloodshed and the loss of in-

nocent life.

2 0

T H E I N V I S I B L E H O O K

Chapter 5 applies the economics of reputation building to

pirates’ famous fondness for torture. Pirate victims were under-

standably reluctant to reveal booty to their att ackers. Some victims even hid or destroyed their valuables. Such behavior

threatened to reduce pirates’ revenue. To prevent this, pirates

invested in reputations of barbarity and insanity, creating a fearsome “brand name.” Brutally torturing resistors was one impor-

tant way they did this. But pirates used torture for other reasons too. One was to deter authorities from harassing them. Th

e

other was to bring justice to predatory merchant ship captains

when government couldn’t or wouldn’t do so. In this last capac-

ity, pirate torture may have contributed to the provision of an

important public benefi t for merchant sailors—the punishment

of dishonest merchant captains, which stood to reduce mer-

chant captain abuse.

Chapter 6 considers the economics of pirate conscription.

According to popular depiction, pirates swelled their ranks by

draft ing innocent and unwilling sailors from the vessels they

overtook. Th

is chapter shows that in many cases the supposed

“pirate press” was nothing more than a clever pirate ruse. In re-

sponse to eighteenth-century legal changes that made pirating

riskier, pirates pretended to conscript sailors to exploit a loophole in antipiracy law. Like all good businessmen, pirates devel-

oped solutions, such as this one, to advance their interests when rising costs threatened to cut against them.

Chapter 7 explores the economics of pirate tolerance. At a

time when British merchant ships treated black slaves as, well,

slaves, some pirate ships integrated black bondsmen into their

crews as full-fl edged, free members. Pirates’ treatment of black sailors was far from consistent. Some pirates participated in the slave trade. Others granted equal rights to blacks and whites

aboard their ships. Still others did both at the same time. Even

so, pirates more consistently applied the ideas embodied in the

2 1

C H A P T E R 1

preamble of the Declaration of Independence before this docu-

ment was so much as writt en than Americans did nearly a cen-

tury aft er their country was founded. Enlightened notions about

equality or the universal rights of man didn’t produce pirate

tolerance, however. Instead, simple cost-benefi t considerations

driven by the compensation structure of pirates’ criminal em-

ployment were responsible for this tolerance.

Chapter 8 concludes by discussing the secrets of pirate man-

agement and in particular the contemporary managerial lessons

the economics of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century pirates

provides.

Enough details; it’s time to go a-pirating.

2 2

2 VOTE FOR BLACKBEARD

T H E E C O N O M I C S O F

P I R A T E D E M O C R A C Y

The fi eld of offi ce-seekers has been whitt led down to four.

An ardent supporter of one candidate stands up to de-

liver an important speech. He addresses the electorate,

imploring his fellow voters to elect a leader “who by his Counsel and Bravery seems best able to defend this Commonwealth, and

ward us fr om the Dangers and Tempests of an instable Element, and the fatal Consequences of Anarchy.” He fi nishes with a rousing en-dorsement of his man, “and such a one I take Roberts to be. A Fellow! I think, in all Respects, worthy of your Esteem and Favour.”

If you had to place this scene, where would you put it? You

might guess it was part of a presidential candidate’s campaign

tour. Perhaps it was taken from a national party convention.

Maybe it describes a scene from a congressional rally in the

months leading up to an election.

If you guessed anything along these lines, you’d be wrong.

Th

is scene has no connection to a legitimate political offi

ce. Th

is

veritable portrait of democracy took place aboard an eighteenth-

century pirate ship, the Royal Rover. Crew member “Lord” Dennis delivered the speech, campaigning to his fellow outlaws for

the election of the notorious pirate Bartholomew Roberts to

be their captain. Dennis proved an eff ective campaigner. “Th

is

speech was loudly applauded by all but Lord Sympson,” one of the competing candidates for offi

ce, “who had secret Expecta-

tions [of being elected captain] himself ” and the pirate crew

C H A P T E R 2

elected Roberts its new leader. If it was anything like other pi-

rate elections, Roberts’s postelection ceremony was att ended

by liberal quantities of “punch,” a great deal of profanity, and a toast declaring “War against the whole World.” “Th

e Guns are

then fi red round, Shot and all” and the new captain “is saluted

with three Chears.”

It’s truly remarkable to think that this model of democracy

was staged not only on a pirate ship, of all places, but took place more than half a century before the Continental Congress approved the Declaration of Independence and only a litt le more

than a decade aft er the British monarchy withheld Royal Assent

for the last time. Pirate democracy extended the unrestricted

right to pirates to have a say in the selection of their society’s leaders nearly 150 years before the Second Reform Act of 1868

accomplished anything close to the same in Britain. What’s

more, as I discuss below, pirate democracy wasn’t merely the

crude “showing of hands” we’re all familiar with. Pirates created and operated their democracy within a sophisticated and more

elaborate system of institutionally separated power.

Pirates’ institutional separation of power also predated sev-

enteenth- and eighteenth-century governments’ adoption of

such institutions. France, for example, didn’t experience such a

separation until 1789. Th

e fi rst specter of separated power in

Spain didn’t appear until 1812. In contrast, pirates had divided, democratic “government” aboard their ships at least a century

before this. Arguably, piratical checks and balances predated

even England’s adoption of similar institutions. England didn’t

experience a separation of power until the Glorious Revolu-

tion of 1688. However, the buccaneers, who used a similar, if

not as thoroughgoing, system of democratically divided power

as their pure pirate successors had partial democratic checks

and balances in place almost ten years before the English Bill of Rights.

24

V O T E F O R B L A C K B E A R D

Th

is isn’t to say pirate society was the very fi rst to organize

democratically or divide authority, of course. Th

e fi rst democ-

racy was in ancient Athens. Further, about when the buccaneers

began converging on Tortuga, New England’s colonies began

experimenting with their own democratic government. In the

1630s Massachusett s Bay Colony—initially an English trading

company—evolved into a representative democracy where

popularly elected delegates from the colony’s towns craft ed leg-

islation and elected their governor, and town residents voted

on local legislation in now-famous “town-hall meetings.” New

England’s early seventeenth-century democracy came from an

even earlier democratic tradition rooted in its Puritan sett lers’

church organization.

Some systems of divided power also preceded that of pirates.

Even under the reign of monarchial government in medieval Eu-

rope, for instance, the competing interests of church and crown,

and feudal lords and king, served as partial checks on authori-

ties’ power. In the thirteenth century the Venetian Republic de-

veloped an explicit division of power in its government. And in

the Roman Republic, where the Senate and Consuls exercised

separated authority, there was some division of power too.

But these predecessor democracies and divisions of author-

ity weren’t as thoroughgoing as those of pirates. Unlike pirate

democracy, under ancient Athenian and colonial New England

democracy only a minority could actually vote. Athens re-

stricted suff rage to free male citizens—those born to an Athe-

nian mother and father. Massachusett s Bay Colony limited vot-

ing to male company shareholders, later to male members of a

Puritan church, and when this restriction was lift ed in some

towns, to male property owners. Further, as I discuss below, pi-

rates’ division of authority located “supream Power . . . with the Community,” not with a handful of aristocrats or politically

privileged elites, as predecessor separations of power tended to

2 5

C H A P T E R 2

do. Pirate democracy was radical, a “democracy that,” according

to historian Hugh Rankin, “bordered on anarchy.” Anarchic,

yes. But as I discuss here and in the next chapter, chaotic it was anything but.

Pirate democracy implies a pirate society that required collec-

tive decision making. Normally, we defi ne and distinguish so-

cieties by individuals’ citizenship of, residence in, and alle-

giance to particular nations and governments. None of these

traditional demarcators of society make sense in the context

of pirates, however. Although born as citizens of recognized

countries, most pirates had abandoned associations with their

governments before the age of thirty. Except for perhaps the

buccaneers, who at times serviced various European govern-

ments as privateers, pirates heeded no fl ag but the black one

they sailed under. Th

ey boasted that “they acknowledged no

countrymen” but rather “had sold their country” and would “do

all the mischief they could.”

It’s just as well pirates spurned government. Government

viewed pirates with equal contempt. British law denied pirates

the benefi ts of legitimate life. As an advocate general of Rhode Island put it, pirates “have no Country, but by the nature of their Guilt, separate themselves, renouncing the benefi t of all lawful Society.” A pirate, another state offi

cial declared, is “denied common

humanity, and the very rights of Nature”; he is “as a wild & savage Beast, which every Man may lawfully destroy.” Yet pirates’

rejection of the legitimate world, and the legitimate world’s re-

jection of them, doesn’t mean pirates didn’t have a world of

their own. Captain Johnson may have been right when he re-

ferred to the community of pirates as “that abominable Society,”

but it was a society nonetheless.

2 6

V O T E F O R B L A C K B E A R D

One Pirate, One Vote: Pirate Democracy

and the Paradox of Power

To lead this coarse crowd of criminals, each pirate ship required a leader. Many important piratical decisions, such as how to engage a potential target, the method to pursue when chasing a

target or being chased by authorities, and how to react if at-

tacked, required snap decision making. Th

ere was no time for

disagreement or debate in these cases and confl icting voices

would have made it impossible to undertake the most essential

tasks. Furthermore, pirate ships, like all ships, needed some

method of maintaining order, distributing victuals, payments,

and administering discipline to unruly crew members. By ad-

dressing these issues the proper pirate leader could facilitate

crew cooperation, enhancing pirates’ ability to profi t through

plunder. Pirates fully appreciated this and “how shatt er’d and

weak a Condition their Government must be without a Head.”

To prevent such a “condition” and provide leadership to their

fl oating societies, pirates had the offi

ce of captain. However, the

need for captains posed a dilemma for pirates. A captain who

wielded unquestioned authority in certain decisions was criti-

cal for success. But what was to prevent him from turning his

power against his crew for personal benefi t in the same manner

predatory merchant captains did?

Th

e combination of the need for an authority and the fact

that the very introduction of such an authority generates strong

incentives for him to abuse his power creates what political

economists call the “paradox of power.” In 1788 James Madison,

American Founding Father and architect of the U.S. Constitu-

tion, famously described this paradox in the Federalist Papers. In Federalist No. 51 Madison wrote, “But what is government itself but the greatest of all refl ections on human nature? If men 27

C H A P T E R 2

were angels, no government would be necessary. If angels were

to govern men, neither external nor internal controls on gov-

ernment would be necessary. In framing a government which is

to be administered by men over men, the great diffi

culty lies in

this: you must fi rst enable the government to control the gov-

erned; and in the next place oblige it to control itself.” In other words, because individuals are self-interested they require an

authority to ensure they don’t run amuck, to govern them, and

to see to it that they serve their self-interests by cooperating

with, rather than damaging, others. But by the same token,

since the authority himself is only human and thus driven by

his own self-interest, the governed need some way to ensure he

doesn’t use his power to serve himself at their expense. Th

e

trouble with “obliging” authority “to control itself,” as Madison put it, is that, by defi nition, an authority strong enough to constrain itself is also strong enough to break those constraints

when it’s convenient.

If society can’t overcome Madison’s paradox of power, it has

a serious problem. While those who have authority may bene-

fi t, everyone else will suff er. Th

e highly dysfunctional countries

of sub-Saharan Africa illustrate this failure. Unconstrained gov-

ernments in many of these countries prey on their citizens,

making them among the poorest in the world. Th

is deteriora-

tion takes place for two reasons. First, since they’re uncon-

strained, rulers in these nations transfer wealth from citizens to themselves, making the rulers richer and the citizens poorer.

Second, citizens don’t sit by passively faced with such preda-

tion. Rulers’ predatory behavior shapes citizens’ incentive to

cooperate for mutual gain. If leaders are going to take nearly all the proceeds of production and exchange, why bother producing and exchanging? Th

e resulting decline in cooperation im-

poverishes society. Th

us, solving the paradox of power is crucial

to a successful and fl ourishing society.

2 8

V O T E F O R B L A C K B E A R D

Th

is was as true for pirate society as it is for any other. A fail-

ure to solve this paradox can bring a country to its knees; so,

too, would such a failure have brought pirate society down be-

fore too long. If pirates couldn’t constrain their captains, they would face the same treatment aboard pirate ships that they fl ed from aboard legitimate vessels. No pirate in his right mind

would trade one poor and miserable life for another that carried

the added possibility of a death sentence. And no pirates would

sail together for long if a predatory captain scooped up all their booty. Without a solution to the paradox of power, pirates

couldn’t cooperate, which means they couldn’t profi t through

criminal organization.

Remarkably, pirates avoided this fate by invoking Madison’s

solution to the paradox of power—nearly one hundred years

before he suggested it. Th

is solution was democracy. As Madi-

son put it, “A dependence on the people is, no doubt, the primary control on the government.” If citizens can popularly depose their leaders and replace them with new ones, leaders who want to

retain their positions of authority must refrain from preying on

their citizens. In this way, democracy is a fundamental “check

and balance” on how leaders wield their power over society.

And so it was with pirates.

Pirate democracy operated on the basis of one pirate, one

vote, “the Rank of Captain being obtained by the Suff rage of the Majority.” As Captain Johnson noted, “It was not of any great

Signifi cation who was dignify’d with [this] Title; for really and in Truth, all good Governments had (like theirs) the supream

Power lodged with the Community, who might doubtless de-

pute and revoke as suited Interest or Humour.” Nevertheless, to

affi

rm captains’ commitment to use their power in crews’ inter-

ests, some crews’ postelection ceremonies reminded their cap-

tains of this necessity. Th

is ceremony was similar to the one the

American president participates in at his inaugural address aft er 2 9

C H A P T E R 2

taking offi

ce, pledging to faithfully serve the public’s interest,

and so forth. Th

e postelection ceremony following Nathaniel

North’s election, for example, pronounced the newly elected pi-

rate captain’s commitment to “doing every Th

ing which may

conduce to the publick Good.” In return, “the Company, prom-

ised to obey all his lawful Commands.”

To constrain their captains democratically, pirates required

the unrestricted right to depose any captain for any reason. Without this, the threat of popular removal wouldn’t be credible,

eliminating captains’ incentive to abstain from preying on crew

members. Th

us, pirates indulged their democratic impulse with

more enthusiasm than senior citizens in an election year. One

crew went through thirteen captains in the space of a single voy-

age. Captain Benjamin Hornigold’s crew, for example, deposed

him from command because he “refused to take and plunder

English Vessels.” Pirates wanted to ensure captainship “falls on

one superior for Knowledge and Boldness, Pistol Proof, (as they

call it),” so they also removed captains who showed cowardice.

For instance, Captain Charles Vane’s “behaviour was obliged to

stand the Test of a Vote, and a Resolution passed against his

Honour and Dignity . . . deposing him from the Command.”

Some pirates deposed their captains from command for violat-

ing pirate policy, such as the rule requiring them to mercilessly slaughter resistors, discussed in chapter 4. Captain Edward England, for example, “was turned out of Command” by his crew

for this. Finally, pirates might depose their captains because they demonstrated poor judgment. Captain Christopher Moody’s pirate crew, for instance, grew dissatisfi ed with his behavior and

“at last forced him, with twelve others” who supported him,

“into an open Boat . . . and . . . they were never heard of aft erwards.” Similarly, “a great diff erence falling out between [Cap-

tain] Low and his Men, they” also “discarded” their captain “and

sent him away with two other Pirates.” By liberally exercising

3 0

Figure 2.1. Democracy at work: Captain Edward England, popularly deposed by his crew. From Captain Charles Johnson, A General and True History of the Lives and Actions of the most Famous Highwaymen, Murderers, Street-Robbers, &c. , 1742.

3 1

C H A P T E R 2

their democratic right to elect and depose captains, pirates en-

sured “they only permit[ed] him to be Captain, on Condition,

that they may be Captain over him.”

Democracy was the primary, but not the only, mechanism

pirates used to control their captains. In a few cases pirate crews physically punished their captains for behavior they deemed inconsistent with their interests. Oliver La Bouche’s crew, for ex-

ample, deprived him of his captainship and fl ogged him for

att empting to desert them. Occasionally, crews also deserted

predatory or incompetent captains. As one sailor reported of

Captain William Kidd, for instance, “severall of his men have

deserted him soe that he has not above fi ve and twenty or thirty hands on board.”

Pirates took the limitations they imposed on captains’ au-

thority through their system of checks and balances seriously. A

speech one of the pirates aboard Captain Roberts’s ship made

testifi es to this. As he told his crew, “Should a Captain be so sawcy as to exceed Prescription at any time, why down with him! it will be a Caution aft er he is dead to his Successors, of what fatal Consequence any sort of assuming may be.” Th

is pirate was exag-

gerating—but only slightly. Crews quickly and readily deposed

old captains and elected new ones when the former overstepped

the limited power crews gave them.

Th

e specter of pirate popular opinion looming over them

like the Sword of Damocles, pirate captains faithfully executed

their crews’ wills. You can get an idea of this by considering one pirate contemporary’s remarks, which point to the rarity of pirate captain predation. Perplexed by an anomalous pirate cap-

tain who abused his crew, he puzzled, “Th

e captain is very severe

to his people, by reason of his commission, and caries a very dif-ferent form from what other Pirates use to do . . . oft en calling for his pistols and threatening any that durst speak to the contrary of what he desireth, to knock out their brains.” We can fi nd 3 2

V O T E F O R B L A C K B E A R D

further evidence of pirates’ democratic control over their cap-

tains in the unsanctifi ed status of pirate captains among their

fellow rogues. As the Dutch governor of Mauritius marveled,

“Every man had as much say as the captain.”

Pirates’ equal footing with their captains in everyday aff airs

extended to all aspects of life aboard the ship. Unlike merchant captains, pirate captains couldn’t secure special privileges for

themselves at their crews’ expense. Th

eir lodging, provisions,

and even pay were similar to that of ordinary crew members. As

Johnson described it, aboard pirate ships “every Man, as the

Humour takes him . . . [may] intrude [into the captain’s] Apart-

ment, swear at him, seize a part of his Victuals and Drink, if they like it, without his off ering to fi nd Fault or contest it.” And unlike on merchant or Royal Navy vessels, “any body might come

and eat and drink” with the captain as they please. In other cases

“the Captain himself not being allowed a Bed” had to sleep with

rest of the crew in less comfortable conditions. Or, as one pirate observer exclaimed, “Even their Captain, or any other Offi

cer,

is allowed no more than another Man; nay, the Captain cannot

[even] keep his own Cabbin to himself.” According to Exque-

melin, things were no diff erent for buccaneer commanders.

“Th

e captain is allowed no bett er fare than the meanest on

board. If they notice he has bett er food, the men bring the dish from their own mess and exchange it for the captain’s.” Among

eighteenth-century pirates this was ensured by the division of

power through the quartermaster, who I discuss later. As mer-

chant captain Richard Hawkins described it, “At Meals the

Quarter-Master overlooks the Cook, to see the Provisions

equally distributed to each Mess.” Th

e success of pirate democ-

racy in constraining captain predation helps explain why, coun-

terintuitively, “the People [pirates overtook] were generally

glad of an opportunity of entring with them,” a phenomenon

I’ll examine in chapter 6.

3 3

C H A P T E R 2

The Separation of Piratical Powers

Pirate democracy prevented much captain predation. But by it-

self, democracy could go only so far. In the United States, for

example, citizens not only democratically elect their rulers;

they also divide authority, or separate powers, between various

branches of government. Th

e idea is that giving any person too

much clout will make it easier for him to abuse it. Spreading au-

thority around, in contrast, makes it more diffi

cult for leaders to

abuse their power since they don’t have as much of it. James

Madison’s Federalist No. 51 is again useful to explain this. As

we already discussed, according to Madison, “the primary con-

trol on the government” is “a dependence on the people”—

democratic elections. However, Madison’s next words are equally

important. As he put it, “but experience has taught mankind

the necessity of auxiliary precautions” for checking leaders’

ability to prey on those beneath them. What are these “auxiliary

precautions”? Madison continued, “Th

e constant aim is to di-

vide and arrange several offi

ces in such a manner as that each

may be a check on the other—that the private interest of every

individual may be a sentinel over the public rights.” In other

words, to bolster democratic controls on authority, society re-

quires separated powers.

To look at it, one could easily believe America’s Founding

Fathers used the pirates’ system of democratic checks and bal-

ances in framing the United States government. To further con-

strain the possibility of captain predation, pirates instituted a separation of powers aboard their ships that looked and operated just like the “division” and “arrangement” of “several of-

fi ces,” “each” acting as “a check on the other,” that Madison described—but more than half a century before he described it.

As the pirate Walter Kennedy testifi ed at his trial: “Most of

3 4

V O T E F O R B L A C K B E A R D

them having suff ered formerly from the ill-treatment of Offi

-

cers, provided thus carefully against any such Evil now they had

the choice in themselves . . . for the due Execution thereof they constituted other Offi

cers besides the Captain; so very indus-

trious were they to avoid putt ing too much Power into the

hands of one Man.”

Th

e primary “other offi

cer” pirates constituted for this pur-

pose was the quartermaster. Th

e way this offi

ce worked is

straightforward. Captains retained absolute authority in times

of batt le, enabling pirates to realize the benefi ts of autocratic control required for success in confl ict. However, pirate crews

transferred power to allocate provisions, select and distribute

loot (there was rarely room aboard pirate ships to take all they

seized from a prize), adjudicate crew member confl icts, and ad-

minister discipline to the quartermaster, whom they democrati-

cally elected:

For the Punishment of small Off ences . . . there is a princi-

pal Offi

cer among the Pyrates, called the Quarter-Master,

of the Men’s own choosing, who claims all Authority this

Way, (excepting in Time of Batt le:) If they disobey his

Command, are quarrelsome and mutinous with one an-

other, misuse Prisoners, plunder beyond his Order, and

in particular, if they be negligent of their Arms, which he

musters at Discretion, he punishes at his own dare with-

out incurring the Lash from all the Ship’s Company: In

short, this Offi

cer is Trustee for the whole, is the fi rst on

board any Prize, separating for the Company’s Use, what

he pleases, and returning what he thinks fi t to the Own-

ers, excepting Gold and Silver, which they have voted not

returnable.

Others observed the same relationship between captain and

quartermaster. At the trial of pirate captain Stede Bonnet, for

3 5

C H A P T E R 2

instance, Ignatius Pell, Bonnet’s boatswain, testifi ed that the

captain “went by that Name; but the Quarter-Master had more

Power than he.”

Th

is separation of power removed captains’ control over ac-

tivities they traditionally used to prey on crew members, while

empowering them suffi

ciently to direct plundering expeditions.

According to Johnson, due to the institution of the quartermas-

ter, aboard pirate ships “the Captain can undertake nothing

which the Quarter-Master does not approve. We may say, the

Quarter-Master is an humble Imitation of the Roman Tribune

of the People; he speaks for, and looks aft er the Interest of the Crew.” As noted above, the only exception to this was “in Chase,

or in Batt le” when crews desired autocratic authority and thus,

“by their own Laws,” “the Captain’s Power is uncontroulable.”

Under pirates’ system of divided power, crew members dem-

ocratically elected both captains and quartermasters. Indeed, pirates oft en elected quartermasters to replace deposed captains.

Aft er Charles Vane’s crew removed him from command, for in-

stance, it elected its quartermaster to captain in his place. Th

is

practice facilitated competition among pirate offi

cers, which

further constrained abuse and encouraged offi

cers to serve their

crews’ interests. Once again, it appears pirates took a page right out of the Founding Fathers’ book—or rather the other way

around. As Madison wrote, for democratic checks and balances

to work properly, “Ambition must be made to counteract ambi-

tion.” Pirate captain-quartermaster competition achieved pre-

cisely this.

As with the right to elect and depose their captains, pirates

took the separation of power aboard their ships very seriously.

One pirate captive records an event in which the captains of a

pirate fl eet borrowed fancy clothes that were part of the loot

their crews acquired in taking a recent prize. Th

ese captains

hoped their stolen fi nery would att ract local women on the

3 6

V O T E F O R B L A C K B E A R D

nearby shore. Although the captains intended only to borrow

the clothes, the crews became outraged at their captains who

they saw as transgressing the limits of their narrowly circum-

scribed power. As the observer described it, “Th

e Pirate Cap-

tains having taken these Cloaths without leave from the Quar-

ter-master, it gave great Off ence to all the Crew; who alledg’d,

‘If they suff ered such things, the Captains would for the future assume a Power, to take whatever they liked for themselves.’”

Th

is episode would be enough to make Madison’s heart sing; if

only all citizens guarded their polity’s division of power as jealously as pirates.

Three Cheers for Criminals?

If pirates’ system of democratic checks and balances isn’t strange enough, the source of pirates’ ability to use this system is: their criminality. Understanding the reason for this isn’t diffi

cult. But

it requires us to leave the world of pirates for a moment so we

can explore the world of merchant shipping instead. Merchant

ships were owned by groups of typically a dozen or more landed

merchants who purchased shares in various trading vessels and

fi nanced their voyages. In addition to supplying the capital re-

quired for ships’ construction and continued maintenance,

owners outfi tt ed their vessels, supplied them with provisions,

advanced sailor wages, and most important, solicited custom-

ers and negotiated terms of delivery and freight. Merchant ship-

owners were absentee owners of their vessels; they rarely sailed

on their ships. Th

ey were landlubbers. Most merchant shipown-

ers had no desire to take their chances with brutal life at sea,

and in any event could earn more by specializing in their area of expertise—investment and commercial organization—hiring

seamen to sail their ships instead. Because they were absentee

37

C H A P T E R 2

owners, merchant shipowners confronted what economists call

a “principal-agent problem” with respect to the crews they hired.

You’re undoubtedly familiar with this problem, though you

may call it something diff erent. When you’re at work and in-

stead of working on the report you’ve been assigned you spend

an hour browsing the Internet for a gift for your mother, you’re a principal-agent problem. Th

e idea is that there are principals,

people with something at stake, who hire agents to help them in

their duties when it’s not possible or profi table for them to do so themselves. Your employer, for example, is a principal. You’re her agent. Th

e diffi

culty lies in the fact that your interests and

her interests aren’t always perfectly aligned. She wants you to

fi nish the report because this is what she needs for her business to make money. You would rather troll around on the Internet

because working on the report isn’t as fun and your income

doesn’t depend signifi cantly on how much money her business

makes. Since she can’t monitor you all the time, you spend some

of your time surfi ng the Web instead of working on the report.

Merchant shipowners confronted a similar problem, albeit

in a diff erent context. Once a ship left port it could be gone for months. At sea, the owners’ ship was beyond their watchful

eyes or reach. Th

us, shipowners couldn’t directly monitor their

sailors. Th

is situation invited various kinds of sailor opportun-

ism. Opportunism included negligence in caring for the ship,

carelessness that damaged cargo, liberality with provisions, em-

bezzlement of freight or advances required to fi nance the ves-

sel’s voyage, and outright theft of the vessel itself. To prevent this, shipowners appointed captains to their vessels to monitor

crews in their stead. Centralizing power in a captain’s hands to

direct sailors’ tasks, control the distribution of victuals and payment, and discipline and punish crew members allowed mer-

chant shipowners to minimize sailor opportunism. As noted

earlier, merchant ships tended to be quite small. Consequently,

3 8

V O T E F O R B L A C K B E A R D

captains could cheaply monitor sailors’ behavior to prevent ac-

tivities (or inactivities) that were costly to shipowners and se-

cure sailors’ full eff ort. As we’ve already seen, Admiralty law facilitated captains’ ability to do this by granting them authority to control their crews’ behavior through corporal punishment.

Th

e law empowered captains to beat crew members with the

infamous and ominous cat-o’-nine tails, imprison them, and ad-

minister other forms of physical “correction” to sailors who dis-

obeyed orders, shirked in their duties, and so on. It also permitted captains to dock sailors’ wages for damaging or stealing

cargo and insubordination.

To align their interests with their captain’s interests, owners

used two devices. First, they hired captains who held small

shares in the vessels they were commanding, or barring this,

gave small shares to their captains who didn’t. Merchant ship

captains continued to draw regular fi xed wages like the other

sailors on their vessels. But unlike regular sailors, captains became partial stakeholders of the ships they controlled, aligning

their interests with those of the absentee owners. Second, when-

ever possible, absentee owners appointed captains with familial

connections to one of the members of their group. Th

is ensured

captains didn’t behave opportunistically at the absentee own-

ers’ expense since, if they did, they were more likely to face

punishment.

Th

e reason merchant shipowners required autocratic captains to eff ectively serve their interests is straightforward. A captain who didn’t have total authority over his crew couldn’t successfully monitor and control sailors’ behavior. Reducing the cap-

tain’s power over victuals, payments, labor assignment, or disci-

pline, and vesting it in some other sailor’s hands instead, would reduce the captain’s power to make sailors behave in the absentee owners’ interest. Similarly, if merchant shipowners didn’t

appoint their captains as the permanent commanders of their

3 9

C H A P T E R 2

voyages, but instead permitt ed a ship’s sailors to popularly de-

pose the captain and elect another crew member to this offi

ce at

their will, the captain’s capacity as acting manager of the ship’s absentee owners would cease to exist. To see this, simply imagine what kind of captain merchant sailors would elect if given

the power to democratically select him. Sailors’ interests were

best served by a lax, liberal captain who let them do as they

pleased—exactly the opposite sort of captain that best served

the owners’ interests. Merchant ship autocracy was therefore

essential to overcoming the owner-crew principal-agent prob-

lem, and thus to merchant ship profi tability.

Merchant ship autocracy worked well in this respect. Al-

though some sailors still managed to steal from the ships they

sailed on, disobey command, and in several cases mutiny and

abscond with the owners’ ship, these were relatively unimport-

ant exceptions to the general rule whereby merchant sailors,

under the authority of autocratic captains, served their absen-

tee owners’ interests. However, while merchant ship autocracy

overcame the principal-agent problem absentee owners con-

fronted with respect to their crews, in doing so it created potential for a diff erent kind of problem we’ve already examined:

captain predation. Th

e trouble was that a captain endowed with

the authority required to manage his crew on the shipowners’

behalf could also easily turn this authority against his seamen

for personal benefi t. Predatory captains who abused their au-

thority created the miserable situations for sailors discussed in chapter 1. Some of these captains, such as the sadistic Captain

Norman, were bad people. But many others were not; they were

simply responding to the incentives merchant ship organization

created for them. Since merchant captains had essentially un-

checked authority over their sailors, the cost of serving them-

selves at sailors’ expense was oft en low. So, a number of merchant captains predictably took advantage of their authority. In short, 4 0

V O T E F O R B L A C K B E A R D

merchant ships failed to overcome Madison’s paradox of power.

Th

is wasn’t because merchant shippers were stupid. It was be-

cause merchant vessels’ ownership structure dictated an uncon-

strained, or autocratic, leader.

With that under our belts, let’s return to pirates. Similar to

merchant ships, the particular, but very diff erent, economic situation pirate ships confronted crucially shaped their organiza-

tion. Most notably, pirates didn’t confront the owner-crew,

principal-agent problem merchant ships did. Th

e reason for this

is simple enough: pirates didn’t acquire their ships legitimately.

Th

ey stole them. Pirate ships therefore had no absentee owners.

Instead, pirates jointly owned and operated their ship them-

selves. As historian Patrick Pringle described it, in this sense a pirate ship was like a “sea-going stock company.” On a pirate

ship, then, the principals were the agents. As we discussed pre-

viously, pirates still required captains. But they didn’t require autocratic captains because there were no absentee owners to align the crew’s interests with.

Since the pirates sailing a particular ship were both the prin-

cipals and the agents, democracy didn’t threaten to lead to cap-

tains who served the agents at the principals’ expense. Given

the opportunity to elect their captains, pirates had no incentive to “vote themselves a vacation” or, more accurately, to vote

themselves a captain who would give them a vacation, as mer-

chant sailors would’ve if given the same opportunity. On the

contrary, pirate democracy ensured pirates got precisely the

kind of captain they desired. Because they could popularly de-

pose any captain who didn’t suit them and elect another in his

place, pirate captains’ ability to prey on crew members was

greatly constrained compared to merchant captains. Similarly,

because pirates were both principals and agents of their ships,

they could divide authority on their vessels to further check

captains’ ability to abuse crew members without loss. Unlike

41

C H A P T E R 2

merchant ships, which couldn’t aff ord a separation of power

since this would have diminished the ability of the absentee

owners’ acting agent (the captain) to make the crew act in the

owners’ interests, pirate ships could and did adopt a system of

democratically divided power.

In short, because pirates stole their ships they could organize

their polity democratically. If, like legitimate sailors, pirates had merely been the agents of absentee shipowner principals, they

would have had to organize their ships autocratically like mer-

chant ships. And, given the predation problem this organization

created, pirates would have faced the same problems merchant

sailors did. If these problems had been severe enough, pirates

wouldn’t have found piracy suffi

ciently preferable to bother pi-

rating at all. In fact, it’s almost certain that if pirates had failed to solve the paradox of power, the problem of captain predation

they faced would have been even worse than it was on merchant

ships. Merchant sailors, recall from chapter 1, could at least appeal to government to prevent captain predation. As we already

saw, in some cases such appeal was useless. But many other times

it was eff ective. Pirates, in contrast, couldn’t appeal to government to protect them from tyrannical captains any more than

crack dealers can appeal to police to protect them from their dis-tributors. In turning to sea banditry, pirates, we discussed above,

“renounced the benefi t of all lawful society.” So, it was doubly important and diffi

cult for pirates to overcome the threat of captain

predation, which makes the fact they did so doubly impressive.

Pirate democracy highlights several important features of pi-

rates. First, although they were motley and crude outlaws, pi-

rates were members of societies. Pirate societies were fl oating

ones, pirate ships. But like all others, these societies required 4 2

V O T E F O R B L A C K B E A R D

leaders. Second, like all societies, pirate society—though crimi-

nally composed and directed—confronted the paradox of power,

which requires a solution for society to function. Th

us the fun-

damental problem pirates faced in this regard was the same one

legitimate societies face. Th

ird, pirate solutions to this problem

were essentially the same ones the modern world uses to try

and overcome Madison’s dilemma. Pirates, however, “discov-

ered” these solutions before their legitimate contemporaries.

Finally, pirate democracy didn’t emerge out of pirates’ ad-

herence to romantic democratic ideals about man’s right to have

a say in who governs him. It emerged out of pirate profi t seek-

ing à la the “invisible hook.” Pirates were interested in preventing captain predation, which threatened to undermine their

ability to cooperate for coordinated plunder. In response, they

developed democratic checks and balances. No outside author-

ity centrally designed, directed, or imposed democracy on pi-

rate society. Pirates’ criminal self-interest led them to adopt this system without external prodding.

Similarly, pirate captains didn’t display goodwill and faithful

devotion to their crews’ interests because they were nicer than

merchant captains or cared more about fairness. Th

eir bett er

behavior resulted from a diff erent institutional organization—

democratically divided power—aboard pirate ships. Th

e demo-

cratic institutions pirate captains operated under created incen-

tives for them to behave diff erently than merchant ship captains who operated under an autocratic institutional regime. Pirate

organization rewarded captains for being good stewards of the

power they possessed and punished them for preying on their

crews. Merchant ship organization oft en did very much the

opposite.

Merchant and pirate ships’ diff erent institutional organiza-

tions resulted from the diff erent economic situations each con-

fronted. On merchant ships a principal-agent problem between

4 3

C H A P T E R 2

shipowners and crew members necessitated an irrevocable au-

tocratic captain to generate profi ts for their owners. Democracy would have destroyed this. On pirate ships the illicit nature of

the enterprise prevented this principal-agent problem from

coming into existence, making an autocratic captain unneces-

sary. Pirate ships were stolen and so had no remotely located

owners. Consequently, pirates could elect their captains and di-

vide power within their crews, which constrained pirate cap-

tains’ ability to take advantage of their men. Strangely, then, pirates’ self-interested criminality facilitated democratic checks and balances on their ships. Th

e very outlawry pirates’ contem-

poraries despised them for is responsible for pirates’ reliance on the democratic mode of governance the modern world embraces as one its highest and most-cherished values.

4 4

3 AN- ARRGH-CHY

T H E E C O N O M I C S O F

T H E P I R A T E C O D E

The average person has a clear idea of what life was like

as a pirate. Th

e very occupational choice of these rogues

is enough to paint a vivid picture. It was raucous, reck-

less, and brutally rapacious. Pirates were liars, cheaters, and trai-tors. Th

ey were thieves, murderers, and sailors to boot. Pirate

society must have been as orderly and honest as an asylum for

the criminally insane.

What’s more, pirates had no government. In fact, according

to a petition from “the General Offi

cers of the Army” to King

George I, pirates were “profess’d Enemys to all Order and Gov-

ernment.” Th

ey consequently forswore the civilities aff orded

the members of legitimate societies who could rely on the state’s apparatus of peace-keeping and order to lubricate the machinery of social cooperation. Pirates had no prisons, no police, and no parliament. Th

ey had no barristers, no bailiff s, and no royal

bench. If these mechanisms of law and order are required to

prevent barbarism and chaos in a society of mostly law-abiding

citizens, one can only imagine what their absence must have

meant in a society of violent criminals. Pirate society wasn’t

only an asylum for the criminally insane—it was one without a

warden.

Although this intuition is very reasonable, it’s also dead

wrong. Contrary to conventional wisdom, pirate life was or-

derly and honest. Th

is isn’t counterintuitive on recollection of

C H A P T E R 3

pirates’ purpose, which was profi t. To cooperate for mutual

gain—indeed, to advance their criminal organization at all—pi-

rates needed to prevent their outlaw society from degenerating

into bedlam. Adam Smith expressed this necessity best. “Soci-

ety,” he noted, “cannot subsist among those who are at all times

ready to hurt and injure one another. . . . If there is any society among robbers and murderers, they must at least . . . abstain

from robbing and murdering one another.” Pirates therefore

had a strong incentive to secure social harmony without gov-

ernment. How did they do this? What did pirate order look

like? And did it work? As in the previous chapters, pirates pose

the questions; economics provides the answers.

Th

e argument that society needs government is as old as gov-

ernment itself. In his book, appropriately entitled Leviathan, Th

omas Hobbes supplied one of the most famous descriptions

of what life would be like without government: “Solitary, poor,

nasty, brutish, and short.” Hobbes wrote his book in 1651, but

his words have shaped almost everyone’s thinking about anar-

chy to this day. Hobbes distinguished between the world with-

out government—an anarchic world he called “the state of na-

ture”—and the world with government, which he argued

allowed for civilization. In the former there’s perpetual confl ict and fi ghting, a “war of all against all.” In the latt er there’s wide-spread cooperation and peace.

Why would Hobbes characterize life under anarchy so dif-

ferently from life under government? Th

e reason, he argued, is

man’s self-interested nature. In chapter 2 we considered Madi-

son’s point in Federalist No. 51, which was that the need for

“devices” such as democracy and separated powers “to control

the abuses of government” is “a refl ection on human nature.”

4 6

A N - A R R G H - C H Y

Rulers’ natural self-interest, left unconstrained, leads to abuse.

Because “angels” don’t “govern men,” society needs “external”

and “internal controls on government.” We can think of Hobbes

as providing an analogous argument but with regard to the gov-

erned. As Madison put it, “If men were angels, no government

would be necessary.” Because they’re not, Hobbes contends,

government is.

Our imaginations lend ready support to Hobbes’s claim.

Without government, who would supply rules and regulations

to provide order to society? What would prevent strong people

from stealing from weak ones? How would individuals resolve

their disputes? What would prevent them from engaging in ac-

tivities that harm others? For that matt er, who would provide

for the sick and injured, who can’t provide for themselves? If

people are self-interested, as Hobbes and Madison suggest, and

this book has argued pirates were too, and there’s no govern-

ment to control them, what’s to prevent cheating, lying, and

stealing from running rampant? Without government, how can

society avoid chaos?

To answer these questions, it’s important to make an oft -

ignored distinction between govern ment and govern ance. Government is an authority with a monopoly on coercion in the ter-

ritory it presides over; it’s based on force. Th

at very monopoly

on the right to force people to behave in ways they wouldn’t vol-

untary choose to is supposed to give government the ability to

prevent cheating and theft , and more generally create order. Th

is

same monopoly on the legitimized use of force is what gives

government the power to provide for the sick and injured. Self-

interested people won’t provide for these individuals of their

own accord, the argument goes, so we give government the right

to forcibly take from people and redistribute to those in need.

Lest you doubt government is based on force, consider

what would happen to you if you decided not follow one of

47

C H A P T E R 3

government’s rules or decided not to give government the

money it demanded of you. Th

e former is called breaking the

law, which government punishes by imprisonment or fi ne. Th

e

latt er is called tax evasion, which government punishes simi-

larly. Everything a government does is therefore backed by the

threat of coercion. Some governments’ monopolies on force

derive mostly from their rulers’ superior strength, which they

use to centralize and monopolize power over their citizens. In

Stalin’s Russia, for example, a relatively small proportion of citizens approved of how its government used force. Other govern-

ments’ monopolies on force derive mostly from the approval of

the populations they rule. In modern America, for instance,

most citizens approve of how their government uses force. If

you’re one of these citizens, you may not mind many of the

rules government requires you to obey or many of the fees it re-

quires you to pay. But this is a happy coincidence for you. It

doesn’t change the fact that if you wanted to do otherwise, you couldn’t without government punishing you. In fact, the very

presence of a substantial number of people who desire to be-

have diff erently from the way government wants is one of the

major reasons government is required in the fi rst place—to

compel these individuals to act diff erently than they desire. So, some people’s willingness to go along with what government

requires of them in many instances doesn’t make government

“voluntary.” Th

e coercive monopoly behind everything govern-

ment does is the opposite of voluntary choice. Th

ere’s nothing

voluntary about it.

If this is government, what’s governance? Governance is a

broader concept than government. It refers only to the exis-

tence of some mechanisms or institutions that provide and en-

force social rules and therefore create social order. Government

is one kind of institution that provides governance, the kind

based on a monopoly coercive power. But it’s not the only kind.

4 8

A N - A R R G H - C H Y

Consider, for instance, a condominium association. A condo-

minium association creates rules for its residents and stipulates punishments for breaking those rules. For example, if your

condo association bylaws require you to pay $380 a month for

the maintenance of common areas—to provide for landscap-

ing, repainting the condo’s exterior, and so on—and you don’t

pay your dues, the association reserves the right to kick you out.

Condo associations also create rules that regulate resident be-

haviors that threaten to negatively aff ect other residents. For instance, the association’s bylaws may prohibit residents from

keeping barbeque grills on their balconies. Many condo associ-

ations also provide property protection for their residents. For

example, out of the dues you pay the association, the association hires a private security guard or concierge who monitors and

polices the building. Condo associations, then, provide gover-

nance to the members of their communities in many of the

same ways governments provide governance to their citizens.

But condo associations aren’t governments. To see why,

think for a moment about how your government is fundamen-

tally diff erent from a condo association. While the former is

based on force, the latt er is purely voluntary. You don’t have to submit to the rules of the condo association if you don’t want

to. You may dislike a particular element of the association’s rules and choose not to purchase a condo in that association. You’re

free to go and purchase a diff erent condo if you prefer, or no

condo at all. If you do this, you don’t owe the condo you turned

down anything. You don’t, for example, have to pay its associa-

tion fees because you don’t want to pay for its services. Th

e

condo association is a private organization and therefore can’t

use force to make you do anything you don’t voluntarily agree

to. Once you’ve agreed to follow the association’s rules, you’re

bound to obey them. But no one forces you to agree to follow

these rules in the fi rst place.

4 9

C H A P T E R 3

Th

ings are totally diff erent with government. Government

can and does use the threat of force to get you to obey its rules and pay its “association fees.” If you don’t like the rules government sets up, it’s too bad. You don’t have the choice of saying, as you do with a condo association, “no thank you, I don’t much

care for your rules, so I’m going to take my money and live ac-

cording to my own rules.” Whether you like its rules or not, gov-

ernment compels you to follow its rules and pay it your money.

You might object: “But government provides me with services

that are worth my money!” Th

is might be true for you. But it’s

likely false for some others. Just because you think the local

park is worth what you pay for it in taxes each year doesn’t mean your neighbor does. And the fact that he receives the park’s services even if he objects to paying for them doesn’t change this.

Imagine I came up to you and forced you at gunpoint to “buy” a

candy bar from me. At the point of a gun I tell you, “Give me $5

for this candy bar.” Even if you like candy bars, and even though I’m giving you something when I take your $5, wouldn’t we still

say I’m using force to steal from you?

You might also object, “If you don’t like the government’s

rules, no one’s stopping you from leaving the country. So, really it is a voluntary choice to live according to the government’s rules.” But this objection doesn’t work either. Imagine I came

into your house and threatened to break your legs if you didn’t

give me your wife’s jewelry. Would you say I’m not forcing you

to give me your wife’s jewelry because you have the choice of

not surrendering it, which involves me breaking your legs? Of

course not. We always have options in a technical sense. But

this isn’t the same thing as voluntary choice. Voluntary choice

requires that our options aren’t framed under the threat of force.

When I give you the option of surrendering your wife’s jewelry

or keeping it but having your legs broken, I’m using force to

frame your options. Presumably, you should be allowed to keep

5 0

A N - A R R G H - C H Y

your wife’s jewelry and your legs because both are rightfully

yours, not mine.

And so it is with government. While it’s true I can stay in my

home and follow the government’s rules, or leave my home

(and the nation it’s located in) and avoid the government’s rules by doing so, I can’t stay in my home and avoid the government’s rules. Government uses force to frame my options and removes

the choice I would select if it weren’t in the picture, which is to stay in my home and follow some other rules. If my house is

mine, why should I have to leave it if I want to avoid the government’s rules? Telling me I have the choice to leave, so there’s

nothing coercive about government, is like me telling you in the

example above that you have the choice of having your legs bro-

ken, so there’s nothing coercive about me stealing your wife’s

jewelry.

Th

e fundamental distinction between government and gov-

ernance, then, is that the former is always based on force, but

the latt er needn’t be. When your government provides gover-

nance it’s based on force. But when a private organization, such

as a condo association, provides governance, it’s based on vol-

untary agreement. Th

e distinction between government and

governance suggests an answer to the question this chapter

began with: How can society achieve order and harmony with-

out government? Quite easily, actually. Society can achieve this

with private forms of governance instead. Hobbes’s “state of

nature,” what we commonly call anarchy, doesn’t mean the ab-

sence of rules, order, and cooperation. It merely means the

absence of governance based on monopoly coercive power—

the absence of government. Where government doesn’t provide

the rules and mechanisms for enforcing those rules that indi-

viduals require to cooperate for mutual gain, individuals don’t

simply throw up their hands and abandon their projects. Th

e

very prospect of mutual benefi ts—of profi t—encourages them

5 1

C H A P T E R 3

to privately provide these things instead. But could private gov-

ernance fulfi ll these functions on pirate ships—veritable societies of violent criminals? Yes, and in fact it did.

The Three Keys of Successful Pirate Governance

Although pirates were lawless, they weren’t without laws. Like

all societies, pirates required some kind of governance—some

system of rules, regulations, and punishments for those who

broke the rules—to produce order and facilitate cooperation. It

just so happens in pirates’ case that this cooperation was aimed

at plundering. We’ve already considered why, as outlaws, pirates

couldn’t rely on government for this purpose. Th

e alternative to

government, discussed above, is private governance. To be suc-

cessful, private pirate governance needed to accomplish three

primary goals.

First, pirate governance needed to provide rules to prevent

confl ict between pirates and a way of enforcing these rules. Th

e

reason for this is simple enough. If, for example, there were

no rules defi ning private property rights on pirate ships, theft , cheating, and fi ghting would run rampant. Th

is isn’t because pi-

rates were pirates. It’s because pirates were people, guided by

self-interest like the rest of us. And, in the absence of some kind of control on their behavior, their self-interest could lead them to transgress the property claims of one another, which in turn

would create crew member confl ict. A pirate ship divided against itself could not stand (or fl oat). If crew members were constantly stealing from and fi ghting one another, they obviously

couldn’t cooperate for the purposes of their criminal enterprise.

Suffi

cient confl ict would cause the pirate ship—the pirate fi rm,

if you will—to collapse. Th

is is true in both a fi gurative and lit-

eral sense. Tension and mistrust among crew members would

5 2

A N - A R R G H - C H Y

undermine pirates’ ability to live and work together, to engage

in their joint profi t-seeking ventures. Furthermore, violence on pirate ships could destroy the ship. Like all early eighteenth-century marine vessels, pirate ships were constructed primarily

of wood (the body) and cloth (the sails) and were therefore

susceptible to damage by puncture or fi re, among other things.

If the members of a pirate crew in confl ict with itself began

shooting at one another, fi re and other kinds of damage could

tear the ship apart. Th

us it was critical to prevent interpirate

confl ict if pirates were to cooperate for profi t.

Second, successful pirate governance needed to regulate pi-

rate behaviors that generated signifi cant “negative externalities.”

Economists use the term negative externalities to describe the harmful side eff ects that result from an individual’s behavior.

Many of our actions not only directly aff ect ourselves, they also indirectly aff ect those around us. Pollution is one example of

this. When a factory produces its products, it also produces pol-

lution—toxins created during manufacture that the factory

usually emits into the air. Th

is imposes a cost on the people

who live near the factory. Economists call this cost an “exter-

nality” since it falls on people who didn’t fully produce it. Negative externalities emerge because individuals don’t completely

“internalize” the costs of their behavior. Th

e factory, for exam-

ple, doesn’t incur a cost for emitt ing its pollution. If it did, it wouldn’t pollute as much. Because polluting is free to the factory, however, it pollutes more than it otherwise would.

Th

e key to preventing negative externalities is to make the

individual who’s generating them internalize the full costs of

their behavior. Typically, introducing private property rights is the easiest and most eff ective way to do this. Using the pollution example again, if the factory owned the air, it would be

damaging itself (in addition to its neighbors) when it polluted,

as the value of the air it owns is presumably less when it’s dirty.

5 3

C H A P T E R 3

To maximize the air’s value, then, the factory needs to pollute

less. Since the air’s value ultimately aff ects the factory’s bott om line, it has an incentive to take the air’s quality into consideration; this will tend to lead the factory to pollute less. If no one owns the air, that incentive doesn’t exist. Th

is same principle

can be applied to polluting rivers, and so on. By privatizing the good in question, the owner internalizes the costs of his behavior, which in turn encourages him to behave in a way that recog-

nizes all the costs associated with his behavior.

Establishing private property rights isn’t the only way to pre-

vent negative externalities. Another option is to use regulation.

Instead of creating property rights to the air, for instance, we

could introduce a regulation that prohibits, or restricts, the emission of pollution. In most cases regulation is an inferior method of preventing negative externalities. But in some cases regulation makes sense because it’s more cost eff ective than creating

private property rights.

To see how this might be so, take the case of college dormi-

tories. As any recent resident will tell you, college dormitory

living presents serious negative externality threats. For instance, one person may want to blast his music at all hours of the night while others are trying to sleep. One way to solve this problem

would be to create a private property right to “peace and quiet,”

which would require the person playing his music to pay the

property right holders—the other people in the dorm—for the

right to create noise, on the logic that the increased cost of playing music would lead the person to play his music less loudly or

oft en. However, creating enforceable property rights to things

like peace and quiet can be expensive in terms of what econo-

mists call “transaction costs.” Transaction costs are the costs of making exchanges—the time, eff ort, grief, and sometimes fi -

nancial costs—associated with coming to an agreement with

someone else. In our example, each dorm resident would have

5 4

A N - A R R G H - C H Y

to bargain separately with the person playing loud music over

the price he’ll have to pay to play his music as loud as he likes.

Even if the bargaining process goes smoothly, with so many

people individually “contracting” with the person playing music,

the transaction costs of using property rights to handle this

negative externality become large very quickly. So, rather than

doing this, dormitories typically use regulation to prevent the

negative externality of loud music by establishing “quiet hours”

that restrict when loud music may be played.

Negative externalities don’t only exist in legitimate society.

Th

ey also existed in pirate society. Life on pirate ships was tight and cramped. Th

is fact of life at sea made several behaviors that

wouldn’t generate negative externalities under “normal” cir-

cumstances prone to producing negative spillovers for others

on pirate ships. For example, I don’t care whether my neighbor

drinks himself silly every night or not. He’s in his house, I’m in mine, and any cost of his drunken stupor is contained within

the walls of his home and stays out of mine. But on a pirate ship things could be diff erent. All members of a pirate crew lived in the same house, so to speak. If one pirate decided to indulge in

booze late in the evening, it could prevent other pirates from

gett ing their sleep. Because of their close quarters, one pirate’s excessive drinking generated a negative externality for other

pirates.

Preventing negative externalities on pirate ships was impor-

tant for two reasons. First, as in the drinking example above,

some negative externalities threatened to create confl ict between pirates, which as already discussed could undermine pirates’

criminal enterprise. Second, other kinds of negative externali-

ties on pirate ships could destroy the vessel. For example, if a

pirate smoker dumped his pipe carelessly on the ship, it could

ignite the large quantity of gunpowder the vessel was carrying,

blowing the crew to smithereens. Th

is would also undermine

5 5

C H A P T E R 3

pirates’ ability to cooperate for profi t. To prevent negative externalities from threatening their operation’s success, pirates

therefore needed to prevent such externalities from running

rampant on their ships—either by creating additional private

property rights or by regulating activities.

Th

ird, to be successful, private pirate governance had to

provide important “public goods” for crew members. Econo-

mists defi ne public goods as goods that are “nonexcludable”

and “nonrivalrous.” For our purposes the nonexcludable com-

ponent is all that matt ers. If a good is nonexcludable, individuals who didn’t contribute to its provision can’t be excluded

from enjoying the good aft er it’s produced. A fi reworks show is a good example of this. Once a fi reworks show is underway,

whether you’ve paid for it or not, you get to consume the dis-

play. It’s not diffi

cult to see the problem this creates. If every-

one who wants to watch the fi reworks show knows they can

get away with watching it without paying, no one will be will-

ing to pay for the show even though everyone wants to see it.

Th

e fi reworks display’s nonexcludability leads to “free riding.”

If everybody is free riding, though, the fi reworks display never happens, even if everyone would have been willing to pay for it

in the fi rst place.

Pirates also confronted a free-riding problem on their ships,

which left unsolved would prevent them from taking prizes. For

a pirate ship to maximize its chances to take a prize, each crew

member needed to exert his full eff ort. Th

is meant remaining

diligent in his daily duties, but especially giving his all in batt le with a target, in extracting loot from victims, and so on. A duti-ful pirates’ job, then, could be very dangerous. In addition to

the dangers of simply living and working aboard a ship, there

was also the prospect of batt le with quarries. Pirates faced a risk of being injured, which, in addition to imposing an immediate

cost on them, might also make it more diffi

cult for them to fi nd

5 6

A N - A R R G H - C H Y

future (pirate or nonpirate) employment. If any individual pi-

rate slacked on the job, maybe not doing the most onerous part

of his daily duties, or staying back a bit in the midst of batt le so as not to get hurt, unless he played a critical role, the crew’s

probability of success would only be minimally diminished. In

other words, with the exception of a few key pirates, the crew’s

success didn’t depend on any individual pirate. Because of this,

shirking wasn’t costly to the individual pirate but exerting full eff ort was. Th

is created an incentive for pirates to free ride on

others’ eff orts.

Th

e public good in this example is full pirate ship eff ort and

the nonexcludable benefi ts are those of the ship’s successful

plunder. Of course, if a pirate weren’t discreet about shirking,

he could be identifi ed as a slacker and excluded from any booty

the crew subsequently captured. But if he did a good job of pre-

tending to exert full eff ort, excluding him wasn’t possible. From each individual pirate’s perspective, then, the best thing to do

was to pretend to exert full eff ort but in actuality slack off . But if all or even a signifi cant number of pirates did this, the crew

would be unsuccessful. To prevent this situation from under-

mining their criminal enterprise, private pirate governance

therefore needed to provide for this public good and prevent

pirate free riding.

To review, then, private pirate governance needed to provide

rules to prevent interpirate confl ict, and to enforce these rules; it needed to regulate pirate behavior that produced serious

“negative externalities”; and it needed to provide important

public goods and guard against the free-riding possibility these

goods created. Although their particulars are diff erent in im-

portant respects, these three features required for eff ective governance on pirate ships are fundamentally the same ones legiti-

mate societies require for their success. In this way the problem of achieving successful pirate governance was no easier than the

57

C H A P T E R 3

problem of achieving successful governance in the “civilized

world.” In fact, because pirates couldn’t rely on a monopoly co-

ercive power to overcome these obstacles as the legitimate

world could through government, pirates’ governance problem

was that much more diffi

cult to solve than “normal” society’s

governance problem. Despite this, private pirate governance

successfully satisfi ed each of these features.

The Laws of Lawlessness: Pirate Constitutions

To create private governance pirate crews forged writt en con-

stitutions, or “pirate codes,” that specifi ed their laws, punishments for breaking these laws, regulated negative externalities,

and created a mechanism for overcoming the pirate free-rider

problem discussed above. Additionally, pirate constitutions per-

formed an important supplementary function in constraining

offi

cer behavior, discussed in chapter 2. Pirate constitutions

originated with “articles of agreement” followed on buccaneer

ships in the seventeenth century. Th

e buccaneers called their

articles a chasse-partie. Th

ese articles specifi ed the division of

booty among the offi

cers and crew along with other terms of

the buccaneers’ organization. All sea bandits followed the basic

rule of “no prey, no pay.” Unless a pirating expedition was suc-

cessful, no man received any payment. Alexander Exquemelin

describes the chasse-partie that governed his crew’s expedition

in detail:

Th

e buccaneers resolve by common vote where they shall

cruise. Th

ey also draw up an agreement or chasse partie,

in which is specifi ed what the captain shall have for him-

self and for the use of his vessel. Usually they agree on

the following terms. Providing they capture a prize, fi rst

of all these amounts would be deducted from the whole

5 8

A N - A R R G H - C H Y

capital. Th

e hunter’s pay would generally be 200 pieces of

eight. Th

e carpenter, for his work in repairing and fi tt ing

out the ship, would be paid 100 or 150 pieces of eight.

Th

e surgeon would receive 200 or 250 for his medical

supplies, according to the size of the ship.

Th

en came the agreed awards for the wounded, who

might have lost a limb or suff ered injuries. Th

ey would be

compensated as follows: for the loss of a right arm, 600

pieces of eight or six slaves; for a left arm 500 pieces of

eight or fi ve slaves. Th

e loss of a right leg also brought 500

pieces of eight or fi ve slaves in compensation; a left leg

400 or four slaves; an eye, 100 or one slave, and the same

award was made for the loss of a fi nger. If a man lost the

use of an arm, he would get as much as if it had been cut

off , and a severe internal injury which meant the victim

had to have a pipe inserted in his body would receive 500

pieces of eight or fi ve slaves in recompense.

Th

ese amounts having fi rst been withdrawn from the

capital, the rest of the prize would be divided into as

many portions as men on the ship. Th

e captain draws

four or fi ve men’s portions for the use of the ship, per-

haps even more, and two portions for himself. Th

e rest of

the men share uniformly, and the boys get half a man’s

share.

. . . When a ship is robbed, nobody must plunder and

keep his loot to himself. Everything taken—money, jew-

els, precious stones and goods—must be shared among

them all, without any man enjoying a penny more than

his fair share. To prevent deceit, before the booty is dis-

tributed everyone has to swear an oath on the Bible that

he has not kept for himself so much as the value of a six-

pence, whether in silk, linen, wool, gold, silver, jewels,

clothes or shot, from all the capture. And should any man

5 9

C H A P T E R 3

be found to have made a false oath, he would be banished

from the rovers, never more be allowed in their company.

Over time the buccaneers institutionalized their articles of

agreement and social organization. Th

e result was a system of

customary law and meta-rules called the “Custom of the Coast,”

or the “Jamaica Discipline.”

Eighteenth-century pirates built on this institutional frame-

work in developing their own constitutions. Pirates created

them “for the bett er Conservation of their Society, and doing

Justice to one another.” Each crew devised its own constitution,

but pirate articles displayed strong similarities across crews. In describing the articles on Captain Roberts’s ship, for instance,

Johnson refers to “the Laws of this Company . . . principle Cus-

toms, and Government, of this roguish Commonwealth; which

are prett y near the same with all Pyrates.” Frequent intercrew

interactions led to information sharing that facilitated constitutional commonality. More than 70 percent of Anglo-American

pirates active between 1716 and 1726, for example, can be con-

nected back to one of three pirate captains, Benjamin Horni-

gold, George Lowther, or Edward Low. Th

us, the “pirate code,”

to the extent that it existed as a professionwide body of rules,

emerged from piratical interactions and information sharing,

not from a pirate king who centrally designed and imposed a

common code on all current and future sea bandits.

Pirate articles of agreement required unanimous consent.

Consequently, pirates democratically formed them in advance

of launching pirating expeditions. “All [pirates] swore to ‘em,”

sometimes on a Bible or, for one pirate crew, “upon a Hatchet

for want of a Bible.” Th

e same was true for newcomers who

joined pirate companies already under way. “When ever any

enter on board of these Ships voluntarily, they are obliged to

sign all their Articles of Agreement.” Crews forged their articles 6 0

A N - A R R G H - C H Y

alongside the election of a captain, quartermaster, and occa-

sionally other smaller offi

cers. Pirates sought agreement on

their articles ex ante “to prevent Disputes and Ranglings aft er-

wards.” If a pirate disagreed with their conditions, he was free to search elsewhere for more satisfactory terms.

When multiple pirate ships joined together for an expedi-

tion they created similar articles establishing the terms of their partnership. On encountering one another at Grand Cayman,

for example, Captain George Lowther and Edward Low’s pirate

crews forged such an agreement. Lowther “off ering himself as

an Ally; Low accepted of the Terms, and so the Treaty was pres-

ently sign’d without Plenipo’s or any other Formalities.” Like-

wise, crews that objected to the proposed articles or some other

element of an intended multiship expedition were free to de-

part peaceably. In one such case, for example, “a Spirit of Dis-

cord” emerged between three pirate crews sailing in consort

“upon which . . . [they] immediately parted, each steering a dif-

ferent Course.”

Th

e voluntary nature of consenting to a particular pirate

ship’s constitution facilitated what economists call “Tiebout

competition” between pirate crews. Tiebout competition is the

process whereby governments compete for citizens, so-named

for the economist who fi rst articulated this process, Charles

Tiebout. Th

e idea is a simple one. If citizens can “vote with their

feet,” governments must be more responsive to what citizens

want. Th

ey must off er lower tax rates, bett er public services, and

refrain from preying on citizens, or citizens will move to an-

other jurisdiction that does. Governments care about this be-

cause their ability to raise tax revenues requires a tax base. And if citizens move out of one jurisdiction to another, in the jurisdiction citizens are fl eeing from the tax base shrivels up. Pirates’

voluntary governance structure means they didn’t have govern-

ments. But the principle of Tiebout competition applies as

61

C H A P T E R 3

much to their fl oating societies as it does to competition be-

tween governments. To att ract the men they needed pirate

crews had to off er favorable terms of employment. Since the

rules governing an expedition strongly aff ected the quality of a pirate’s life while he served as part of the crew, a signifi cant element of the terms of employment was the desirability of a pro-

spective crew’s rules. Favorable employment terms also involved

nonpredatory offi

cers, such as the captain and quartermaster.

Since pirates were free to enter or not enter into combination

with a particular crew’s criminal enterprise, there was a strong

incentive to create favorable and eff ective rules.

Charles Johnson provides several examples of pirate consti-

tutions, through which, as one court remarked, these rogues

were “wickedly united, and articled together.” Consider, for in-

stance, the articles aboard Captain Roberts’s ship:

I. Every Man has a Vote in the Aff airs of Moment; has

equal Title to the fr esh Provisions, or strong Liquors, at any Time seized, and may use them at Pleasure, unless a Scarcity

make it necessary, for the Good of all, to vote a Retrenchment.

II. Every Man to be called fairly in Turn, by List, on board

of Prizes, because, (over and above their proper Share) they

were on these Occasions allowed a Shift of Cloaths: But if they defr auded the Company to the Value of a Dollar, in Plate,

Jewels, or Money, Marooning was their Punishment. If the

Robbery was only betwixt one another, they contented them-

selves with slitt ing the Ears and Nose of him that was Guilty, and set him on Shore, not in an uninhabited Place, but somewhere, where he was sure to encounter Hardships.

III. No person to Game at Cards or Dice for Money.

IV. Th

e Lights and Candles to be put out at eight a-Clock

at Night: If any of the Crew, aft er that Hour, still remained enclined for Drinking, they were to do it on the open Deck.

6 2

A N - A R R G H - C H Y

V. To keep their Piece, Pistols, and Cutlash clean, and fi t for Service.

VI. No Boy or Woman to be allowed amongst them. If any

Man were found seducing any of the latt er Sex, and carry’d

her to Sea, disguised, he was to suff er Death.

VII. To Desert the Ship, or their Quarters in Batt le, was

punished with Death or Marooning.

VIII. No striking one another on board, but every Man’s

Quarrels to be ended on Shore, at Sword and Pistol.

IX. No Man to talk of breaking up their Way of Living,

till each shared a 1000 l. If in order to this, any Man should lose a Limb, or become a Cripple in their Service, he was to

have 800 Dollars, out of the publick Stock, and for lesser

Hurts, proportionately.

X. Th

e Captain and Quarter-Master to receive two Shares

of a Prize; the Master, Boatswain, and Gunner, one Share

and a half, and other Offi cers one and a Quarter [everyone else to receive one share].

XI. Th

e Musicians to have Rest on the Sabbath Day, but

the other six Days and Nights, none without special Favour.

Th

rough such articles the pirates’ private system of gover-

nance satisfi ed each of the three features required for successful governance discussed above. Let’s look closer at how pirate articles satisfi ed these goals.

The Law and the Lash: Preventing Pirate Conflict

Th

e fi rst feature pirate governance required to be successful, re-

member, was laws to prevent confl ict and provide for a peaceful

and orderly pirate ship. Pirate articles achieved this by prohibiting the two big potential sources of social disorder, theft and

6 3

C H A P T E R 3

violence. Sections II and VIII of Roberts’s crew’s articles, for

example, regulated theft and violence respectively. Sections II

and V of Edward Low’s company’s articles did the same, bar-

ring men to “to Strike or Abuse one another in any regard” or

from “defrauding one another to the Value of a Ryal of Plate”

and required that “if any Gold, Jewels, Silver, &c. be found on Board any Prize or Prizes to the value of a Piece of Eight . . . the fi nder” had to “deliver it to the Quarter Master in the space of 24 hours” lest he be considered guilty of stealing from the crew.

Sections III and V on John Phillips’s Revenge also declared it un-lawful for “any Man . . . [to] steal any Th

ing in the Company . . . to

the Value of a Piece of Eight” or to “strike another whilst these Articles are in force.” Pirate ships, then, weren’t rock ‘em–sock ‘em, anything goes–type atmospheres. Although they did so privately, pirates created laws to facilitate social harmony and prevent social discord, just like legitimate societies do, and they

did so for the same reason—because their ability to cooperate

for mutual benefi t required it. As Captain Johnson put it, “Na-

ture, we see, teaches the most Illiterate the necessary Prudence

for their Preservation, and Fear works Changes which Religion

has lost the Power of doing.”

Pirates’ private system of governance also created punish-

ments for law breakers and provided means for enforcing these

penalties. Punishments for violating the laws on a pirate ship

varied from physical tortures, such as “keel-hauling,” which in-

volved dragging the insolent pirate across the sharp and barna-

cled hull of the ship, to marooning—a practice pirate Joseph

More described as “punishment among them for something

notoriously villainous” whereby the off ender is “put on shore

on some uninhabited Cape or Island, with a Gun, some Shot, a

Bott le of Powder, and a Bott le of Water, to subsist or starve.” Pirates sometimes coupled marooning with ostracism if the trans-

gressor managed to survive. Alternatively, they might down-

6 4

A N - A R R G H - C H Y

grade the punishment of marooning instead of intensifying it if

they considered the crime less severe. In Roberts’s crew, for ex-

ample, “If the Robbery was only betwixt one another, ” as opposed to from the community plunder each crew member drew his

pay from, “they contented themselves with slitt ing the Ears and Nose of him that was Guilty, and set him on Shore, not in an uninhabited Place, but somewhere, where he was sure to encounter

Hardships. ” To facilitate the enforcement of their laws against theft , pirates took additional simple but eff ective measures,

such as employing random searches to hunt for anyone holding

back loot. To ensure the quartermaster, who you’ll recall from

chapter 2 was in charge of watching over and distributing pirate booty, didn’t hide plunder from the crew, some pirates prohibited their loot from being kept under lock-and-key. As pirate

Peter Hooff described the situation on the Whydah, for instance, “Th

eir Money was kept in Chests between Decks with-

out any guard, but none was to take any without the Quarter

Masters leave.”

Th

e articles on Captain John Phillips’s ship provide a good

idea of the range of punishments pirates applied for infractions of their other rules. Phillips’s crew punished deserting with marooning, physical violence with “Moses ’s Law (that is, 40 Stripes lacking one) on the bare back,” and even capitally punished pirates who forced themselves on an unwilling woman. “If at any

Time we meet with a prudent Woman, that Man that off ers to med-dle with her, without her Consent, shall suff er present Death.” Not too shabby for a group of godless “Hell-hounds.”

Pirate articles didn’t fully specify punishments for rule viola-

tions. In these cases violators didn’t go unpunished, however.

Instead, pirate articles stipulated that the wrongdoer “shall suffer what Punishment the Captain and Majority of the Company

shall think fi t.” Similarly, for more severe infractions, crew members voted on punishments, “all the Pyrates Aff airs being carried 6 5

C H A P T E R 3

by that.” As Richard Hawkins observed among his pirate cap-

tors, for instance, “If any one commits an Off ence, he is try’d by the whole Company.”

To sett le inter–crew member disputes, such as allegations of

theft , and to enforce the proscribed punishments if necessary,

pirates relied on their democratically elected quartermasters.

For minor accusations, crews left this duty exclusively to the

quartermaster who “acts as a Sort of civil Magistrate on board a

Pyrate Ship.” If his mediation failed, the quartermaster refereed a duel between the parties on land to avoid damage to the ship.

“Th

e Quarter-Master of the Ship, when the Parties will not come

to any Reconciliation, accompanies them on Shore with what

Assistance he thinks proper, and turns the Disputants Back to

Back, at so many paces Distance: At the Word of Command,

they turn and fi re immediately. . . . If both miss, they come to their Cutlashes, and then he is declared Victor who draws the

fi rst blood.” Barbaric? Sure. But eff ective—both in terms of resolving crew confl icts and preventing confl icts between two pi-

rates from damaging the vessel and thus spoiling things for the

remaining crew. Far from lax or nonexistent, the piratical justice system was extensive and unforgiving. Pirate governance wasn’t

strict because pirates were sticklers. Pirate governance was strict because pirates couldn’t rely on government to provide it for

them. As historian Patrick Pringle put it, “Th

ey had no disci-

pline, and therefore much self-discipline.”

Th

ough far from perfect, pirate articles worked well in pre-

venting internal confl ict and creating order aboard pirate ships.

Although Blackbeard famously wrecked Queen Anne’s Revenge

and deserted part of its crew to increase the share out for him

and his favorite crew members, and Walter Kennedy ripped off

Bart Roberts’s crew, sailing away with several accomplices and

his fellow pirates’ plunder, these were exceptions to the pirates’

tendency to obey their rules and remain honest to their fellow

6 6

A N - A R R G H - C H Y

rogues. According to one eighteenth-century commentator, the

pirates’ system of self-governance, “which kept Peace amongst

one another, and under the Title of Articles, has produced a

System of Government, which I think, (considering what the

Persons were who fram’d it) as excellent for Policy as any Th

ing

in Plato’s Commonwealth.” Th

at’s prett y high praise for a “Pack

of Sea Banditt i.”

Before discussing how pirates satisfi ed the other two features

required for successful governance, we should highlight a few

additional features of how pirate constitutions provided law and

order. First, as discussed in chapter 2, pirate articles explicitly provided for a democratic form of governance: “Every Man has a Vote in the Aff airs of Moment.” In this sense they were truly constitutions. Pirate articles not only established the rules governing pirate ships. Th

ey also established “rules about the rules”—that

is, the decision-making criteria for the selection of laws and

leadership. Pirate articles were therefore more than a simple list of social regulations. Th

ey governed how these regulations and

the offi

cers of their administration could be selected.

Second, pirate articles identifi ed the terms of pirate compen-

sation. In this way they were also like contracts between crew

members. Putt ing these terms in writing helped prevent offi

cers

aboard pirate ships, such as the captain or quartermaster, from

preying on crew members as some offi

cers aboard navy and

merchant vessels did. In particular, by making the terms of com-

pensation explicit, pirate constitutions circumscribed the quar-

termaster’s authority in dividing booty. When booty was indi-

visible, or there was a question as to its value and thus how many shares it counted for in payment, pirates sold the troublesome

items or auctioned them at the mast and distributed the divisi-

ble proceeds accordingly. Th

is practice prevented confl ict be-

tween crew members and ensured a distribution of plunder con-

sistent with the terms of the compensation agreement pirates

67

C H A P T E R 3

signed on to. More important, it constrained the discretion of

the quartermaster who might otherwise be in a position to cir-

cumvent the terms of compensation when loot was indivisible

or of ambiguous value.

Notably, the pirate pay scale was very fl at. On Roberts’s

ship, “Th

e Captain and Quarter-Master [were] to receive two

Shares of a Prize; the Master, Boatswain, and Gunner, one Share and a half, and other Offi cers one and a Quarter,” with everyone else receiving one share. Th

e diff erence between the highest

and lowest paid person in this pirate crew was thus only a sin-

gle share. Th

e same scarcely progressive pay scale prevailed on

pirate captain Edward Low’s ship, whose articles stipulated:

“Th

e Captain is to have two full shares; the Master is to have

one Share and one half; Th

e Doctor, Mate, Gunner and Boat-

swain, one Share and one Quarter;” and everyone else one

share. Th

is was also true on Captain John Phillips’s pirate ship

whose articles read: “Th

e Captain shall have one full share and a

half in all Prizes; the Master, Carpenter, Boatswain and Gunner shall have one Share and [ a] quarter,” and everyone else a single share. Th

is contrasts sharply with merchant vessels’ pay scale

where captains earned four or fi ve times as much as regular

sailors during peacetime.

One interpretation of the signifi cantly smaller “wage gap”

between pirates is that they were more interested in equality,

“social justice,” and egalitarian outcomes than merchant ship-

owners. But this is a downright peculiar interpretation given

what we know about pirates, which is that they were as self-in-

terested as anyone else and, given the opportunity, would hap-

pily take ten times as many shares as their fellow pirates if they could get away with it. Th

e less romantic, but likely more accu-

rate, explanation for the relative fl atness of pirate pay scales is an economic one that goes back to pirates’ lack of coercive

government.

6 8

A N - A R R G H - C H Y

To ease the burden borne by their private system of gover-

nance, pirates needed to avoid as many opportunities for violent

confl ict that could erupt into fi ghting and tear their criminal organization apart as possible. Unsurprisingly, probably the great-

est divisive force that threatened this possibility was money.

Suspicions of unfairness, favoritism, and simple envy created

unhappy specters for pirate ships. To minimize the chance of

these natural human emotions disrupting or even totally under-

mining their profi t-making purpose, pirates eliminated the

greatest potential source of these emotions—large material in-

equalities. A relatively fl at pay schedule that preserved some

progressive elements but split booty roughly evenly accom-

plished this nicely and prevented undo stress on the pirates’ private system of governance.

By more-or-less equally splitt ing their ill-gott en proceeds,

pirates facilitated cooperation in another important way as well: through agreement about whether to continue plundering or to

hang up the cutlass temporarily and dissolve the company in-

stead. If nearly all pirates in a particular crew received the same payout from plunder, they were more likely to agree about

whether to continue “on the account” or retire their expedition.

Th

is was important because it ensured that most pirates en-

gaged in an ongoing plundering expedition had their hearts in it

and would therefore exert full eff ort, improving the crew’s

chance of success. Contrast this with the situation that could

prevail if diff erent factions of a pirate crew had wildly diff erent payouts from taking a prize. Th

e faction that received a very

large payout may be interested in ending the expedition right

there. Th

ese pirates might have enough to live on for a while

and not wish to go any further. Th

e faction that received a very

low payout, on the other hand, may be interested in keeping the

whole crew together until its members have also earned enough

to temporarily retire. Th

e result would be intracrew confl ict.

6 9

C H A P T E R 3

Th

us, eminently reasonable economic considerations are likely

responsible for pirate “egalitarianism,” if one wants to call it

that, not a quasi-socialist pirate ideology.

No Smoking, Please: Preventing Negative

Externalities

Th

e second feature pirate governance required to be successful

was an ability to prevent negative externalities. Pirates’ articles achieved this by establishing rules that carefully regulated activities likely to generate harmful spillovers that would inhibit the greater crew’s ability to cooperate. Th

e articles on Captain

Roberts’s ship, for example, required crew members to keep

their weapons in good working order, or, as the article regulat-

ing this aspect of negative externalities on Phillips’s ship read:

“Th

at Man that shall not keep his Arms clean, fi t for an Engagement, or neglect his Business, shall be cut off fr om his Share.” Roberts’s articles limited drunken raucousness to allow nonpar-

ticipant pirates to get suffi

cient sleep and to “give a Check to

their Debauches”; prohibited onboard fi ghting that jeopardized

the entire crew’s ability to function; and prohibited activities, such as gambling, likely to lead to onboard fi ghts. On similar

grounds, some crews’ articles prohibited women (and young

boys), who might invite fi ghting or tension among crew mem-

bers, aboard their ships. “Th

is being a good political Rule to

prevent disturbances amongst them,” one pirate captive re-

marked, “it is strictly observed.” In the same way, some pirate

ships forbade activities such as fi ring one’s guns or smoking in areas of the ship that carried combustible goods, such as gunpowder. According to the articles aboard John Phillips’s ship,

for example, “Th

at Man that shall snap his Arms, or smoak To-

bacco in the Hold without a Cap to his Pipe, or carry a Candle 70

A N - A R R G H - C H Y

lighted without a Lanthorn, shall suff er the same Punishment as in the former Article.”

Pirates relied on regulation instead of creating private prop-

erty rights to address negative externalities for the same reasons college dormitories do. In pirates’ particular situation, regulation was simply cheaper. Although in principle pirates could

create property rights to overcome these externalities, the transaction costs of each individual pirate negotiating with all other members of his crew over how much he was to compensate

them for the right to smoke in the hold, for instance, were pro-

hibitively high. In contrast, it was comparatively inexpensive to create a rule restricting smoking in the hold.

The Sea Bandit Safety Net: Piratical Public

Good Provision

Pirate articles satisfi ed the fi nal feature required for successful governance—the provision of public goods, which in pirates’

case referred to the need to solicit crew members’ full eff ort—

by creating an early form of social insurance, or workers’ com-

pensation. Pirate articles specifi ed that before the proceeds of successful plunder were divided according to the pay scale established in the piratical contract, a certain sum would come

out of the common purse to provide for those injured in the line

of duty. As article IX of Captain Roberts’s crew’s constitution

read, for instance: “If . . . any Man should lose a Limb, or become a Cripple in their Service, he was to have 800 Dollars, out of the publick Stock, and for lesser Hurts, proportionately.” Some pirate workers’ compensation schemes were highly detailed. Diff erent

limbs were worth diff erent amounts, refl ecting the diff erent values pirates att ributed to these appendages, most likely in work-

related purposes. Furthermore, in at least one crew, disability

7 1

C H A P T E R 3

insurance payments continued indefi nitely. As this ship’s arti-

cles read, “He that shall have the Misfortune to lose a Limb, in Time of Engagement, shall have the Sum of one hundred and fi ft y Pounds Sterling, and remain with the Company as long as he shall think fi t,” presumably drawing continual disability support from the crew’s “publick Stock.” Th

e eff ect of pirate social insurance

was to encourage full eff ort from each individual pirate, or at

least to reduce the private disincentive to shirk, which improved pirates’ ability to profi t through plunder.

To further encourage full eff ort, pirate articles contained

incentive provisions that paid bonuses to crew members who

displayed exceptional courage in batt le, were the fi rst to spot potential targets, and so forth, out of the common purse. According to the buccaneers’ rules, for instance, “Th

ose who be-

haved courageously and performed any deed of extraordinary

valour, or captured a ship, should be rewarded out of the com-

mon plunder.” Similarly, according to section VIII of Ned Low’s

crew’s articles, “He that sees a sail fi rst, shall have the best Pistol or Small Arm aboard of her.” Th

ese incentive provisions must

have worked well since, as Johnson noted, “It must be observed,

they [pirates] keep a good Look-out; for, according to their Ar-

ticles, he who fi rst espies a Sail, if she proves a Prize, is entitled the best Pair of Pistols on board, over and above his Dividend.”

Pirate articles, then, satisfi ed each of the three features re-

quired for successful governance. What’s even more incredible,

they did so privately, without the aid of government. Since pi-

rate constitutions were short and simple, they couldn’t cover

every contingency that might aff ect a crew. In this sense they

were always incomplete. To deal with this, when a signifi cant

issue emerged, the crew gathered to act as a “judiciary” to interpret or apply the ship’s articles to situations not clearly stipulated in the articles themselves: “In Case any Doubt should

arise concerning the Construction of these Laws, and it should

72

Figure 3.1. Inside a pirate “courtroom”: Captain Th

omas Anstis’s crew holds

a mock trial. From Captain Charles Johnson, A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pyrates, 1724.

73

C H A P T E R 3

remain a Dispute whether the Party had infringed them or no, a

Jury was appointed to explain them, and bring in a Verdict upon

the Case in Doubt.” Th

e resulting “pirate council,” as it’s some-

times been called, created a quasi-judicial review process for pirate constitutions.

All for One and One for All: The Calculus

of Piratical Consent

One important feature of pirate constitutions noted above that

we haven’t examined is how they required unanimous consent

to enter into force. Why did pirates do this? Th

e short answer is

to facilitate their profi t-making ability. Th

e longer answer ex-

plains how constitutional unanimity facilitated pirates’ profi t-

making ability in three ways.

Th

e fi rst of these ways is best understood in the context of a

distinction between two kinds of costs of creating governance

made by Nobel Prize–winning economist James Buchanan and

Nobel Prize–deserving economist Gordon Tullock. One kind

of cost is called “decision-making costs.” Decision-making costs are the costs of arriving at a set of rules that will govern society.

Debating the pros and cons of alternative rules and then actu-

ally taking votes on the various proposals are two forms deci-

sion-making costs can take. Th

ese costs are small when the

population of voters is small. But they become large when this

population grows.

Th

e other major factor infl uencing the size of decision-mak-

ing costs is the kind of voting rule used to make decisions. At

one extreme is dictatorship. Since under dictatorship only one

person determines the rules, there’s no need for debate, no need

for voting, and no need to secure anyone else’s approval. Under

dictatorship, decision-making costs are therefore extremely low.

74

A N - A R R G H - C H Y

At the other end of the spectrum is unanimity. Here, since a

rule requires every single member of society’s approval to pass,

debate is likely to be intense and dragged out. Everyone must

vote on the issue. And most important, since every person’s

consent is needed, a great deal of time, energy, and potentially

other resources must be expended to convince every person of

the desirability of the proposal. Under unanimity, decision-

making costs are therefore very high. In between these polar

ends of the decision-making cost spectrum are middle grounds,

such as simple majority, which is more costly in terms of deci-

sion-making costs than dictatorship, but less costly than una-

nimity. Th

ere’s also supermajority, which is more costly than

simple majority, but still less costly than unanimity, and so on.

Th

e other kind of cost of creating governance is called “ex-

ternal costs.” External costs are the costs borne by the members

of society who disagree with the rules ultimately decided on.

For example, if there’s a ballot initiative in your town to decide whether to increase or decrease the speed limit on Main Street,

and you vote to increase the limit but a majority of your fellow voters vote to decrease it, the speed limit is decreased and you

suff er as a result. Th

e main factor that infl uences the size of ex-

ternal costs is the kind of voting rule society uses to make decisions. For example, if a new law only requires 10 percent of the

voting population’s approval to pass, the external costs of governance are high. In principle a law may pass that 90 percent of

the population views unfavorably. Closer to the other end of the

spectrum, if, for instance, a new law requires a supermajority to pass, the external costs are much lower. Only a relatively small

minority is at risk of living under a law it disagrees with using this voting rule. At the extreme end of this spectrum is unanimity. Since unanimity means everyone must agree to a law for it

to pass, under unanimity nobody lives under a law he disagrees

with. External costs under unanimity are therefore zero.

75

C H A P T E R 3

Since decision-making costs are higher when a rule requires

a larger portion of society’s approval to pass and external costs are lower when this is true, we face a trade-off in terms of these two costs of creating governance. We want to minimize the

overall cost of creating governance, but by trying to reduce de-

cision-making costs we increase external costs and vice versa.

What’s the right thing to do?

Th

e answer to this question depends on how severe the in-

crease in one kind of cost will be if we reduce the other. For example, if the issue being decided on is tremendously important,

a decision-making rule closer to unanimity may be effi

cient.

For a very important decision the external costs for those who

disagree with the decision are very large. In this case it’s worth bearing higher decision-making costs to prevent even more signifi cant external costs. For instance, if a society is deciding how much income individuals will be allowed to earn, unanimity

may be effi

cient even though it means higher decision-making

costs. Contrast this with a situation in which the decision is essentially unimportant, for example, what kind of paper the

rules will be writt en on. Here, since the decision-making costs

of unanimity are extremely high, and the external costs of a

simple majority or even a dictatorial decision are very low, a decision-making rule that requires only minimal public support is

effi

cient.

Th

is reasoning explains why pirates required unanimity for

their articles. Since these articles set up the entire system of

rules a consenting pirate would be required to live by for the re-mainder of his duration with his crew—from laws against theft ,

to division of booty, to workers’ compensation coverage—the

cost a pirate incurred if he disagreed with these rules but had to suff er under them nevertheless, that is, the external cost of anything other than unanimity, was huge. Contrast this situation

with the simple majority rule pirates used to elect their captains 76

A N - A R R G H - C H Y

and quartermasters, discussed in chapter 2. Here a simple ma-

jority made more economic sense than unanimity because the

choice of captain and quartermaster, while very important,

wasn’t as important as the general overarching system of rules a pirate and his ship’s offi

cers had to live by. Since external costs

were relatively lower in the case of deciding who would be cap-

tain or quartermaster, it made sense to accept some additional

external costs in order to reduce decision-making costs. Th

us,

unlike their constitutions, pirates selected their captains and

quartermasters by simple majority.

Th

e second reason pirates required unanimity in creating

their constitutions returns again to the issue of offi

cer predation

discussed in chapter 2. Recall that pirates checked captain predation through democratic elections for this offi

ce and by separat-

ing power through democratically electing a second offi

cer—the

quartermaster—who assumed a number of important powers

otherwise concentrated in the captain’s hands. Th

us the quar-

termaster was in charge of distributing loot and provisions, and

applying punishments to crew members who violated the ship’s

rules. By transferring these authorities to the quartermaster, a

pirate crew could check the power of its captain. But what was

to prevent the quartermaster from abusing his authority over

these tasks to prey on the crew himself?

Democratic election to this offi

ce was one check on his abil-

ity to do this. Pirate constitutions were another. Pirate constitutions achieved this by making regulations, compensation, and

punishments explicit, which circumscribed the quartermaster’s

discretion in his duties. Th

is narrowed his latitude in exercising

the power his crew endowed him with to check the captain’s au-

thority. For example, as noted earlier, a pirate crew’s constitu-

tion explicitly identifi ed what share of any booty each pirate

was to receive. Th

is circumscribed the quartermaster’s discre-

tion in distributing plunder, and thus his ability to cheat crew

7 7

C H A P T E R 3

members. Similarly, the constitution also explicitly laid out what level of compensation each type of injury was worth, limiting

the quartermaster’s ability to cheat pirates along this dimension.

Pirate constitutions also specifi ed punishments for important

infractions of their rules and reserved for crew members the

right to vote on punishments for major violations, which con-

strained the quartermaster’s discretion in punishing crew mem-

bers and, as a result, his ability to abuse crew members as well.

Pirate constitutions not only created rules for quartermas-

ters to follow. Th

ey also created what economists call “common

knowledge” among crew members about when a quartermas-

ter was overstepping his bounds. Since the constitution clearly

delineated guidelines for the quartermaster to follow in admin-

istering the ship’s rules, and constitutions were unanimously

consented to, everyone knew when the quartermaster was

transgressing his power and could agree that a transgression

was in fact a transgression. Th

is enabled pirates to coordinate

on a common response to quartermaster abuse, which was to

depose him and elect a new one. Since quartermasters knew ev-

eryone consented and agreed to the rules governing the ship,

and furthermore, because the constitution made the rules quar-

termasters were to administer explicit, quartermasters also knew

they couldn’t get away with abusing their authority. If a quartermaster tried to abuse his power, the entire crew might react

against him.

Th

e historical record supports the eff ectiveness of pirate

constitutions in this capacity, evidenced by the rarity of ac-

counts of quartermaster abuse. Equally important, when abuse

did occur, the evidence indicates crews successfully removed

abusive quartermasters from power. For example, in 1691 quar-

termaster Samuel Burgess cheated his crew in the division of

food. In response his crew marooned him. Similarly, when pi-

rate captain John Gow’s second in command, James Williams,

7 8

A N - A R R G H - C H Y

grew violent and unruly, his crew “loaded him with Irons” and

“resolved to put him on Board” a captured vessel “with Direc-

tions to the Master to deliver him on Board the fi rst English Man of War they should meet with, in order to his being hang’d.”

Th

e third and fi nal reason pirates required constitutional

unanimity was to ensure harmony and “prevent Disputes and

Ranglings” among the would-be pirate crew. In the absence of

government to create peace and order on pirate ships, to avoid

taxing their substitute private system of governance too much,

it was important to assemble a crew that found the same rules

and pay scheme agreeable. Constitutional unanimity achieved

this by allowing pirates to self-sort at the outset. Th

is not only

prevented pirates with diff erent ideas about how things should

be run from coming into inevitable confl ict once it was too late, it also helped enforce the rules decided on since no pirate who

subsequently violated one of his ship’s laws could claim he

didn’t know about or disagreed with them in his defense. In

other words, unanimous consent at the constitutional stage

promoted common knowledge about when a rule had been

broken. Th

is facilitated rule enforcement since everyone agreed

on when a rule was violated and would therefore support the

quartermaster in carrying out the constitutionally specifi ed

punishment. Th

e punishments for breaking rules pirate articles

identifi ed thus posed credible threats to potential rule breakers who had strong incentives to adhere to the laws they agreed to

be bound by.

Pirates’ system of private governance was highly successful, a

fact refl ected in the success of piracy itself. One perceptive eighteenth-century seaman summarized the reason for this. As he

put it, “As great robbers as they are to all besides,” pirates “are 79

C H A P T E R 3

precisely just among themselves; without which they could no

more Subsist than a Structure without a Foundation.” For their

criminal enterprise to remain intact and produce suffi

cient crew

member cooperation to successfully prey on target ships, pi-

rates required “a Foundation.” Since pirates were outlaws, gov-

ernment couldn’t provide this foundation for them. But gov-

ern ment’s absence among pirates didn’t mean govern ance was absent too. Pirates created private institutions to provide governance for themselves instead. Th

rough the necessity of self-in-

terest, disorderly, disagreeable, and violent delinquents man-

aged to maintain surprisingly orderly, cooperative, and peaceful

societies aboard their ships.

Oddly enough, probably the closest thing to seventeenth- and

eighteenth-century pirate constitutions were seventeenth- and

eighteenth-century Puritan church “covenants” forged by New

England sett lers. Th

eir substance was very diff erent from that of

“pirate codes,” of course. Further, church covenants didn’t elaborate as many social rules as pirate constitutions did. Puritans had a more detailed document for that—the Bible. But their covenants were similar to pirate constitutions in that they created

private governance for their societies’ members—church mem-

bers—and provided a consensual basis for authority.

Pirates weren’t Puritans, of course. Nor did they create their

elaborate system of private governance because of a special rev-

erence for constitutions or fondness for following rules. Th

ey

established rules because they recognized, as Captain Roberts

did, that “it was every one’s Interest to observe them, if they

were minded to keep up so abominable a Combination.” Adam

Smith put it this way: “As society cannot subsist unless the laws of justice are tolerably observed, as no social intercourse can

take place among men who do not generally abstain from injur-

ing one another; the consideration of this necessity . . . was the ground upon which we approved of the enforcement of the laws

8 0

A N - A R R G H - C H Y

of justice by the punishment of those who violated them.”

Smith was talking about legitimate society. But he might as well

have been talking about pirates.

To secure profi ts, pirates needed to cooperate. And pirates

could only cooperate if they could prevent confl ict and provide

order and incentives to work hard aboard their ships. In short,

pirates created constitutions and adhered to their rules to achieve their profi t-motivated goals. Pirates’ self-interest made them

understand “their greatest Security lay in this.” According to

one historian, as a result of their governance system, pirate

ships were more orderly, peaceful, and well organized than

many merchant ships, vessels of the Royal Navy, or indeed, even

the British colonies. As an eighteenth-century observer de-

scribed it, “At sea, they perform their duties with a great deal of order, bett er even than on the Ships of the Dutch East India

Company; the pirates take a great deal of pride in doing things

right.”

8 1

4 SKULL & BONES

T H E E C O N O M I C S O F

T H E J O L LY R O G E R

Atwo-hundred-ton ship appears on the horizon. From

a distance it looks harmless. It’s likely a merchantman,

common in these waters, carrying cargo to the colo-

nies. Your intuition is confi rmed by the British ensign it fl ies, a red fl ag with the Union Jack in its upper-left corner. As she draws closer she hails and you oblige. You anticipate the standard civilities, perhaps to lend a helping hand. When the ship approaches

nearer, however, you become suspicious. She’s indeed a mer-

chantman, but a highly modifi ed one. Ominously, instead of the

usual six guns, she’s been reoutfi tt ed with more than twenty. Th e

deck of this beast is fl ush, the forecastle and quarterdeck having been removed and lowered. All ornament and superfl uity is

stripped away. Only cannons remain. What appeared to be a

harmless merchantman is a menacing makeshift man-o’-war.

When the ship comes closer its formidable crew comes into

sight. One hundred fi ft y motley pairs of eyes bear down on you.

You look up and stare, quite literally, at death’s head. Where the British ensign showed shortly ago, a black and beaten fl ag,

emblazoned with skull and bones, ferociously stares back. Th

e

makeshift man-o’-war is a pirate ship. She fi res a warning shot across your ship’s bow and you hear the pirate’s captain, who’s

shouting through a speaking trumpet, demand your captain

come aboard and surrender. You panic, and rightfully so. What

do you do?

S K U L L & B O N E S

You might try and run. But your ship is slow and lumbering,

while theirs has been refi tt ed for speed and agility. Your chances of escaping are slim. You could try and defeat the sleek and low-slung pirate. But she has 150 men and you have 15. What’s more,

for every gun on your ship, she has four. Most important, if

you’re feeling suicidal and decide to take your chances resisting this predator, when you lose you know you can expect no

mercy. Your att acker’s fl ag isn’t for show. It communicates your fate should you be so saucy as to defy those who sail under it.

Th

e only option left is to submit to your well-armed predators,

precisely what they’re hoping for.

Perhaps the most recognizable of all pirate symbols is the

skull and crossbones. It’s nearly impossible to imagine a pirate

ship without a black and skull-stippled fl ag fl ying ominously

atop its mast. Th

is image, so perfectly suited to common concep-

tions of pirates, is almost too good to be true. A fl ag of skull and bones seems more like an imaginative Hollywood producer’s

creation than something actual pirates invented. Th

e skull-and-

bones fl ag, however, is a genuine and important part of pirate

history. Th

e pirates called this fl ag the “Jolly Roger” and it played

a central role in facilitating their profi t-maximizing purpose.

Successful piracy was no easy task. Th

ough drawn from the

ranks of ordinary seamen, pirates weren’t talentless hacks who

camped out in one spot hijacking passersby. Nor did pirates

wander aimlessly in the vast expanse of the sea. Although Cap-

tain Johnson described the process of pirating as “going about like roaring Lions, seeking whom they might devour,” it wasn’t as easy as that. Th

e average reader of this book, for example,

couldn’t simply decide to “go on the Account,” as pirates called it, which was their “term for Pyrating.”

8 3

C H A P T E R 4

To do this, let alone do it eff ectively, you’d need an idea

about how to sail a hundred-plus-ton vessel. If your oceangoing

navigational skills are rusty, you’re out of luck. In the time seventeenth- and most eighteenth-century pirates were operating,

not even the marine chronometer, which might allow you to

precisely determine longitude, had been invented yet. Instead,

pirates relied on a navigational method called “dead reckoning.”

Th

is method was about as sophisticated as it sounds. To “dead

reckon” you needed to fi rst determine your latitude. Lest your

hopes be totally dashed, you had an instrument to aid you in

this process. Th

is instrument was the “backstaff ,” or “Davis

quadrant,” so-named for its inventor Captain John Davis. Th

e

backstaff amounted to a few wooden sticks, which when held to

the navigator’s face allowed him to simultaneously observe the

position of the sun at noon determined by the location of its

shadow cast along one of the sticks and the horizon. Th

is per-

mitt ed the viewer to measure the sun’s altitude over the hori-

zon, which could then be looked up in a series of printed tables

that charted the sun’s declination at the equator for each day of the year, describing the ship’s latitude. Aft er you measured your latitude at one spot, you could guess your longitude by measuring your speed and direction since your last latitude measure-

ment. Th

is was accomplished by throwing a wooden board,

called a “chip log,” over the side of the ship att ached to rope, and with a “pegboard” upon which you charted any changes in

speed or direction. Th

e crudeness of this process shouldn’t be

mistaken for simplicity, however. Navigating a pirate ship also

required intimate knowledge of the currents in diff erent parts

of the sea, the direction of winds, and a proper understanding

of leeway. Piracy, like all early eighteenth-century maritime activity, was more art than science.

But to successfully pirate you’d need more than navigational

expertise. You’d need to combine your navigational skills and

8 4

S K U L L & B O N E S

oceanic agility with keen judgment and an ability to chase, run,

and of course, wage batt le with your vessel. Imagine approach-

ing your target strategically to take advantage of current and

wind conditions, and changes in these conditions on a moment’s

notice, as well as predicting your target’s movements and re-

sponses to these conditions and your movements, all the while

boxing it in and preparing for a fi ght. If this sounds tough, well, it was it was even tougher than it sounds. A pirate ship couldn’t come barreling down some waterway like a squirrel sent down a

waterslide, canons a-blazing and men scrambling every which

way. Overwhelming a target was more like hunting a fox than

lunging at a piñata.

Other things equal, the windward vessel had an advantage of

speed and agility over the leeward vessel. With the wind at your

back you were faster and bett er able to adapt to changes in wind direction than a ship sailing into the wind. For these reasons pirate ships made an eff ort to get themselves on the windward

side of their targets. Th

is wasn’t a simple matt er of gett ing up-

wind of their prey, however. Pirates had to do so without ap-

pearing threatening—if possible, without appearing even inter-

ested in the ship they hoped to att ack. Furthermore, what the

wind and tide conditions allowed the ship to do constrained

the vessel’s movement. Any number of wrong moves could raise

the target’s suspicion. Moving too quickly or nimbly is one ex-

ample of this. As noted above, pirates modifi ed their ships for

speed and were noticeably faster than most merchant ships. If a

ship was seen moving with too great speed or agility, it would

send off red, or rather black, fl ags in the target’s mind, alerting it to the possibility of an approaching pirate. Ideally, a pirate

wanted to close in slowly on its target rather than launch head-

long at the target full speed, which might scare it away. Once

again, being windward of the prey facilitated this. A less obvi-

ous approach and all-out speed, which was needed aft er the

8 5

C H A P T E R 4

ship’s intent was discovered when the pirate ship was close,

were easier to achieve of a leeward target. A windward target

was possible as well, but more diffi

cult to take.

To get close enough to their prey to take them, pirates used

several ruses. Th

e fi rst was the fl ags of legitimate vessels. Pirates

obtained these the same way they obtained their ships—by

stealing them from the merchant crews they plundered. A pi-

rate ship would carry a variety of stolen fl ags from diff erent nations and fl y the appropriate “colors” depending on where they

were sailing or their prospective prize’s nationality. Flags were critically important in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Ships had litt le way of identifying one another without

them. Pirates capitalized on this by tricking their targets with

friendly colors, which allowed them to stealthily approach their

unsuspecting prey until they could no longer hide their true

identity.

Another tactic pirates used to hide their identity from tar-

gets was constructing canvas covers, colored to blend in with

the ship’s hull, which hid the pirate’s gun ports. Th

is made the

pirate ship appear less well armed than it actually was, weaker

and more merchantmanlike, so as not to prematurely scare its

prey. On the other side of this, merchant ships played their own

games, painting gun ports on their hulls or putt ing wooden

“dummy” guns on their ships to appear bett er armed than they

actually were in hopes of convincing potential att ackers of their superior strength. In describing the 280-ton merchant ship he

sailed on, for example, Edward Barlow, a late-seventeenth-cen-

tury merchant sailor, noted its “twenty-four guns, with two

wooden ones to make a show, as though we had more.”

Another ploy pirates used to avoid detection was to put

chicken coops and cargo on deck to look more like the mer-

chant ships they pretended to be. To disguise their ship’s speed, pirates sometimes tied barrels together, which they fi xed to

8 6

S K U L L & B O N E S

and threw over the ship’s stern. Th

e vessel would then drag the

barrels behind it, which signifi cantly reduced its pace. Th

is en-

abled pirate ships to slowly approach targets without suspicion.

Once within reach pirates would cut the barrels, producing a

turbo boost that shot the ship forward, surprising the target,

which by this time was unable to escape. Because of these ploys

and because pirates modifi ed their ships to be faster and more

agile than most merchantmen they preyed on, if a target wanted

to escape its att acker by fl eeing, it had to decide this early when the approaching ship was still far away. Th

is was certainly pos-

sible; but as historian Angus Konstam points out, “this wasn’t

always practical or expedient. Owners would have litt le time

for merchant captains who greatly prolonged their voyages by

running from every strange sail.” Further, it wasn’t uncommon

for friendly ships to hail one another, requesting the other to

heave to so assistance or information might be exchanged.

If a pirate tricked a merchantman into heaving to, the mer-

chantman was as good as a sitt ing duck. Th

e pirate ship could

pull alongside the merchantman and at this distance, if need be,

throw makeshift grenades, called “grenadoes,” consisting of gun-

powder, bits of metal, and fuse stuff ed into a glass bott le, or

“stinkpots,” an early form of teargas similar to grenades but

packed with rancid meat, fi sh, and other putrid items found on a ship. A seventeenth-century publication entitled, Captain Sturmey’s Magazine, or the Whole Art of Gunnery for Seamen 1669, instructed sailors how to fashion an eff ective stinkpot. Th

e list

of recommended ingredients reads like a witch’s brew: “Take

of Powder 102, of Ship Pitch 60, of Tar 201, Saltpeter 81, Sul-

pher 81. Melt all together by a gentle Heat and being well

melted, put in 21 of Cole dust, of the Filings of a Horse’s Hoofs 61, of Assafoetida 31, of Sagapanam 11, and of Spatula Fetid

half a pound.” Th

e only thing missing is “eye of newt.” Needless

to say, an appropriately concocted stinkpot worked wonders in

8 7

C H A P T E R 4

disorienting the target crew. Pirates could then board the mer-

chantman, which they achieved with grappling hooks.

But grappling distance wasn’t necessary for pirates to “reach

out and touch” their targets. Th

e cannons a pirate ship carried

could be as varied as its crew. Typical cannons, offi

cially “guns”

once aboard ship, were four- or six-pounders, called “minions”

and “sakers” respectively. But larger guns were also used, including eight- and even twelve-pounders. A saker could reach a target nearly a mile away. Th

e larger cannons could fi re further accord-

ingly. At the very least, then, a warning shot suffi

cient to give a

good scare could be launched from a considerable distance. To

break a target’s hull closer proximity was needed. But at around

500 yards, a saker’s eff ective range was nothing to sneeze at. Pirates had their choice of ammunition, which they selected de-

pending on availability and their distance from a target. Th

ere

were traditional canon balls, of course, or “roundshot,” as they

were called, but also “grapeshot,” a mixture of musket balls and

other metallic odds and ends shot out of cannon creating a

shotgun-blast type eff ect, and “chainshot,” in which two canon

balls were shot simultaneously out of a ship’s gun connected by

rod or chain. Th

e broader area chainshot covered allowed it to

do a diff erent kind of damage, taking out masts and rigging as it slung through the air.

Pirates’ superior strength, in conjunction with our image of

them as blood-lusting, batt le-loving, and downright fi endish

curs, would seem to suggest they were happy to engage in, and

indeed devilishly hoping for, a good brawl, complete with

booming canons and clashing cutlasses. But just the opposite

was true. Pirates were loath to engage in a fi ght, even with a target they easily dominated. Th

is is another case where pirate

myth confl icts sharply with pirate reality. And, like other pirate myths, the key to piercing this one lies in understanding pirates’

profi t-seeking purpose.

8 8

S K U L L & B O N E S

Peace-Loving Pirates?

Among the chief obstacles pirates confronted in att empting to

maximize profi t from plundering expeditions was keeping their

costs down. Piratical costs of production included, among other

things, the costs associated with batt ling potential prizes. Since armed robbery was the primary means of piratical plunder, pirates faced the sorts of problems any organized band of armed

thieves would face. Foremost among these was minimizing vio-

lent confl ict. If pirates failed to do this, they incurred several profi t-eating costs. First, confl ict with a target meant the possibility of crew casualties. In addition to deaths, pirates found in-capacitating injuries or other kinds of maiming costly to their

crews. For instance, to keep pirate insurance claims, discussed

in chapter 3, from becoming overbearing, pirates needed to

minimize batt le-related injuries.

Th

e second profi t-eating cost of violent batt le was the poten-

tial for damage to the pirate ship. Th

is was problematic on two

fronts. First, it reduced pirates’ eff ectiveness in chasing and defeating later prey. A pirate ship with a hole in it, for example, would be slower and less agile than an undamaged vessel. Further, since pirate ships were stolen, a damaged ship reduced pi-

rates’ ability to take undamaged ships as replacements. Because

of this, a damaged ship needed to be repaired. Many repairs,

however, had to be undertaken by pirate carpenters on or near

land. Pirates identifi ed a number of small hidden landings from

which they could undertake such repairs. But additional time

spent in repair reduced the time spent plundering merchant

ships and increased the probability of capture by authorities.

When on or near the shore undertaking repairs or otherwise

tending to the maintenance of their ships, pirate crews were

vulnerable to att ack. To “careen” their ships, for instance—the

8 9

C H A P T E R 4

process of removing sea debris that accumulated on a ship’s

hull—pirates had to remove the ship’s guns, cargo, and topmast,

and heel her over with blocks and tackle fastened to the mast

and trees ashore, allowing the ship to tilt suffi

ciently to expose

one side of her bott om for cleaning and repair. Th

en the ship

would need to be heeled over on her other side to expose the

other half of the vessel’s bott om for cleaning and repair. Ex-

posed in this state, pirates were easy targets for navy ships or

other pirate hunters. Walter Moore, for instance, captain of the

Eagle, captured George Lowther’s pirate crew while it careened on an island off Venezuela. To avoid these costs of a damaged

ship, pirates needed to minimize the frequency and duration of

repairs, which in turn required minimizing violent engagement

with targets that damaged their ships.

Finally, batt le between a pirate and its prey could damage the

prize. Stolen ships had value to pirates since they sometimes

“traded up” when they took a superior vessel. Of course, a dam-

aged ship was less valuable to them than an undamaged one. In

the extreme, if pirates inadvertently sunk their target, the entire prize would be lost. In this way, violent confl ict not only contributed to the cost side of pirating expeditions but could di-

minish the revenue side as well.

To reduce these cost of taking prey pirates sought to over-

whelm victims without violence. “Th

eir whole policy was di-

rected towards taking prizes without having to fi ght for them.”

Actually achieving this was harder than it sounds, however. Al-

though pirate ships frequently outmanned and outgunned their

quarries by a factor of three or more, merchant ships weren’t de-

fenseless. Most carried several guns and some succeeded in dam-

aging and escaping their pirate att ackers. To minimize merchant

ship resistance and thus the costs discussed above, pirates developed their infamous fl ag, the “Jolly Roger.” Th

e origin of the Jolly

Roger’s name is debated, but probably came from an antiquated

9 0

S K U L L & B O N E S

and impolite nickname for the devil, “Old Roger.” Another pos-

sibility is that the name derives from the original French bucca-

neers’ red fl ag, the jolie rouge, or “prett y red.” Ironically, rather than an emblem of blood-thirsty pirates, the Jolly Roger refl ects pirates’ strong desire to avoid violent confl ict with their prey.

Pirate fl ags originated with the buccaneers in the seven-

teenth century. Th

e buccaneers fl ew red fl ags, which communi-

cated to targets they would take “no quarter” if they were re-

sisted. If the red fl ag was displayed and the target resisted, the assaulting pirates mercilessly slaughtered the target’s crew. Eighteenth-century pirates substituted black fl ags, oft en adorned

with skulls and bones, for the buccaneers’ red ones. Th

e fi rst re-

corded account of the Jolly Roger is on the French pirate Eman-

uel Wynne’s ship in 1700. A witness described it as “A Sable

Flag with a White Death’s Head and Crossed Bones in the Fly.”

By 1717 references to the Jolly Roger begin to appear regularly.

Th

e skull-and-crossbones motif has received the most att en-

tion. Captain Samuel Bellamy’s crew, for instance, fl ew the classic pirate ensign, a “large black Flag, with a Death’s Head and

Bones a-cross.” An eyewitness described the fl ags in Black-

beard’s fl eet similarly, these being “Black Flags and Deaths

Heads in them.” Some pirates never retired the red fl ag. Several ships in Blackbeard’s consort, for instance, fl ew “Bloody Flags.”

Other pirates used the black and red fl ag together. As Richard

Hawkins, who was taken prisoner by pirates in 1724, explained

it: “When they fi ght under Jolly Roger, they give Quarter, which they do not when they fi ght under the Red or Bloody Flag.”

However, pirate fl ags were considerably more varied than ei-

ther the classic skull-and-bones on black or plain red varieties

suggest. Th

ey also depicted hourglasses, full skeletons, fl exing

arms, swords, bleeding hearts, and related symbols of strength,

death, and destruction. One pirate ship Captain Johnson dis-

cussed, for example, “let fl y her Jack, Ensign and Pendant, in

9 1

C H A P T E R 4

which was the Figure of a Man, with a Sword in his Hand, and

an Hour-Glass before him, with a Death’s Head and Bones.” An-

other “had the Figure of a Skeleton in it, and a Man pourtray’d

with a fl aming Sword in his Hand, intimating a Defi ance of

Death itself.” Pirate captain Francis Spriggs’s crew favored a

“Jolly Roger, (for so they call their black Ensign, in the middle of which is a large white Skeleton, with a dart in one hand, striking a bleeding Heart, and in the other an Hour Glass).” An unusual

Jolly Roger one witness reported was a photonegative of the

traditional pirate fl ag, “a white Ensign with the fi gure of a dead man spread in it.”

Several pirates coupled the Jolly Roger with the offi

cial fl ag of

England or other countries. One witness, for instance, described

Bartholomew Roberts’s ship, “English Colours fl ying, their Pi-

rate Flagg at the Topmast-Head, with Deaths Head and Cut-

lash.” According to another eyewitness, Captain Roberts’s pirate

fl eet sailed under a veritable rainbow of national and pirate emblems. “Th

e Colours they fought under (beside the Black Flag)

were a red English Ensign, a King’s Jack, and a Dutch Pendant.”

Roberts customized his ship’s fl ag to send a pointed message

to the governors of Barbados and Martinique who dared to

send warships aft er the notorious pirate captain to bring him to justice. According to Johnson, “Roberts was so enraged at the Att empts that had been made for taking him, by the Governors

of Barbadoes and Martinico, that he ordered a new Jack to be made, which they ever aft er hoisted.” Th

ereaft er, this crew had

“a black Silk Flag fl ying at their Mizen-Peek, and a Jack and Pendant of the same: Th

e Flag had a Death’s Head on it, with an

Hour-Glass in one Hand, and cross Bones in the other, a Dart

by it, and underneath a Heart dropping three Drops of Blood—

Th

e Jack had a Man pourtray’d in it, with a fl aming Sword in his

Hand, and standing on two Skulls, subscribed A.B.H. and

A.M.H. i.e. a Barbadian’s and a Martincan’s Head.”

9 2

S K U L L & B O N E S

Figure 4.1. Jolly Roger: Captain Bartholomew Roberts’s pirate fl ags wave in the background. From Captain Charles Johnson, A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pyrates, 1724.

Although the specifi c images on pirate fl ags varied, the pur-

pose was the same in each case. As Snelgrave described it, this

was “to terrify Merchant-Men.” Th

e hourglass communicated

time was running out, the swords, fi erce batt le, and the skulls and skeletons, death for resistors. Countless historians of piracy have echoed Snelgrave’s rationale for the Jolly Roger. But on

closer inspection the traditional explanation for pirate fl ags—

to frighten targets—by itself, anyway, leaves something to be

desired. Being threatened by an att acker several times stronger

than you would certainly strike fear into your heart. And, as

noted above, the gap between pirate and prey strength could

easily be this size or larger. But it’s diffi

cult to see how fl ying a

skull-emblazoned fl ag would add substantially to this fear. Pi-

rates’ superior strength alone would seem to be enough to lead

targets to surrender. Aft er all, what’s the point of waging a batt le 9 3

C H A P T E R 4

you know you’ll lose? It’s puzzling, then, why pirates bothered

with the trouble of constructing the Jolly Roger and hoisting it

when they were in striking distance of their prey.

The Pirate and the Peacock

A bit of economic theory may resolve this puzzle, if only specu-

latively and incompletely. In hoisting the Jolly Roger pirates

may have been engaged in what economists call “signaling.” Sig-

naling works a lot like it sounds. Individuals engage in certain

behaviors, such as wearing a tie, or gett ing an education, that

send signals about the kind of person they want others to think

they “really are.” All of us signal everyday. We dress in uncom-

fortable clothes to fi t in at the offi

ce; we send fl owers to our

loved ones and take important people out to expensive dinners.

Although we enjoy doing these things to some extent, we also

do them to communicate something it’s in our interest for others

to believe about our intelligence, wealth, and overall quality—

whether that something’s true or not.

Th

e key to a successful signal is that it must be more costly

for some types of individuals to send than for others. If not, the people for whom it’s false will have an incentive to send it too.

Wearing sweatpants to the offi

ce, for example, wouldn’t convey

that you’re “a professional” to those around you. In fact, it would almost certainly signal exactly the opposite. Likewise, taking

your date to McDonald’s wouldn’t signal high income. Th

e rea-

son “cheap talk” doesn’t work as an eff ective signal is because

the signal is equally inexpensive for both the kind of person

you’re trying to suggest you are and the kind of person you’re

trying to suggest you’re not. Because of this, the signal contains no useful information. Th

e signal receiver can’t tell if you took

9 4

S K U L L & B O N E S

her to McDonald’s because you’re poor, or you’re rich but have

poor taste. Cheap talk signals result in what economists call a

“pooling equilibrium.” In a pooling equilibrium both the “high-

quality” and “low-quality” types of individuals send the same

signal, preventing receivers from distinguishing which people

are high quality and which are low quality. Costly signals, in

contrast, can prevent this situation. It’s more diffi

cult for a low-

intelligence person to make it through MIT than it is for a high-

intelligence person. So, by gett ing a degree from MIT, an indi-

vidual is able to successfully signal her intelligence to potential employers who know that because she made it through MIT

she must be a high-quality potential employee. Th

e reason this

works is because of the signal’s costliness, and in particular, because the signal is more costly for one type of person to send

than for another.

If you go to a zoo, you can observe successful signaling in the

animal kingdom. Ever wonder why peacocks have such large

plumes? It seems like this would be an evolutionary disadvan-

tage because their big, brilliant feathers make them easier prey

for predators. Biologist Amotz Zahavi suggested a solution to

this puzzle in the 1970s, which is rooted in the idea of signaling.

Imagine a world of peacocks, some of which have large plumage

and others of which don’t. Precisely because those with plum-

age are more susceptible to predators, Zahavi reasoned, they

signal they’ve passed the test of nature, avoiding or fending off predators. Peacocks with plumage are therefore more att ractive

mates, leading them to reproduce, while those without lavish

tails die out.

Th

e peacock’s feathers in this example are the costly signal—

a behavior that’s more “expensive” for weak, inept peacock’s

than for strong, successful ones. Because of this, potential mates can identify and procreate with the “good” peacocks—those

9 5

C H A P T E R 4

with plumage—leading the “bad” peacocks—those without—

to be weeded out through sexual selection. Th

is signal results in

what economists call a “separating equilibrium,” where signal

receivers can distinguish between the diff erent types of signal

senders. In terms of using costly signals to distinguish them-

selves from others, pirates may have been a lot like peacocks.

During most of the great decade of piracy from 1716 to 1726,

when the Jolly Roger made its most frequent appearance, the

maritime powers of Europe were offi

cially at peace with one an-

other. Despite this, throughout the period French and Spanish

ships continued to att ack British and other merchant vessels.

Both France and Spain had “coast guards,” government-com-

missioned warships charged with protecting their respective

coasts from illicit foreign traders called “interlopers.” Th

e Span-

ish Guarda Costa was the most enthusiastic enforcer of its

country’s trade monopoly. Offi

cially, the Spanish coast guard

was restricted to taking interlopers near the coasts it protected.

But in practice these ships oft en cruised the waters far from

shore in search of merchant vessels carrying any goods they

could use to justify seizing in alleged violation of the law that restricted trade with Spain’s possessions in and around the Carib-

bean. From the end of the War of the Spanish Succession in

1713 through the end of the Golden Age of Piracy in the late

1720s, British colonial offi

cials in the West Indies and North

America complained of the overzealous Spanish coast guard,

which was capturing and condemning British trading vessels

against the peace created by the Treaty of Utrecht. Virginia gov-

ernor Alexander Spotswood, for instance, wrote to the mem-

bers of the Council of Trade and Plantations in 1717 to inform

them “that the Spaniards” had recently taken a “man and his

vessell on the high seas without being near any of their Domin-

ions, and without any hostility off ered on his part.” Spotswood

added that “every vessell belonging to H.M. subjects may expect

9 6

S K U L L & B O N E S

the like treatment” if the Guarda Costa were allowed to con-

tinue. Th

is wasn’t an isolated incident. Over the next ten years,

colonial offi

cials repeatedly complained of unscrupulous coast

guards plundering innocent merchant ships.

Th

e Spanish coast guard didn’t take merchant vessels on any-

thing like the scale that privateers did in offi

cial times of war.

Further, these ships confi ned their activity to the waters of the Caribbean and never went as far as the Indian Ocean, where pirates sometimes traveled. Nevertheless, beginning in the years

following the end of the War of the Spanish Succession and con-

tinuing beyond the rapid decline of piracy in the 1720s, there

were other potential att ackers in many of the areas pirates fre-

quented. In addition to French and Spanish coast guard vessels,

between 1718 and 1720 British and Spanish privateers also in-

habited the waters surrounding the West Indies. A few traversed

the water lanes encompassing portions of the greater Pirate

Round, sailing as far as the South Sea to the west and Africa’s

Atlantic coast to the east. Th

e short and consequently oft -for-

gott en War of the Quadruple Alliance thus gave rise to another

class of potential att ackers, albeit in small numbers, that sought to seize merchant ships at the same time and in some of the

same parts of the ocean as pirates.

Th

e presence of these other belligerent marine vessels pro-

vides a clue why pirates went through the trouble of using the

Jolly Roger when they att acked their prey: Pirates wanted to

distinguish themselves from the other assaulting vessels mer-

chant ships might encounter. Britain criticized the Spanish

Guarda Costa for inhumanely treating some British prisoners it

captured. Nevertheless, at least in principle, the viciousness

coast guard vessels could show toward merchant crews they as-

saulted was limited because they were government-sanctioned

cruisers. Th

ey weren’t permitt ed to wantonly slaughter mer-

chant crews that resisted them aft er these crews cried out for

97

C H A P T E R 4

quarter, for instance. In contrast, pirates weren’t even theoretically constrained in how they treated those they overcame. Pi-

rates were outlaws and would be hanged if authorities captured

them whether they massacred merchant crews they att acked or

not. In this sense, for pirates, massacring resistors was essen-

tially costless. A piratical threat to kill all those who didn’t immediately surrender to them peacefully was consequently a

very credible one. Th

is threat’s credibility facilitated a simple pi-

rate policy one pirate described as “No Quarter should be given

to any Captain that off ered to defend his Ship.”

An angry pirate therefore posed a greater danger to merchant

ships than an angry Spanish coast guard or privateer vessel. Be-

cause of this, merchant ships may have been more willing to at-

tempt resisting these “legitimate” att ackers than their piratical counterparts. Th

is would explain the answer captain William

Wyer’s crew members gave him when Wyer asked if they would

defend their vessel against an approaching, unknown belliger-

ent: “Asking them if they would stand by him and defend the

ship, they answered, if they were Spaniards they would stand by

him as they had Life, but if they were Pirates they would not

Fight.” When Wyer’s men determined it was Captain Black-

beard’s crew bearing down on them, they “all declared they

would not Fight and quitt ed the Ship believing they would be

Murthered by the Sloops Company.”

To achieve their goal of taking prizes without a costly fi ght, it was therefore important for pirates to distinguish themselves

from other ships also taking prizes on the seas. Th

e Jolly Roger

off ered pirates a way to do this by signaling to targets that the sailors assaulting them were the totally unconstrained variety—

those who could murder the entire crew if it resisted. As one

witness described it, the “black Flag with a Death’s Head in it . . .

is their Signal to intimate, that they will neither give nor take Quarter.” Th

e Jolly Roger, then, signaled “pirate,” which meant

9 8

S K U L L & B O N E S

two things. If you resist us, we’ll slaughter you. If you submit to us peacefully, we’ll let you live. As Snelgrave summarized it, the Jolly Roger’s message to merchantmen was “to surrender on

penalty of being murdered if they do not.” Th

e skulls, swords,

and bleeding hearts that graced many black fl ags left litt le room for interpretation. “Everybody knew what these images were

meant to convey.”

And woe to the few who resisted nonetheless. Pirate captain

Edward Low, for example, “had [a victim’s] Ears cut off close to his Head, for only proposing to resist . . . [his] black Flag.” In another case Low’s crew came upon a ship, “and because at

fi rst they shewed Inclinations to defend themselves and what

they had, the Pyrates cut and mangled them in a barbarous

Manner.” Bartholomew Roberts’s crew assaulted a Dutch inter-

loper, which, aft er “mentaining an obstinate defence for four

hours . . . killed a great many of the pirates.” Ultimately, how-

ever, the interloper “being overpower’d was forced to submit

and what men the pirates found alive on board they put to death

aft er several cruel methods.”

Edward England’s pirate crew, which sought to capture Cap-

tain James Macrae’s East Indiaman, also illustrates the credibil-

ity of pirates’ commitment to following through on the Jolly

Roger’s deadly promise. England’s crew ultimately overcame

the East Indiaman, but only “aft er a desperate resistance.” Cap-

tain England, it seems, grew soft on Macrae and didn’t want to

murder him as pirate policy—per the Jolly Roger—dictated.

However, his crew’s response to this ill-founded mercy that vio-

lated piratical protocol points to the seriousness with which pi-

rates took their policy. “England was inclined to favour Captain Mackra; but he was so free to let him know, that his Interest was declining amongst them; and that the Pyrates were so provok’d

at the Resistance he made against them, that he was afraid

he should hardly be able to protect him.” In the end, England

9 9

C H A P T E R 4

succeeded in protecting the resistant merchant ship captain.

But true to the eff ectiveness of pirates’ democratic system of

checks and balances discussed in chapter 2, “Captain England

having sided so much with Captain Mackra’s Interest, was a Means of making him many Enemies among the Crew; they

thinking such good Usage inconsistent with their Polity, be-

cause it looked like procuring Favour at the Aggravation of their Crimes; therefore . . . he was soon abdicated or pulled out of his Government, and marooned.”

For the most part, pirates also stuck to the sunny side of the

Jolly Roger’s promise: mercy for those who peacefully surren-

dered. According to William Snelgrave, for example, one of his

pirate captors informed him they “observe strictly that Maxim

established amongst them not to permit any ill usage to their

Prisoners aft er Quarter given.” Captain Low’s company en-

shrined this policy in its articles, which stipulated “Good Quar-

ters to be given when Craved.”

Th

e Jolly Roger worked marvelously in limiting violent con-

fl ict. As the Boston News-Lett er reported, those merchant crews

“that have made Resistance have been most barbarously butch-

ered, without any Quarter given them, which so intimidates

our Sailors that they refuse to fi ght when the Pirates att ack

them.” Pirates “deliberately publicized [the] policy” behind

their fl ags, “which was so eff ective that they hardly ever needed to kill.” Captain Johnson, for example, describes one case in

which two French cruisers chased Bartholomew Roberts’s

crew, mistakenly believing Roberts’s vessel to be a foreign mer-

chant ship prohibited by French monopoly from trading in

such waters. “Supposing him to be one of these prohibited

Traders, [the cruisers] chased with all the Sail they could make, to come up with him; but their Hopes, which had brought

them very nigh, too late deceived them, for on hoisting of Jolly Roger, (the Name they give their black Flag) their French 1 0 0

S K U L L & B O N E S

Hearts failed, and they both surrendered without out any, or at

least very litt le Resistance.” Surely part of the fear motivating this surrender was the knowledge that, as pirates, Roberts’s

men could and would slaughter the French crews for resisting

them.

Th

us most merchant crews responded to pirate att ack in

the way Benjamin Edwards’s crew members did when George

Lowther’s pirates assaulted them. “Fearing the Consequence of

too obstinate a Resistance against those lawless Fellows,” they

peacefully submitt ed to their pirate att ackers. Indeed, pirate captain Ned Low simultaneously att acked several vessels and

managed to take them all without spending so much as a bullet.

“He threaten’d all with present Death who resisted, which stuck

such a Terror to them, that they yielded themselves up a Prey to

the Villains, without fi ring a Gun.” Th

e Jolly Roger’s success ex-

plains the surprising confi dence one tiny pirate crew exhibited.

Th

ough they had only fi ve crew members among them, they

“sail’d away down the Coast, making them a black Flag, which

they merrily said, would be as good as fi ft y Men more, i.e. would carry as much Terror.”

Th

ough plastered with images of death and destruction, the

pirate fl ag wasn’t all gloom and doom. Pirate targets were, of

course, worse off as a result of pirate att ack. Th

ey had to surren-

der their goods to thieves. However, given that merchant ships

couldn’t avoid this fate in most cases, the Jolly Roger operated

to save merchant sailor lives, not take them. Pirates used the Jolly Roger to enhance their profi t through plunder. But it was

the profi t motive that led them to overtake victims in the least violent manner possible. By signaling pirates’ identity to potential targets, the Jolly Roger prevented bloody batt le that would needlessly injure or kill not only pirates, but also innocent merchant seamen. Ironically, then, the eff ect of the death head’s

symbolism was closer to a dove carrying an olive branch.

1 0 1

C H A P T E R 4

Pirates, Pretenders, and Pooling Equilibrium

We’ve passed over an important part of the story here, however.

Recall that for a signal to successfully distinguish various types of potential senders, it must be more costly for one type to send than for the other. For the Jolly Roger to successfully signal to potential prizes that its att ackers were pirates rather than privateers or coast guard att ackers, then, it needed to be more expensive for legitimate att ackers to use than it was for pirates. If it weren’t, legitimate att ackers would also want to fl y the Jolly

Roger, rendering it useless for pirates. So, how was the Jolly

Roger cheap for pirates but expensive for legitimate ships?

Th

e Jolly Roger was a well-known symbol of piracy. As the

court declared at the trial of Bartholomew Roberts’s crew, for instance, the accused had acted “under a Black Flag, fl agrantly by that, denoting your selves common Robbers, Opposers and Violators of all Laws, Human and Divine.” Ships att acking under the death head’s toothy grin were therefore considered criminal and

could be captured and prosecuted as pirates. Since pirates were

criminals anyway, for them, fl ying the Jolly Roger was costless. If they were captured, the penalty was the same whether they used

the Jolly Roger or not—the hangman’s noose. For legitimate

ships, however, things were diff erent. To retain at least a veneer of legitimacy, privateers and Spanish coast guard ships couldn’t

sail under pirate colors. If they did, they could be hunted and

hanged as pirates. For example, Governor Hart of St. Christo-

phers sent a man-of-war “who is now cruizing among the French

and Spanish Islands of these practices, of the Spanish guarda de

la costa’s; who is resolv’d to bring in all such pirates, where he shall fi nd a black fl ag.” Because of this, while the Jolly Roger signal was “free” for pirates to send, it was expensive for legitimate ships to send. As a result, pirates were more likely to use it than 1 0 2

S K U L L & B O N E S

“legitimate” sea raiders. On seeing the Jolly Roger hoisted, mer-

chant ships could therefore reasonably conclude they were under

pirate, as opposed to coast guard or privateer, att ack. Knowing

this, they knew it was bett er to surrender without resisting.

Despite this, in some cases legitimate belligerent ships couldn’t resist the benefi ts of hoisting the Jolly Roger to take targets.

One colonial offi

cial who complained about the Spanish coast

guard problem, for instance, suggested that one of these sup-

posedly legitimate vessels—captained by a former pirate—was

out cruising, taking British ships under pirate colors. “When he

fi nds any vessel he can overpower, [he] hoists a black fl ag, and acts like a pirate. But if he meets any ship of war, or others that are too strong for him, he then produces a Commission from

the Governor of Porto Rico, as a Guarda de la Costa.” Th

is coast

guard captain evidently remembered the benefi ts of marauding

under pirate colors. He wasn’t alone. “To intimidate” merchant

ships into surrenduring, several coast guard vessels “frequently

hoisted and fought under pirate’s colours.” Th

ese vessels were

trying to exploit the easier surrender the Jolly Roger enabled by pretending they were pirates. So, although fl ying the black fl ag was costly for legitimate belligerent vessels, it wasn’t costly

enough to prevent them from doing so altogether, a fact that

undoubtedly irked many pirates.

Th

e Jolly Roger, then, wasn’t able to establish a perfect sepa-

rating equilibrium. But it must have avoided perfect pooling as

well, or else pirates, and “legitimate” belligerents who some-

times pretended to be pirates, wouldn’t have found any benefi t

in using it. Indeed, a comment from the anonymous author of a

paper on the sugar trade who complained of coast guard vessels

co-opting the Jolly Roger for their own purposes suggests that

despite this contamination of the separating equilibrium pirates

sought to establish with their fl ag, the Jolly Roger managed to

preserve its purpose. Writing in 1724, this author remarked that

1 0 3

C H A P T E R 4

navigation is made “as dangerous as it now is by pirates and the

guard de coast vessels, the latt er of which are undoubtedly sup-

ported underhand by the Spaniards in Europe.” He added that

“on the faith of treaties our merchants fi t out large adventures and fall into the hands of an enemy one dreams nothing of [the

Spanish coast guard], and for that reason no resistance is made,

but if there is up goe the pirate colours, at sight whereof our

men will defend their ship no longer.” Th

e implication of this

fellow’s comments is clear. When merchantmen believed their

att ackers were nonpirates they might resist. But when mer-

chantmen saw the Jolly Roger they concluded they were under

pirate att ack and surrendered without further ado. Th

us, al-

though some Spanish coast guard ships illicitly appropriated

the pirate fl ag, this confi rms the Jolly Roger signal was eff ective.

Of course, if all “legitimate” belligerent vessels had done the

same all the time, the Jolly Roger would have been rendered in-

eff ective. But because of the high cost of doing so pointed to

above, they didn’t, allowing the pirate fl ag to work its magic despite pirate pretenders who sometimes adopted it.

A diff erent, but related, problem also threatened to under-

mine the Jolly Roger’s eff ectiveness. Th

is one, however, came

from within the pirates’ camp rather than outside it. Weaker pi-

rate crews had an incentive to free ride on the skull-and-bones

imagery. Not all pirate crews were large and powerful. If a weak

crew hoisted the Jolly Roger to overtake its prey without a fi ght, but its prey took its chances in batt ling the crew nonetheless,

the prey might defeat the pirate crew indicating to other mer-

chant ships that the Jolly Roger wasn’t so fearsome aft er all. If this happened, even strong pirate crews might fi nd their prey

resisting them, destroying the signaling power of the black fl ag and eroding pirates’ precious profi t.

One likely reason this problem didn’t plague pirates is that,

as discussed above, many pirate crews customized their fl ags.

1 0 4

S K U L L & B O N E S

Flags were similar enough to signal “pirate,” but diff erent enough to communicate a more specifi c identity—namely, which particular pirate crew was att acking. Bart Roberts’s crew, recall,

sailed under a fl ag that featured its captain standing atop “a

Barbadian’s and a Martincan’s Head.” Other pirate crews’ Jolly Rogers depicted hourglasses, bleeding hearts, and full skeletons. If particular fl ags became associated with particular pirate crews, stronger sea scoundrels could internalize the benefi t of

their crew’s Jolly Roger, overcoming the black fl ag free-rider

problem.

Th

e economics of the Jolly Roger sheds light on several impor-

tant features of eighteenth-century pirates. First, piracy was no easy task. In addition to the sailing expertise required for successful piracy, there was the all-important art of plunder. To get within cornering distance, pirate ships had to fool merchant

ships into thinking they were harmless or friendly. Pirates mod-

ifi ed their vessels to enhance their speed and agility to feign in-nocuous approaches and to chase down and corner targets, fl ew

false fl ags, and used other ploys to get within striking distance of potential prizes. On the other side of this dance were merchantmen, which took steps to ward off potential piratical pred-

ators, such as “arming” their ships with dummy guns and paint-

ing pretend canon ports on their vessels. In the end, however,

pirates usually had the upper hand. Th

eir ships were stronger,

faster, and carried more men.

Despite this, pirates still faced a signifi cant problem in taking prey. Th

ey didn’t want to use their muscle to overpower poten-

tial prizes. In fact, contrary to popular perception, which por-

trays pirates as great lovers of violent confl ict and bloody may-hem, pirates wanted to overcome potential prizes peacefully.

1 0 5

C H A P T E R 4

Th

is wasn’t because pirates were pacifi sts. Th

eir desire to avoid

violence stemmed from their desire to maximize profi t. A vio-

lent clash was costly to pirates. It could cause pirate injuries or deaths, damage their primary tool of plunder—the pirate ship—

or even worse, do irreparable damage to booty. Batt le, therefore, not only raised pirates’ operating costs, but also threatened to

reduce piratical revenue.

To strengthen their targets’ incentive to peacefully submit,

pirates developed the Jolly Roger. Existing explanations for the

Jolly Roger focus on its eff ect in terrifying merchantmen into

surrender. However, they fall short in explaining why a pirate

ship many times stronger than its victim would need to resort

to a skull-emblazoned fl ag to achieve this. Th

e economics of

signaling suggests a possible answer to this puzzle. By distin-

guishing pirate att ackers from “legitimate” potential att ackers prowling the sea that weren’t quite as fearsome to resist as pirates, the Jolly Roger allowed pirates to capitalize on their status as total outlaws who could credibly commit to murdering entire crews if they resisted. Th

e Jolly Roger communicated pi-

rates’ policy toward targets very clearly. When merchantmen

saw it they knew what choices they faced. Rather than risking

resistance and subsequently slaughter, most prizes surrendered

without a fi ght.

Finally, and perhaps most important, pirates’ pursuit of

profi t, which led them to adopt the Jolly Roger, operated to en-

hance the welfare of pirates and their prey. Targets would have

undoubtedly been bett er off if they weren’t accosted by sea bandits. But conditional on pirates’ presence, the Jolly Roger en-

sured a “peaceful theft ” instead of a violent and bloody batt le.

Th

us, although the Jolly Roger is one of history’s most recog-

nizable symbols of death and destruction, this symbolism is

only half the story. Th

e other half is the lives the pirates’ omi-

nous ensign preserved.

1 0 6

5 WALK THE PLANK

T H E E C O N O M I C S O F

P I R A T E T O R T U R E

One of the most popular pirate images is the brute and

bearded captain, perhaps with a hook for a hand and

a parrot on one shoulder, barking at a prisoner with

sadistic pleasure, “Walk the plank!” In the movies, the captain,

standing at the edge of his ship, is surrounded by a mob of en-

couraging pirates, while the poor captive stands on a wooden

beam jutt ing from the vessel’s side. Below him swirl the omi-

nous and devouring waves of the sea, or perhaps even the fi ns of circling sharks. Movies and books depict this torture as a pirate pastime, a source of amusement and play. However entertain-ing, the basic “facts” of this oft -depicted pirate picture are purely fi ctional. Th

ere are, in fact, no recorded cases of seventeenth- or

eighteenth-century pirates, hook-handed or otherwise, forcing

captives to jump off wooden planks. Further, pirates weren’t sa-

dists who tortured everyone they encountered for fun. A few

actually showed downright charity to their targets.

Despite this, it’s easy to think of pirates as bloodthirsty

fi ends—as men, one of their prisoners reported, “to whom it

was a sport to do Mischief.” Many pirate contemporaries de-

scribed them as such. Charles Johnson, for example, described

Bartholomew Roberts’s crew’s apparent violent madness as fol-

lows: “It is impossible to particularly recount the Destruction

and Havock,” which these pirates committ ed “without Remorse

or Compunction; for nothing is so deplorable as Power in mean

C H A P T E R 5

and ignorant Hands, it makes Men wanton and giddy. . . . Th

ey

are like mad Men, that cast Fire-Brands, Arrows, and Death, and say, are not we in Sport? ” “Like their Patron, the Devil,” Johnson observed, pirates “must make Mischief their Sport, Cruelty their

Delight, and damning of Souls their constant Employment.”

Modern perceptions of pirates remain wedded to this depic-

tion. Fictional pirates are sometimes portrayed as funny, charm-

ing, and even loveable fellows; but for every “Captain Jack Spar-

row” there are a dozen depraved, feral, and sadistic sea bandits

to do his dirty work. Th

ere were some psychopathic pirates, to

be sure. But most pirates comported more with the att itude

Captain Sam Bellamy expressed when he said, “I scorn to do any one a Mischief, when it is not for my Advantage.” Pirates did in many cases torture captives. But they did so rationally to increase their profi t, “when it was for their advantage,” to use Bellamy’s wording. Pirates skillfully deployed their infamous in-

struments of terror, generating a reputation for cruelty and

madness that spread throughout the maritime world. Th

ey did

this so skillfully that they elevated their reputation to the status of a piratical “brand name.” As a result of this brand name pirates improved their effi

ciency on the account, reaping greater

rewards from their plunder. Unfortunately for the objects of pi-

rate barbarity, the piratical brand name didn’t permit any tor-

tures as kind or quick as walking the plank.

Pirates tortured captives for three main reasons. First, they did so to elicit information, usually regarding the whereabouts of

hidden valuables aboard captured ships. Second, pirates tor-

tured captives to punish government offi

cials for att empting to

capture them or for capturing and hanging fellow pirates. Th

ird,

pirates used torture to punish unscrupulous or abusive merchant

1 0 8

W A L K T H E P L A N K

captains. Th

e fi rst two motives for torture directly contributed

to pirates’ welfare and were part of their profi t-seeking pur-

pose. Th

e third didn’t but instead satisfi ed a piratical “justice

motive.” Perhaps most important, however, this application of

pirate torture may have improved merchant sailors’ treatment

on the seas.

It’s Nothing Personal: Discovering Hidden Booty

Violent confl ict wasn’t the only hurdle pirates faced in maximizing profi ts from their expeditions. Equally damaging to this

endeavor was lost loot. Unsurprisingly, crew members aboard

captured vessels weren’t always as forthcoming with the loca-

tion of certain valuables aboard their ships as pirates would’ve

liked. Even though pirate prey overwhelmingly surrendered to

their att ackers without a fi ght at the sight of the Jolly Roger, some victims tried to foil pirates’ plunder in nonviolent, less de-tectable ways once they were boarded. For example, captured

crew members sometimes hid valuables to keep them out of pi-

rate hands. In other cases a captured vessel’s passengers might

destroy booty to prevent pirates from taking it. One merchant

captain who Edward Low att acked, for example, “hung eleven

thousand moydores of gold in a bag out of the cabbin window,

and as soon as he was taken by the said Lowe, cutt the rope and

lett them drop into the sea.” Since retrieving goods from the

murky depths of the ocean fl oor wasn’t possible, destroying

valuables was like cutt ing off one’s nose to spite one’s face. Still, desperation drove some pirate captives, like Low’s victim above,

to try and destroy booty.

Pirates weren’t only keen to discover the location of money,

however. In some cases they were equally interested in discover-

ing papers that might provide them with valuable information,

1 0 9

C H A P T E R 5

such as news of the course authorities had taken, or a sugges-

tion of where the next rich prize might be sailing. Aft er Black-

beard’s crew seized one vessel, for example, “all their Papers

were perused with the same Diligence as tho’ it had been at the

Secretary’s Offi

ce here in England.” If such papers were on

board but pirates couldn’t fi nd them because their captives had

hidden or destroyed them, pirates might miss an opportunity to

increase their haul.

Captives’ passive resistance therefore posed a threat to pirates’

profi t. If captured crew members hid or destroyed booty, reve-

nue from even a successful plundering expedition would fall, re-

sulting in a smaller share out to each pirate. Pirates developed

their much-famed practice of torturing captives in response to

this problem. By infl icting heinous tortures on those who hid or destroyed valuables, or who were suspected of hiding or destroying them, pirates could prevent behaviors that would otherwise

erode their revenue. Even more important than its ability to re-

veal stashed valuables on the prize a pirate crew had just taken, however, heinous pirate torture prevented crew members on future prizes from att empting to withhold valuable booty. Torture accomplished this by creating a reputation for pirate barbarity

that spread throughout the maritime world. Pirates actively cul-

tivated, and then cashed in on, this reputation, which scared

most victims into surrendering everything they had that their pi-

rate att ackers wanted. Who would dare hide loot from a blood-

crazed mob of “Barbarous and Inhumane Wretches”? Virtually

no one, which is precisely why pirates endeavored to appear in

this way.

Any business that wants to remain in business must develop

and maintain a reputation. Businesses go about this in various

ways. One way is simply to produce high-quality products and

then to rely on word of mouth to spread this information. Th

is

generates a positive reputation that allows fi rms to retain existing 1 1 0

W A L K T H E P L A N K

customers and att ract new ones. On the other hand, if a pro-

ducer off ers a shoddy product, this information also spreads,

destroying the seller’s reputation and with it his customer base.

To make money, then, businesses must consistently behave in

ways that contribute to the kind of reputations they desire to

foster.

Businesses can grow their reputations by investing in brand

names. Brand names institutionalize reputations. When you

think of Mercedes-Benz, for example, you think of high-quality

automobiles. Th

is car manufacturer’s brand name is connected

in our minds with a reputation for quality, luxury, and exclusiv-

ity. Honda also has a brand name, but it conjures up a diff erent reputation in our minds. We associate Honda with durability,

value, and accessibility. Th

us diff erent producers seek to de-

velop diff erent brand names that occupy diff erent niches, de-

pending on the customers they’re catering to. Th

ere are many

ways businesses can invest in brand names, but perhaps the

most common way is through advertisement. By projecting

particular images of themselves publicly, businesses build and

institutionalize reputations for the att ributes they wish to be

known for.

In this respect the business of piracy was no diff erent from

the business of selling cars. Pirates weren’t selling a product.

But their enterprise’s profi tability relied on a reputation and

“brand name,” which pirates sought to cultivate. To prevent

captives from withholding booty in the ways described above,

for instance, pirates required a reputation for cruelty and bar-

barity. And, as I discuss below, adding madness to the piratical

reputation didn’t hurt either. Pirates institutionalized their reputation for ferocity and insanity into a piratical brand name

through the same means Mercedes-Benz uses for this purpose:

word of mouth and advertisement. Pirates didn’t take out glossy

ads in magazines. But they did make a point of publicizing their

1 1 1

C H A P T E R 5

barbarity and madness so their reputation could strengthen and

spread. What’s more, pirates received advertisement for their

reputation in popular eighteenth-century newspapers, which

unwitt ingly contributed to pirates’ ruthless brand name, indi-

rectly facilitating pirates’ profi t.

To develop a reputation for viciousness, pirates sought to

impose the highest cost possible on captives who resisted their

demands by hiding or destroying valuables. Th

is is why pirates

spent so much time, as one court remarked, “making their Hell-

ish Inventions for unheard of Barbarities.” Relatively painless tortures, like the apocryphal walking of the plank, couldn’t create a reputation that would lead victims to surrender everything

in their possession. But the prospect of being cooked alive or

forced to eat the severed ears from their own heads could.

When pirates boarded a prize they therefore enquired into the

whereabouts of valuables. If captives weren’t forthcoming with

this information, pirates launched into a torturous frenzy that

gave the Inquisition a run for its money. Th

us, in response to

the merchant captain discussed above who threw a bag of gold

into the ocean to prevent Edward Low’s pirate crew from taking

it, “Lowe cutt off the said Masters lipps and broyl’d them before his face, and aft erwards murder’d the whole crew being thirty

two persons” In a newspaper article in the American Weekly

Mercury, a witness described how Low’s crew treated other resistant prisoners: “Th

ey cut and whiped some and others they

burnt with Matches between their Fingers to the bone to make

them confess where their Money was.” Apparently it worked.

Low’s pirates “took to the value of a Th

ousand Pistoles from

Passengers and others,” the article noted.

Th

is response to passive pirate prisoner resistance wasn’t

unique to Low. Pirate captain Charles Vane “bound [one cap-

tive’s] hands and feet and ty’d (upon his back) down to the

bowspritt with matches to his eyes burning and a pistol loaded

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W A L K T H E P L A N K

with the muzzle into his mouth, thereby to oblige him to con-

fess what money was on board.” Captain Edward England

“threatned to sink” a victim’s “vessell and throw him overboard

with a double headed shot about his neck, if he concealed

where his money was.” Pirate captain George Lowther also re-

sorted to torture to reveal the location of hidden valuables,

“placing lighted matches between the fi ngers of ” his prisoners

“to make them discover where the gold was.” A less imaginative

pirate captain “threatened to shoot” a captive “for not discover-

ing forty Ounces of Gold” the captive had apparently hidden

aboard the ship. Even the “gentleman pirate” Major Stede Bon-

net wasn’t above torturing captives who weren’t forthcoming

with their booty. According to an article in the Boston News-Letter, Bonnet’s crew “barbarously used” merchant ship captain

“Mac Clenan for hiding his money.”

Th

e buccaneers had a particular skill for infl icting pain on

prisoners who refused to surrender booty. Th

eir practice of

“woolding” illustrates this well. Exquemelin describes this tor-

ture, which the buccaneers administered to one recalcitrant

prisoner: “they strappado’d him until both his arms were en-

tirely dislocated, then knott ed the cord so tight round the forehead that his eyes bulged out, big as eggs. Since he still would

not admit where the coff er was, they hung him up by his male

parts, while one struck him, another sliced off his nose, yet another an ear, and another scorched him with fi re.” To another

pitiful fellow who refused to divulge the whereabouts of booty,

“they tied long cords to his thumbs and his big toes and

spreadeagled him to four stakes. Th

en four of them came and

beat on the cords with their sticks, making his body jerk and

shudder and stretching his sinews. Still not satisfi ed, they put a stone weighing at least two hundred-weight on his loins and lit

a fi re of palm leaves under him, burning his face and sett ing his hair alight.” Th

e French buccaneer Francois L’Ollonais added a

1 1 3

C H A P T E R 5

special fl air to his torture of several stubborn Spanish prisoners who refused to lead him to their hiding compatriots and money.

L’Ollonais “being possessed of a devil’s fury, ripped open one of the prisoners with his cutlass, tore the living heart out of his

body, gnawed at it, and then hurled it in the face of one of the

others.”

Taking a cue from their woolding forefathers, some eigh-

teenth-century pirates literally squeezed valuable information

from their prisoners. Pirate captive Richard Lazenby, for in-

stance, described how Captain John Taylor’s crew treated several

such prisoners. According to Lazenby, Taylor’s men “squeezed

their [prisoners’] joints in a vice to extort confession.” Not to be outdone by their buccaneering predecessors’ inventiveness,

eighteenth-century pirates developed their own special tor-

tures. Consider, for instance, “the sweat.” “Th

e Manner of a

Sweat,” one pirate prisoner explained in the pages of the British Journal, “is thus: Between the Decks they stick Candles round the Mizen-Mast, and about twenty fi ve Men surround it with

Points of Swords, Penknives, Compasses, Forks, &c. in each of their Hands: Culprit enters the Circle; the Violin plays a merry Jig, and he must run for about ten Minutes, while each Man

runs his Instrument into his Posteriors.”

Pirates sometimes got carried away in their zeal to prevent

prisoners from concealing or destroying valuables. In one case,

for instance, an unfortunate woman who several buccaneers

captured “was by some set bare upon a baking stone and

roasted, because she did not confess of money which she had

only in their conceit.” But pirates couldn’t aff ord to torture

prisoners indiscriminately. Wrongly torturing on such suspi-

cion too oft en would render torture ineff ective for pirates’ purpose. If pirates developed a reputation for assured torture, and

thus captives expected to be brutalized whether they delivered

up their valuables or not, captives wouldn’t fi nd it costly to

1 1 4

W A L K T H E P L A N K

Figure 5.1. Building a reputation: Captain Spriggs’s crew administers “the sweat.” From Captain Charles Johnson, A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pyrates, unknown edition.

hide loot. For torture to constitute a penalty, when captives ac-

quiesced to pirate demands, pirates needed to spare them such

cruelty. Philip Ashton, for instance, “learned from some” of his pirate captors “that it was one of their Articles Not to Draw

Blood, or take away the Life of any Man, aft er they had given

him Quarter.” Th

is explains the seeming generosity of the quar-

termaster on Captain Roberts’s ship who observed one of his

men abusing a captive. When he saw this “the Quarter-master

came forward, and took the Pyrate off from beating him, ask-

ing him how he wou’d like it were he a Prisoner.” Th

us, while

pirates had an incentive to torture when they genuinely sus-

pected captive resistance, it wasn’t in their interest to do so

wantonly.

Understanding pirate torture as a rationally chosen means

to develop a reputation for terror provides a rather diff erent

1 1 5

C H A P T E R 5

interpretation to Captain Johnson’s comment that “in the Com-

monwealth of Pyrates, he who goes the greatest Length of

Wickedness, is looked upon with a certain kind of Envy amongst

them.” Because the reputation this “wickedness” created con-

tributed to a threatening brand name, heinous pirate torture re-

duced pirates’ costs of passive captive resistance, enhancing their revenue.

Critical to the word-of-mouth process pirate barbarity de-

pended on, pirates required survivors who could relay the con-

sequences of resisting their demands and spread tales of their

wickedness to others. “Dead men tell no tales.” But this is why

pirates had a strong incentive to avoid slaughtering compliant

captives. Although in some cases it was “good Policy” to sink a

captured vessel aft er relieving her of plunder “to prevent her returning to tell Tales at Home,” pirates oft en released some or all of the crew members who didn’t join them to return home

where they could communicate their experience to others. Pi-

rate captain John Phillips established a reputation as a “bloody, merciless ruffi

an” with the “diabolical disposition of an infernal

fi end” this way. Th

us, when Phillips captured John Fillmore, for

instance, Fillmore was “dread to fall into [Phillips’s] hands,” he later recorded, “having heard of the cruelties committ ed by that execrable pirate.”

Just as the Jolly Roger confronted a potential free-riding

problem within the pirate community, piratical torture did too.

A wimpy pirate crew without the strength or stomach to infl ict

heinous tortures on captives who hid or destroyed booty might

try and free ride on pirate crews that did. If a captive were brave enough to test such a crew, he would learn this, and by spreading the word, could undermine the threat of piratical torture for preventing costly captive behaviors. As with the Jolly Roger, how-

ever, pirates could overcome this free-rider problem if within

1 1 6

W A L K T H E P L A N K

the broader piratical brand name, particular pirate captains, for instance, enjoyed their own individual reputations. And it

seems they did. As discussed above, Captain John Phillips, for

example, enjoyed a fearsome reputation particular to him. And

as I discuss below, so did Blackbeard and other pirates. Pirate-

specifi c brand names prevented the torture free-riding problem

by permitt ing specifi c pirates and pirate crews to internalize

their reputation’s benefi t.

Th

e most public form of communication about pirates in the

seventeenth and eighteenth centuries was through newspapers

published in London and New England. In addition to relating

information about pirate movements, captures, and facts about

crew composition, newspapers also related information from pi-

rate victims and released pirate prisoners. As Joel Baer points

out, in these published accounts “Something about [the pirates’]

temper might be included to help persons that confront[ed]

them in the future.” Newspaper reporting on “piratical charac-

ter” provided pirates further opportunity to build their reputa-

tions as insane, heartless heathens. One way they did this was by broadcasting their fi endish deeds to the legitimate persons they interacted with, who then might relate these deeds to a newspaper that would publish the account. For instance, according to

one pirate captive’s information published in the American

Weekly Mercury, “Th

e Pyrates gave us an account of ” several of

their violent depredations, including their slaughter of crews,

burning of ships, and a particularly proud act in which they “cut off one of the Masters Ears and slit his Nose.” Th

e captive was

astonished that “all this they confessed themselves.” But this isn’t astonishing at all given the helpful eff ects such boasting had on pirates’ reputation.

Another way pirates capitalized on newspaper reporting

about their character was by fostering a “devil-may-care” image

1 1 7

C H A P T E R 5

among the legitimate persons they interacted with, who again

might relate this att itude to newspapers that would publish

their experiences. For instance, pirates loudly proclaimed to

those they overwhelmed that they feared neither death nor the

law. As the British Journal reported, for instance, the members of one pirate crew declared to their captives that “they have no

Th

oughts of ever being taken, but swear, with the most dire Im-

precations, that if ever they should fi nd themselves over-

power’d, they would immediately blow their Ship up, rather

than do Jolly Roger the Disgrace to be struck, or suff er themselves, to be hang’d like Dogs.” Or, as the Boston News-Lett er reported, according to another pirate prisoner, his captors went

about “oft en saying they would not go to Hope Point in the

River of Th

ames to be hung up in Gibbets a Sundrying . . . for if

it should chance they should be Att acked by any Superiour

Power or Force, which they could not master, they would im-

mediately put fi re with one of their Pistols to their Powder, and go all merrily to Hell together!”

Pirates projected this att itude oft en enough that it became

something of a sea-dog slogan. As Bartholomew Roberts fa-

mously boasted, for example, “A merry Life and a short one,

shall be my Mott o.” Th

e operative word here was short. In part,

declarations like Roberts’s were simple statements of fact. Few

pirates managed to survive life on the account for more than a

few years. But equally important, the pirate mott o was also a

useful way for pirates to signal that they had what economists

call a “high discount rate”: that is, that the future meant very lit-tle to them. Th

is was a useful tactic since, if potential victims or

authorities viewed pirates as reckless with their own lives, they would be less willing to risk engaging them or raising their ire

for fear of an irrational and kamikazelike response. Th

is explains

pirate comments, such as the remark one of William Snelgrave’s

pirate captors made, that “as to his part, he hoped he should be

1 1 8

W A L K T H E P L A N K

sent to Hell one of these days by a Cannon Ball.” Even the melo-

dramatics of Blackbeard’s last stand against Lieutenant Robert

Maynard, reported in the Boston News-Lett er for the public to consume, helped solidify pirates’ reputation as short-sighted

demons. As the newspaper described it, before engaging May-

nard, “Teach called for a Glass of Wine, and swore Damnation

to himself if he either took or gave Quarters.”

Pirates’ desire to build their brand name for cruelty and in-

sanity may also explain the seemingly senseless destruction of

cargo pirates engaged in aft er taking some prizes, such as throwing parcels of goods overboard and torching ships that weren’t

up to their piratical standards. Just as newspapers publicized pirates’ declarations of their high discount rates, they also publicized these images of pirate madness. Consider, for example,

how a victim of Bartholomew Roberts’s crew described his

predators’ antics in the Boston News-Lett er. According to the victim, Roberts’s men proceeded “with madness and rage to

tare up the Hatches” and then “enter[ed] the Hould like a Parcel

of Furies, where with Axes, Cutlashes, &c they cut, tore, and broke open Trunks, Boxes, Cases, and Bales, and when any of

the Goods came upon Deck which they did not like to carry

with them aboard their Ship . . . they threw them over board

into the Sea . . . Th

ere was nothing heard among the Pirates all

the while but Cursing, Swearing, Damning, and Blaspheming

to the greatest degree imaginable.” Richard Hawkins, who pirate

captain Francis Spriggs victimized, described a similar scene of

madness about his encounter in the British Journal, noting

“every Th

ing that please them not they threw over board . . .

every individual Th

ing they destroy’d; broke all my Windows,

knock’d down the Cabbin . . . and then deliver’d me my Ship in

a despicable Condition.” One pirate victim’s account, published

in the Boston News-Lett er, spoke specifi cally to pirates’ apparent godlessness and confi rmed the popular perception that pirates

1 1 9

C H A P T E R 5

were “in the Possession of the Devil” and “laughing at the very thunders of God.” “In ravaging the Vessel,” this victim reported,

“they met with two or three Bibles, at the sight whereof some

started and said, Th

ey had nothing to do with them; or with

God, nor any thing Above.”

Th

e same brand-name considerations likely motivated pi-

rates’ pyromania. Captain Johnson provides a list of reasons

why pirates frequently burned ships, which he notes was “some-

times to prevent giving Intelligence, sometimes because they

did not leave men to navigate them, and at other Times out

of Wantonness, or because they were displeased with the Mas-

ter’s Behaviour.” A later section in this chapter discusses pi-

rates’ punishment of merchant captains. But the “Wanton” de-

struction Johnson describes was more likely a deliberate eff ort

to foster an image of insanity and fearsomeness, as discussed

above. For example, when a prisoner asked pirate John Phillips

why his crew needlessly burned ships, Phillips “answer’d, it was

for fun.” Th

ose who witnessed such destruction “for fun” or

read about it in newspapers were shocked by this behavior,

which corroborated the picture of pirates Boston’s advocate

general painted when he described pirates as having “declared

themselves to live in opposition to the rules of Equity and Rea-

son.” In short, pirate “madness” had precisely the eff ect pirates desired.

A few pirates took name branding their fearsomeness a step

further. Edward Teach, the “notorious pyrate bett er known by

the name of Blackbeard,” is the best example of this. By creating a horrible and intimidating physical appearance, Teach cut an

image so terrifying that it created a bloodcurdling reputation,

which over time evolved into a Blackbeard brand name. Accord-

ing to Captain Johnson, for example, “his Beard . . . did not a lit-tle contribute towards making his Name so terrible.” Johnson

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W A L K T H E P L A N K

describes the eff ect Blackbeard achieved with his appearance as

follows:

Captain Teach, assumed the Cognomen of Black-beard, from that large Quantity of Hair, which, like a frightful

Meteor, covered his whole Face, and frightened America

more than any Comet that has appeared there in a long

Time.

Th

is Beard was black, which he suff ered to grow of

an extravagant Length; as to Breadth, it came up to his

Eyes; he was accustomed to twist it with Ribbons, in

small Tails . . . and then turn them about his Ears: three

Brace of Pistols, hanging in Holsters like Bandaliers; and

stuck lighted Matches under his Hat, which appearing on

each Side of his Face, his Eyes naturally looking fi erce and

wild, made him altogether such a Figure, that Imagination

cannot form an Idea of a Fury, from Hell, to look more

frightful.

Rather than resulting from fl amboyance, madness, or eccen-

tricity, pirates like Blackbeard deliberately constructed their bi-zarre and frightful physical appearances to facilitate piratical

plunder. “Th

ere is no doubt that Blackbeard,” for instance, “was

conscious of the public image he had created” and worked dili-

gently to maintain it. Of course, most pirates looked more like

the one this witness described: “He is a middle-sized man, of a

swarthy complexion, inclinable by his aspect to be of a churlish

constitution; his own hair short and brown, and apt, when in

drink, to utt er some Portugese or Moorish words.” Neverthe-

less, pirates could invest in appearances such as Blackbeard’s to complement their reputations for cruelty and insanity, which

reduced victim resistance, and in turn promoted profi ts. For

Blackbeard, at least, this investment paid off . According to

1 2 1

Figure 5.2. Blackbeard’s brand name: Th

e terrible image of Captain Edward

Teach. From Captain Charles Johnson, A General and True History of the Lives and Actions of the most Famous Highwaymen, Murderers, Street-Robbers, &c. , 1742.

1 2 2

W A L K T H E P L A N K

Angus Konstam who has investigated Blackbeard’s life and pi-

ratical career extensively, until Blackbeard’s fi nal batt le with the lieutenant of HMS Pearl, Robert Maynard, who took the

bearded icon’s life, the world’s most notorious and fearsome pi-

rate hadn’t so much as killed a single man. Apparently he didn’t

need to.

Mess with a Pirate, Get the Hook: Deterring Capture

In addition to preventing captives from withholding valuables,

pirates infl icted barbarous tortures and more generally fostered a devilish brand name for another reason as well: to deter authorities from clamping down on them. Th

e pirate M.O. proceeded

along the lines described above, only here, instead of infl icting punishment on stubborn victims, pirates directed their barbarity at government offi

cials who tried to capture sea bandits or,

failing them, those offi

cials’ citizens. As noted in chapter 4, for

instance, in response to the governors of Barbados and Marti-

nique seeking to capture him, Captain Roberts constructed a

special fl ag communicating his new policy: death for any Barba-

dians and Martinicans he might take on the account. Roberts

squelched any doubts about his threat’s credibility when he

captured and “murther’d the French Governor of ” Martinique,

hanging the good governor from the yardarm of his own ship,

“and hang’d the First Mate for some Minutes, because the said

Governor executed one his best Men.”

Other pirates adopted a similar policy, albeit with less pa-

nache than Roberts. Captain Low, for example, was said to have

an “irreconcileable Aversion to New-England Men” and conse-

quently “let none of that Country depart without some Marks

of his Rage.” Low’s “aversion” stemmed from the audaciousness

of the New York–based man-o’-war HMS Greyhound, which

1 2 3

C H A P T E R 5

once att acked Low and succeeded in capturing his pirate con-

sort, Charles Harris. Low announced he would have his revenge

by brutalizing subsequent New England vessels he encountered.

He was good to his word. Th

e next two ships Low captured hap-

pened to be from Plymouth. As the Boston-New Lett er reported the episode, Low slashed one of the captains open alive, “taking

out his Heart,” “roasting” it, “and then made” the captain’s “Mate eat it.” Low served the other merchant captain a tasty treat of

his own, “slashing and mauling” the master, “and then cutt ing

off his Ears,” the pirate captain “made him eat them.”

Several other pirates shared Low’s animosity toward New

England. For pirate captain Francis Spriggs, who sailed with

Low and Harris, the reason for revenge was the same as Low’s.

But the New England–directed rage of several other sea bandits

traced back to the Boston hanging of a handful of pirates who

sailed with Sam Bellamy’s Whydah, which wrecked during a violent storm. Several members of the pirate community swore

revenge for these pirates’ capture. Blackbeard, for example, in-

formed Captain William Wyer, whose ship he’d recently taken,

of the sad news that he’d have to “burn his Ship because she be-

longed to Boston, adding he would burn all Vessels belonging

to New England for executing the six pirates at Boston.” Simi-

larly, merchant ship captain Th

omas Fox testifi ed that the pi-

rates who captured his vessel swore that “if the Prisoners [in

Boston] Suff ered they would Kill every Body they took belong-

ing to New England.”

Pirates didn’t limit their hostility to avenging Bellamy’s men,

however. Th

ey viciously avenged offi

cials’ mistreatment of any

of their “brethren.” Captain Low, for example, met with a ship

“manned partly with English and partly Portuguese; the latt er

Low caused to be hang’d, by Way of Reprisal, for some of his

own Men sent thither.” Th

e English got off easier since Low had

no axe to grind with them. Th

ese “he thrust into their own Boat

1 24

W A L K T H E P L A N K

to shift for themselves.” Bart Roberts used similar tactics to send a message to those acquainted with Captain Rogers, the man

who led the two-ship expedition sent to att ack him off the coast of Barbados. As one of Roberts’s victims publicized in the Boston News-Lett er, “Th

e Pirates seem much enraged at Bristol

Men, for Capt. Rogers sake.” When Roberts’s crew members

took a ship from Bristol, “Th

ey us’d” its captain “barbarously,

because his Countryman, Captain Rogers . . . was of the City of Bristol.” Further, “when any Ship belonging to that Island [Barbados] fell in his Way, he was more particularly severe to them

than others.” Similarly, pirate captain Charles Vane instituted a policy of mistreating Bermudan vessels because Bermuda’s governor arrested pirate Th

omas Brown. As mariner Samuel Coo-

per deposed, “Th

ey beat the Bermudians and cut away their

masts upon account of one Th

omas Brown who was (some

time) detain’d in these Islands upon suspicion of piracy etc.”

Pirates’ threats of revenge caused more than a litt le concern

for a few of the more actively antipirate colonial offi

cials. Vir-

ginia governor Alexander Spotswood, for example, couldn’t

have been pleased when he learned from one of Bartholomew

Roberts’s victims in 1721 that Roberts “expected to be joined

by another ship and would then visit Virginia, and avenge

the pirates who have been executed here.” If this frightened

Spotswood, he must have wet himself a year earlier when he

wrote to the Council of Trade and Plantations that if those

“barbarous wretches can be moved to cutt off the nose and ears

of a master for but correcting his own sailors, what inhuman

treatment must I expect, should I fall within their power, who

have been markt as ye principal object of their vengeance, for

cutt ing off their arch-pirate Th

atch, with all his grand designs,

and making so many of their fraternity to swing in the open air

of Virginia.” But Spotswood wasn’t alone. Lieutenant Governor

Hope of Bermuda, for instance, had his own pirate vendett a to

1 2 5

C H A P T E R 5

fear, the rogues having “endeavour’d my destruction,” as Hope

put it, “because that I have put the laws and H.M. Instructions

in execution upon them.”

According to Marcus Rediker, in at least some cases these

sorts of pirate threats—backed by implementation—actually

worked. As one Bermudan colonial offi

cial complained, for ex-

ample, the island’s residents “fear’d that this very execution [of two pirates] wou’d make our vessels fare the worse for it, when

they happen’d to fall into the pyrates’ hands” and so were reluc-

tant to provide the testimony needed to condemn them. Th

e

threat of pirate retribution, deemed credible because of pirates’

reputation for barbarity, put pressure on government offi

cials to

think twice about zealously pursuing sea bandits. In turn, this

eased the pressure on pirates coming from some authorities.

Mixing Business and Pleasure: Pirate Justice

Pirates used barbarous torture for one other purpose: to bring

“justice” to predatory captains. As William Snelgrave put it,

“Th

ey pretend one reason for these villainies is to do justice to

sailors.” Unlike torture for the purposes considered above, this

motivation for cruelty had a more personal edge. As discussed

in chapter 2, several pirates identifi ed captain mistreatment of merchant sailors as their reason for turning to piracy. In their

part as pirates, some of these sailors took it on themselves to return the favor. Like the other motivations for piratical barbarity, the justice motive also contributed to pirates’ reputation as

madmen who shouldn’t be trifl ed with. Further, by punishing

abusive merchant captains, pirates contributed to a positive

reputation among merchant sailors. Th

is could help with re-

cruiting, make merchant crews more willing to surrender to pi-

rate att ack, and might even incline merchant sailors to help

1 2 6

W A L K T H E P L A N K

their captors in other ways, such as providing them with infor-

mation about the whereabouts of prospective prizes.

Unlike the previous motivations, however, in the case of vig-

ilante justice it doesn’t seem pirates had profi t seeking in mind.

Th

is doesn’t mean justice-based torture resulted from pirate

altruism—unless revenge for “ill usage” could be considered

public spirited. Nonetheless, administering “justice” to unscru-

pulous merchant captains may have generated public benefi ts

for other men employed on the seas.

Recall from chapter 1 that to prevent situations of captain

predation, British law included several protections for merchant

sailors. But offi

cial legal protections could and did fail, leaving

sailors without eff ective, or at least immediate, shelter from captain abuse. Where the law failed to reign in predatory merchant

captains, pirates, oddly enough, picked up the slack. In princi-

ple, the British government could have adopted policies to im-

prove sailors’ protection against merchant captain abuse. For

instance, it could have placed government offi

cials on every

merchant ship leaving British ports. Similarly, it could have de-

ployed its naval vessels to troll the waters, stopping merchant

ships wherever the navy encountered them to inspect the status

of the crew vis-à-vis the ship’s offi

cers. But clearly such policies

would have been impractical. First, they would have been in-

credibly costly to government and a strain on naval resources.

Second, if actually adhered to, they would have substantially

slowed the fl ow of merchant vessels and burdened the very

commercial activity Britain hoped to encourage.

In terms of the costs and benefi ts they faced of bringing jus-

tice to abusive merchant ship captains on the high seas, pirates

were bett er suited for this task than government. Although even

at its height the pirate population was only 15 percent of the

Royal Navy, pirates were still numerous. Further, for pirates, the additional cost of administering justice to predatory merchant

1 27

C H A P T E R 5

ship captains was very low. Pirates were searching for and stop-

ping merchant vessels to plunder them anyway. Inquiring of an

overtaken crew how its master treated sailors and then dispens-

ing justice accordingly required litt le additional time or eff ort.

Any benefi t pirates derived from avenging their own formerly

abusive captains was likely plenty to compensate for this small

cost. And, for the reasons already mentioned, because pirates

were criminals—and perceived as maniacal ones at that—the

threat of pirate justice was highly credible.

Aft er taking a ship, pirates would “examin[e] the Men con-

cerning their Master’s Usage of them, according to the Custom

of other Pyrates.” If the crew informed their captors that its captain had “misbehaved,” the pirates punished him. Pirates did

this with torture, including some of the methods described ear-

lier. On taking a “whole Salt Fleet, consisting of about 20 Sail,”

pirate captain Christopher Condent, for example, “enquir[ed]

into the Manner of the Commanders’ Behaviour to their Men,

and those, against whom Complaint was made, he whipp’d and

pickled”—a torture that involved lashing the abusive offi

cers

and pouring brine on their open wounds.

Particularly unlucky captains might happen into the hands

of pirates who used to sail under them as merchant sailors. Woe

to such a captain if he’d wronged his sailors. One of Edward

England’s pirates, for instance, immediately recognized Captain

Skinner, whom he’d previously sailed under as boatswain, when

England’s crew captured Skinner’s ship. Apparently Skinner had

misbehaved as his captain. Th

e pirate addressed his former mas-

ter as follows: “Ah, Captain Skinner ! It is you? Th

e only Man I

wished to see; I am much in your Debt, and now I shall pay you all in your own Coin.” Th

e pirates tied Skinner “to the Windless,

and there pelted him with Glass Bott les, which cut him in a sad

Manner; aft er which they whipp’d him about the Deck, till they

were weary.” England’s men fi nished Captain Skinner with a

1 2 8

W A L K T H E P L A N K

“shot . . . thro’ the Head.” Captain Th

omas Tarlton must have

been equally distressed to encounter a prisoner aboard Bar-

tholomew Roberts’s ship whom he’d refused help to in the past.

Th

e prisoner “could not spare using some Reproaches of ” Tarl-

ton “for what he thought was Inhumanity.” Th

is “gett ing to the

Ears of Roberts, he took upon him, as a Dispenser of Justice, the Correction of this Tarlton, beating and misusing him grievously.”

Conversely, if a captured merchant crew spoke well of its

captain, the pirates not only spared him punishment, but might

even reward the captain for his humanity and good conduct.

For instance, when Th

omas Cocklyn’s pirate crew took William

Snelgrave’s ship and “endeavoured to beat out my Brains,” as

Snelgrave put it, for ordering his sailors to defend their vessel,

“some of my People that were on the Quarter-Deck observing,

cried out aloud, ‘For God’s sake don’t kill our Captain, for we

never were with a bett er Man.’” Not only was Snelgrave’s life

“safe provided none of my people Complained against me,” the

pirate quartermaster informed him, but by the end of Snel-

grave’s captivity his captors were so impressed with him, they

off ered to gift him a ship loaded with valuable cargo. Captain

Hawkins’s honest conduct toward his sailors similarly spared

him from pirate torture. When his pirate captors suggested

“sweating” the merchant captain, several who knew Hawkins

“did intreat earnestly for me, alledging, Th

at I never did any

Man any ill; that I had done them no Injustice,” so the pirates

excused him. Pirates who knew merchant captain Henry Fowle

also reprieved him and informed their fellow rogues that “he

was an honest Fellow that never abused any Sailors . . . which

hinder’d” Fowle’s ship “from being burnt.”

Pirates might also make gift s to merchant ship captains if

they believed they could forge friendships with these men that

could serve them in the future. Pirate captain William Lewis,

for example, took a ship “belonging to Carolina, commanded 1 2 9

C H A P T E R 5

by [a] Captain Smith.” “Lewis used him very civilly, and gave him as much, or more in Value, than he took from him, and let

him go, saying, he would come to Carolina when he had made Money on the Coast, and would rely on his Friendship.” Similarly, Sam Bellamy’s pirates showed surprising kindness to Cap-

tain Lawrence Prince who they’d recently plundered. “Th

ey

gave the ship taken from Capt. Richards [another recent prize]

to Capt. Prince, and loaded her with as much of the best and fi nest goods as She could carry, and gave Capt. Prince above Twenty Pounds in Silver and Gold to bear his charges.” To strengthen

merchantmen’s incentive to yield to them, some pirates even

“paid” freight to their victims, which harmed the cargo’s own-

ers, but left the captain and sailors no worse for wear. As Alexander Spotswood observed, “It is a common practice among

the Pirats to make presents to Masters of Ships and Seamen of

such Commoditys they have less use of, in lieu of what they

take away.” Merchant ship captain Knott , for example, couldn’t

have been too disappointed at his crew’s capture in 1720. His

pirate att ackers “took what they wanted out of the merchant-

man and gave him money and goods of a very considerable

value for the same.” Captain John Gow’s pirates felt particularly compelled to “ma[k]e a Reparation” to some of their victims,

“giving” to one “what they had taken Violently from another” in

“a strange Medley of Mock-Justice made up of Rapine and Gen-

erosity blended together.”

It’s impossible to say how eff ective the threat of private, pi-

rate-applied justice was in reducing captain predation. But a letter from three merchant shipmasters to Virginia’s governor in

1722 suggests it had some eff ect. “Th

e far greater hazard, which

we run in case of meeting with Pyrates,” they wrote, is “we are

sure to suff er all the tortures wch such an abandoned Crew can

invent, upon the least intimation of our striking any of our

men.” Merchant captains who feared pirate justice may have

1 3 0

W A L K T H E P L A N K

lessened their severity toward sailors; and in this capacity, pi-

rates may have contributed to merchant seamen’s welfare.

Of course, pirate justice wasn’t all upside. While it may have

fi lled a void that the high costs of state-administered justice created, pirate justice suff ered from the absence of any controls.

For instance, instead of fi tt ing the crime, pirate punishments

were likely to vastly exceed this limit. While an offi

cial court

would fi nancially punish many captain abuses, pirates were par-

tial to the death sentence and went out of their way to make ex-

ecutions cruel and unusual. Furthermore, the only participants

in pirates’ private justice system were disgruntled sailors and pirates. Captains received no hearing for their part. Th

us there

was no objectivity under pirate justice. Pirates were liable to kill or torture innocent merchant ship captains even if they sought

impartiality (which they didn’t) and relied only on sailors’ “testimony.” For instance, angry merchant sailors might indict cap-

tains who “corrected” them or put them on short rations even

when such discipline was legitimate. In short, the pirate “justice system” for merchant captains was probably as reasonable as

the justice prison inmates would administer to their wardens if

given the chance. Surely some unscrupulous characters who

would have escaped punishment if they had been left to the offi

-

cial legal system received their dues. But it’s equally certain that others who didn’t deserve punishment suff ered at pirate hands.

Pirate torture, while oft en heinous, was rarely arbitrary. Instead, pirates primarily used grizzly tactics to serve their profi t-seeking purpose. Th

rough barbarous torture, pirates created and dil-

igently tended to their reputation for insanity, cruelty, and murderous destruction. In doing so, these “Fury of unreasonable

Hell,” as one contemporary styled them, “gave you the Liveliest

1 3 1

C H A P T E R 5

Picture of Hell,” fostering a brand name so frightening few

dared to resist them. Captives relinquished valuables they might

otherwise have hidden from their att ackers and some authori-

ties thought twice before capturing and condemning pirates for

fear of retribution against them and their citizens. Although pi-

rates certainly appeared to be, as one court put it, “Instigated by the Devil,” in reality “the Folly and Madness among Pyrates” so

many pirate contemporaries described was rational, reasonable,

and even carefully calculated to achieve a brand name as barely

bett er than, or perhaps worse than, wild animals.

Besides torturing their captives for profi t, pirates also tor-

tured for “justice.” Allegedly wronged by their masters when

they sailed as common tars on merchant ships, pirates were

more than happy to punish merchant captains they came upon

whom one of their members had formerly suff ered under or

whose crew claimed was predatory. On the one hand, pirate jus-

tice for merchant ship captains may have operated to tame these

captains’ abuses, contributing to merchant sailors’ welfare in

cases when government was unable to do so. On the other hand,

absent any controls, pirate justice could be unfair, excessive, and in more than a few cases was probably totally unwarranted.

Finally, although pirates overwhelmingly tortured “with pur-

pose,” there are cases that were no more than sadism as well.

I’ve focused on the former since the latt er is well known and

paints a distorted picture of pirate torture that wrongly portrays brutality for sport as the rule instead of the exception. Nevertheless, we shouldn’t forget that, like a minority of merchant

captains, navy captains, and landlubbers, a minority of pirates

were also simply psychopaths. Francis Spriggs, for example,

forced merchant captain Richard Hawkins to eat “a Dish of

Candles” for his amusement. But Spriggs’s wanton torture looks

like fraternity hazing next to the tortures of truly sadistic pirates, such as Edward Low. Low, for example, burned one victim alive

1 3 2

W A L K T H E P L A N K

for no other reason than, “being a greazy Fellow,” he thought he

“would fry well in the Fire.”

Even Low, however, didn’t brutalize everyone he encoun-

tered. Rather, he oft en reserved his perverse passions for times when unleashing them could profi t him. As noted in an earlier

example in this chapter, for instance, Low released English pris-

oners he captured with whom he had no axe to grind. More

generally, Low seems to have recognized the importance of not

overindulging his sadistic desires. Doing so would undermine

his crew’s ultimate goal—to take prizes with as litt le resistance as possible. In one case, for example, Low captured an old man

who he used as a hostage to extort water from the governor

of Madeira. Th

e pirates “threaten’d to hang [the old man] at

the Yard-Arm” if the governor refused, “but the Th

ing being

comply’d with, the old Man was honourably (as the Pyrates say)

discharged” and returned home “much handsomer cloathed

than when” the pirates took him. Reneging on this agreement

would have ruined Low’s word and made it more diffi

cult to

ransom prisoners in the future. Apparently the profi t motive

was sometimes strong enough to overcome even the most sa-

distic pirate’s inclinations.

1 3 3

6 PRESSING PEGLEG

T H E E C O N O M I C S O F

P I R A T E C O N S C R I P T I O N

In most people’s minds, conscription is as integral to pirate

lore as parrots and peglegs. Popular pirate fi ction repeatedly

portrays the infamous “pirate press.” Th

e press was as sim-

ple as it was terrible. On taking their prey, pirates gave captives two options: join the pirate crew or die. Confronted with this

“choice,” many captives entered the pirate company. Th

e fre-

quency with which popular pirate culture has repeated this

theme has created the perception that pirates conscripted virtu-

ally all their members. It plays into the perception, discussed in chapters 4 and 5, that pirates were blood-crazed killers who

would just as soon murder everyone in their path for fun. If pi-

rates held their victims’ lives in such low esteem, it’s not a

stretch to assume most seamen who joined pirate crews did so

at the point of a cutlass.

Like many infamous pirate practices, there’s a grain of truth

to the rumors about the popularity of the pirate press. Pirates

did compel some sailors to join them. But pirate conscription

was the exception instead of the rule. In reality, most sailors entered piracy voluntarily. Like other counterintuitive pirate be-

haviors, this one, too, was the result of pirates’ self-interest rather than benevolence. Pirates generally augmented their ranks with

volunteers out of simple cost-benefi t considerations. Ironically, similar cost-benefi t considerations perpetuated the perception

that pirates overwhelmingly conscripted their members. Th

e

P R E S S I N G P E G L E G

key to resolving this apparent contradiction again lies in the

hidden economics of pirates.

The Costs and Benefits of Conscription

Unlike the Royal Navy, which oft en had to impress men to get the sailors it needed, “pirates had no diffi

culty in recruiting ordinary

seamen to their ranks” without force. As detailed in chapter 1,

life on seventeenth- and eighteenth-century merchant ships

was diffi

cult, sometimes cruel, and off ered minimal income-

earning potential for most ordinary sailors. Life aboard pirate

ships was no picnic either but was considerably easier, less abu-

sive, and off ered substantially greater income-earning possibilities. If a pirate captive could overcome his moral dilemma, in

many cases the choice to join his captors was probably not diffi

-

cult to make at all. As one of William Snelgrave’s pirate captors informed him, for instance, “Th

e People were generally glad of

an opportunity of entring with them.”

Although many sailors may have been ready to sign on with

their pirate captors, the question remains, why would pirates

have signed them on as free men instead of conscripts? Pirates’

benefi t of conscripting sailors was clear enough. Free men re-

ceived a full share of booty; conscripts, on the other hand, oft en received no share. Pirates could therefore increase their own

shares by forcing captured merchant sailors—even those who

wanted to join them—instead of admitt ing them as volunteers.

Since pirates were already outlaws, they incurred no additional

“legal cost” of conscripting sailors. Pressing seamen should’ve

been a no-brainer for sea robbers.

It only seems this way, however, if we ignore the extralegal

costs pirates incurred by conscripting sailors. Recall that pirate self-governance was critical to their criminal enterprise’s success.

1 3 5

C H A P T E R 6

Pirates couldn’t rely on government to maintain cooperation

between them, to squelch discontent, and so forth; they had to

do this themselves. Th

ey achieved this through privately created

constitutions. Pirate crews unanimously consented to the arti-

cles governing their ships. Th

is prevented confl icts and disagree-

ments that might otherwise jeopardize their ability to cooperate

for plunder. While a pirate crew could compel coerced seamen

to sign its articles, since these seamen didn’t do so voluntarily, they didn’t consent to the ship’s laws in the same way as the rest of the crew. By undermining the unanimity pirates used to secure cooperation on their ships, conscription could undermine

the very purpose the articles served. Pirate captain Bart Roberts seems to have understood this well. Conscripts, Roberts appreciated, “might hazard, and, in Time, destroy his Government.”

In addition to posing a threat to piratical harmony, con-

scripted seamen could be the undoing of a pirate company if

they revolted against their pirate pressers. Pirate captain John

Phillips discovered this when seven forced men in his crew, led

by pressed carpenter Edward Cheeseman, designed “to over-

throw the pyratical Government” on Phillips’s ship and suc-

ceeded owing to “how few voluntary Pyrates there were on

board.” Cheeseman and the other conscripts revolted, delivered

their pirate captors to the authorities, and must have been

pleased when offi

cials convicted and executed the brutes. Forced

men also overwhelmed pirate captain William Fly on Fame’s Re-

venge, delivering Fly and his pirates to the authorities who ultimately condemned the pirates to death. Similarly, if authorities

ever captured a pirate ship, prisoners, such as conscripted crew

members, would be the fi rst to turn on their captors and, as witnesses to the latt er’s piratical acts, could supply damning evi-

dence against them. In Virginia, for example, “a Man and a

Woman” “who had been Prisoners among the Pyrates . . . be-

came the principal Evidences to convict” their captors.

1 3 6

P R E S S I N G P E G L E G

Conscripts were also prone to desert their pirate pressers at

the fi rst chance. If they constituted a substantial portion of the crew they were deserting, their departure could leave the pirates high and dry, with insuffi

cient sailors to man the ship in

overtaking prizes. For example, forty-eight conscripts on pirate

captain John Finn’s Morning Star deserted Finn “on the grand Comanos . . . which was a design’d thing, there being so many

forced men on Board.” An escaped conscript could also pro-

vide authorities with information they could use to capture or

convict pirates. A forced man on pirate captain John Gow’s Revenge, for instance, escaped, “surrender’d himself to the Government . . . and inform’d them who Gow was, and what the

Ship’s Crew were, and upon what Business they were Abroad;

with what else he knew of their Designs.” Even if conscripts

never managed to escape, provided they comprised a signifi cant

proportion of the crew, they nevertheless signifi cantly weak-

ened the ship they sailed on. Forced men, of course, were less

willing to “give it their all” in batt le and might even deliberately

“give litt le” so their crew would be captured. For instance, Captain Cornelius, who shortsightedly stocked his pirate crew with

seventy conscripts, spott ed several Men of War and “was for

giving Chase, but fi nding his Men unwilling, there being, as

they gave for Reason 70 forc’d Men on board,” had no choice

but to sail elsewhere. Similarly, Captain Gow’s pirates had to

fl ee from a prospective French quarry, Gow giving “as a Reason

against engaging with the Martinico Ship, that he had a great

many Prisoners on Board.”

Because of these costs of pressing sailors, pirates were reluc-

tant to force unwilling seamen to join them. Some pirates went

to great lengths to avoid conscripting the sailors they needed.

When Edward Low captured Philip Ashton, for instance, he

began with the pirates’ traditional inquiry of the captured crew

about who would join them. As Ashton put it, “according to the

1 37

C H A P T E R 6

Pirates usual custom . . . [he] asked me, If I would sign their Articles, and go along with them.” A man of strong moral fi ber, Ashton declined. When this failed Low returned to him later and

“asked the Old Question, Whether we would Sign their Arti-

cles, and go along with them?” When Ashton refused again,

Low waited and then reapproached Ashton, this time demand-

ing “with Sterness and Th

reats, whether I would Joyn with

them?” On his third refusal the pirates “assaulted” Ashton—

but not with fi sts. Rather, they subjected the upright sailor to

“temptations of another kind, in hopes to win me over . . . [they]

treated me with an abundance of Respect and Kindness,” off er-

ing Ashton a drink and doing all they could to “sooth my Sor-

rows.” Only when Ashton rebuff ed the fourth advance did a

frustrated Low resort to violent intimidation, declaring, “If you will not Sign our Articles, and go along with me, I’ll shoot you thro’

the Head.” Much to Low’s consternation, Ashton remained obstinate, and the pirate captain dragged Ashton with him any-

way. But clearly Low appreciated the high cost of a conscript

and the benefi t of a volunteer. Why else would he try so hard to convince Ashton to sign his crew’s articles?

Despite his captor’s advances, Ashton stuck to his guns. He

was an unusually righteous fellow in this respect. Many other

captured sailors didn’t share Ashton’s rectitude. Rather, as Snelgrave observed, they “were generally glad of an opportunity” to

join the pirates. Several pirate observers confi rm this and att est to pirates’ aversion to conscripting sailors. As Governor Bennett of Bermuda complained to the Council of Trade and Plantations, for example, “I fear they will soon multiply for to many are willing to joyn with them when taken.” Alexander Spotswood

similarly lamented to the commissioner of the Admiralty that

the pirates’ “strength increases daily by the addition of new men from those Ships that fall in their way, though they give out that they will force no man into their Service.” A late-seventeenth-1 3 8

P R E S S I N G P E G L E G

century pirate contemporary observed this feature of pirates as

well. In describing one pirate crew that augmented its ranks aft er taking a prize, for instance, he noted, “Th

is was dun . . . without

any force or Compulshon, as the pyrats themselves did declare

Th

at thay did not nor would not force him nor sundry more

which did intend To goo with them.” Pirate captive John Brett

testifi ed at the trial of a member of Sam Bellamy’s crew that “it was the Custome among the Pyrates to force no Prisoners, but

those that remained with them were Voluntiers.”

Some seamen didn’t just enter willingly with the pirates who

overtook them. Th

ey begged to join their aggressors. For in-

stance, when Bartholomew Roberts’s crew captured the Onslow, a frigate transporting soldiers, eager volunteers overwhelmed

the pirates. As one witness reported, far from needing to force

anyone, “more would have enter’d than they would accept of.”

According to another witness, “the Pyrates despised most of ”

the Onslow’s volunteers “that enter’d with them, and received them, on their Petitions, only out of Charity.” Rather than conscripting sailors indiscriminately, some pirates were selective in who they allowed to join them. Ned Low, for instance, refused

married men in his crew, “that he might have none with him

under the Infl uence of such powerful att ractives, as a Wife & Children, lest they should grow uneasy in his Service, and have

an Inclination to Desert him, and return home for the sake of

their Families.” Bartholomew Roberts’s pirates wouldn’t allow

landlubbers to join them, taking “none but Sailors into their

Company.” Neither would Roberts permit Irishmen to enter his

crew, “which Country Folks was against the Pyrates Rules to ac-

cept of, because they had been formerly cheated by one Ken-

nedy an Irish Man, who run away with their Money.”

Although pirates’ cost of forcing an ordinary merchant sailor

to join them oft en exceeded the benefi t, for some skilled varieties of sailors things were diff erent. Like merchant ships, pirate 1 3 9

C H A P T E R 6

ships also needed certain skilled sailors in their crews. However, unlike unskilled sailors, skilled varieties were harder to come

by. Furthermore, in contrast to unskilled seamen who were

more-or-less easily substitutable among one another in terms of

the labor they performed on the ship, and none of whom indi-

vidually was especially important to the crew’s overall success,

skilled seamen couldn’t be easily substituted with other men

and their presence was critical to the rest of the crew’s ability to function. Th

is doesn’t mean pirates always conscripted skilled

sailors. Sometimes skilled seamen volunteered to join their cap-

tors. But these factors signifi cantly increased the benefi t of pressing skilled sailors, which in turn increased the frequency with

which pirates pressed them if volunteers weren’t forthcoming.

Skilled sailors comprised a small part of the typical pirate

crew. But they comprised an important part because of their ex-

pertise. Who were these skilled sailors? Pirate captain Th

omas

Howard’s crew, which “forced on board all Carpenters, Cawlk-

ers, Armorers, Surgeons, and Musicians,” provides a good ex-

ample of the kinds of highly skilled seamen pirates most fre-

quently pressed. Surgeons were critical for obvious reasons.

Wounded or sick pirates required medical att ention just like

seamen on legitimate sailing vessels. Carpenters were equally

indispensable for success at sea. Ships, pirate and nonpirate,

commonly confronted situations that could damage them.

Rocks, storms, and of course, violent confl ict, threatened the integrity of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century marine vessels.

A deteriorating or damaged vessel was slower and could sink,

preventing successful sail. Th

e carpenter’s job was to fi x this.

Carpenters were also important for undertaking the impor-

tant task of careening, “a Light Pair of Heels being of great Use either to take, or escape being taken.” And they were responsible for caulking, which involved sealing gaps between the ship’s

planks with oakum and pitch, when a caulker wasn’t readily

1 4 0

P R E S S I N G P E G L E G

available. Th

e other seamen Howard’s crew conscripted per-

formed similar specialized roles, comparably important and dif-

fi cult to fi ll. Coopers, for instance, were in charge of maintaining the ship’s wooden barrels that stored provisions. A good

cooper was crucial to keep victuals fresh as long as possible.

Musicians, on the other hand, were important for supplying pi-

ratical entertainment and for providing the soundtrack for pi-

rate tortures that involved dancing or jigs. Ned Low’s crew, for

example, pressed a boy out of the Sycamore Galley “because he could play upon a violin.”

Although pirates primarily limited conscription to skilled

sailors such as these, they didn’t take a principled stance against forcing unskilled sailors if they needed them and couldn’t fi nd

volunteers. Even in these cases, however, some initially forced

men, aft er only a brief time pirating, grew to rather enjoy their new occupation and joined the crew as volunteers. As one eighteenth-century observer put it, “Doubtless ‘tis possible for a

man to prove a hearty Rogue aft er he is forced into the Service

of the Pirates, however Honest he was before, and however Un-

designedly or against his Consent he at fi rst come among them.”

One captured merchant captain, for example, remarked that

two of his men “were at fi rst forc’d” by his pirate att ackers, “but,”

he added, “I have Reason to believe they turn’d Pyrates aft er-

wards.” Similarly, pirate prisoner Harry Glasby commented at

Robert Crow’s trial that although he believed Crow might have

been “forced at fi rst” by his pirate captors, he “since had done as others ( i.e. ) robb’d and pillaged when he went on board Prizes in his turn.” Some prisoners “converted” because pirate crews

denied conscripts the rights aff orded to volunteers, such as participation in the ship’s democratic decision making, the right to their shares of plunder, and the right to sett le disputes with

other crew members by duel. Pirate conscript Joseph Williams,

for example, was “drubb’d” by Robert Bland, a volunteer pirate

1 41

C H A P T E R 6

in the crew he was forced into. “Williams that he might revenge himself, and have Liberty to fi ght Bland, went that Instant and entered himself as Voluntier in the Ship’s Books, and ask’d

Leave to fi ght Bland, which was allowed him.”

Perhaps the most famous pirate conscript who ultimately

embraced pirate life as a full-fl edged volunteer, however, is piracy’s most successful captain, Bartholomew Roberts, who cap-

tured an estimated four hundred ships in his short-lived career

between 1719 and 1722. Originally a sailor aboard a slaving ves-

sel, Roberts was pressed into piracy by Captain Howell Davis

when Davis captured the slaver off Guinea. “In the Beginning”

Roberts “was very averse to this Sort of Life, and would certainly have escaped from them, had a fair Opportunity presented it

self; yet aft erwards he changed his Principles” and upon Davis’s death accepted the crew’s election of him to the offi

ce of captain.

Roberts tried to cheer up conscript Benjamin Parr with his own

story of conversion. Parr “begg’d of Roberts with Tears . . . that he would let him go from them, to which Roberts reply’d, that he had shed as many Crocodile Tears as himself when he was fi rst

taken,” but had gott en over it, implying Parr would as well.

Force Me, Please

Although pirates didn’t see themselves as “pressers,” a glance at pirate testimony suggests they almost universally conscripted

their members. At their trials pirates time and again claimed

“that they were forc’d men,” compelled against their wills into

piracy. Sailors commonly pleaded they joined the pirates only

because their captors “would, have shot them on Refusal” to

serve with them. How do we reconcile these remarks with ob-

servers’ contradictory comments, discussed above, which sug-

gest most pirates were volunteers?

1 4 2

P R E S S I N G P E G L E G

To answer this question it’s crucial to understand the chang-

ing circumstances pirates faced in pursuing profi t over time. Of particular importance is government’s changing att itude toward

the growing piracy problem in the eighteenth century, which

made it increasingly diffi

cult for pirates to get away with mari-

time banditry. Th

is shift in att itude manifested itself partly

through the introduction of more stringent antipiracy laws.

Th

ese legal changes increased the risk of being a pirate and thus

the cost of going on the account. In the very early days of piracy, between 1340 and 1536, England tried pirates under the civil

law in special courts with jurisdiction over crimes committ ed

on the high seas called Admiralty courts. Th

e pre-1536 law re-

lating to piracy was defi cient in many respects. Most signifi -

cantly, to convict someone of piracy required either the accused

to confess or two eyewitnesses, neither of whom could be ac-

complices, to testify to his alleged act of piracy. In 1536 Eng-

land introduced the Off enses at Sea Act, which rectifi ed this de-fi ciency by mandating that acts of piracy be tried according to

common law procedure—a procedure that permitt ed accom-

plice testimony. Th

is mandate put pirates’ fate in the hands of a

jury of twelve “peers,” which heard cases at special Admiralty

sessions in England’s criminal courts.

Like the law relating to piracy before 1536, piracy law under

the Off enses at Sea Act was also fl awed. Most signifi cantly, it didn’t provide a practical way for England’s growing colonies to

handle the pirates they captured. Although some colonies ad-

opted their own legal procedures relating to piracy, colonial pi-

racy trials were rare and the High Court of Admiralty could

overturn their decisions. In 1684 most colonial trials halted

when the English government decided the colonies didn’t have

jurisdiction to try any cases of piracy. Th

e 1536 statute obli-

gated colonial offi

cials to ship accused pirates and witnesses to

England to att end trial. Since a great deal of piracy took place in 1 4 3

C H A P T E R 6

and around England’s distant colonies, the Off enses at Sea Act

left a serious impediment to eff ectively dealing with sea bandits.

As a later law read:

It hath been found by experience, that Persons commit-

ting Piracies, Robberies, and Felonies on the Seas, in or

near the East and West Indies, and in Places very remote,

cannot be brought to condign Punishment without great

Trouble and Charges in sending them into England to be

tried within the Realm, as the said Statute directs, inso-

much that many idle and profl igate Persons have been

thereby encouraged to turn Pirates, and betake them-

selves to that sort of wicked Life, trusting that they shall

not, or at least cannot be easily questioned for such their

Piracies and Robberies, by reason of the great trouble and

expense that will necessarily fall upon such as shall at-

tempt to apprehend and prosecute them for the same.

In response to this problem, in 1700 England introduced the

Act for the More Eff ectual Suppression of Piracy. Th

e new stat-

ute empowered colonies with commissions from the crown or

Admiralty to preside over Vice Admiralty courts to try and pun-

ish pirates on location. According to the act:

Th

at all Piracies, Felonies & Robberies committ ed in or

upon the Sea, or in any Haven, River, Creek or Place, where

the Admiral or Admirals have Power, Authority or Juris-

diction may be examined, inquired of, tried, heard and

determined, and adjudged, according to the Directions of

this Act, in any Place at Sea, or upon Land in any of His

Majesty’s Islands, Plantations, Colonies, Dominions, Forts

or Factories, to be appointed for that purpose by the King’s

Commission or Commissions under the Great Seal of

England, or the Seal of the Admiralty of England.

1 4 4

P R E S S I N G P E G L E G

In Vice Admiralty courts seven or more commissioners sat

in judgment of accused pirates. Trial by jury per common law

procedure, which an accused pirate still enjoyed if he were

tried in England, was not (with a single exception) aff orded

him if he were tried in one of the colonies, as was increasingly

the case. Th

e creation of regular colonial courts with the au-

thority to try pirates proved a tremendous boon to govern-

ment’s assault on sea robbers. Parliament originally stipulated

that the 1700 act would expire in only seven years. But owing

to the great eff ect it had in permitt ing the more regular prosecution of pirates, parliament renewed it several times following

the War of the Spanish Succession and made the law perma-

nent in 1719.

Th

e Act for the More Eff ectual Suppression of Piracy stuck

two additional thorns in the side of pirates. First, it treated active pirate sympathizers as accessories to piracy and stipulated the

same punishments for them—death and property forfeiture—

as for actual pirates. According to the act:

AND whereas several evil-disposed Persons in the Plan-

tations and elsewhere, have contributed very much to-

wards the Increase and Encouragement of Pirates. . . . Be

it enacted by the Authority aforesaid, Th

at all and every

Person and Persons whatsoever, who . . . shall either on

Land, or upon the Seas, witt ingly or knowingly set forth

any Pirate, or Aid and Assist, or Maintain, Procure, Com-

mand, Counsel or Advise any Person or Persons whatso-

ever, to do or commit any Piracies or Robberies upon the

Seas . . . . [or shall] receive, entertain or conceal any such

Pirate or Robber, or receive or take into his Custody any

Ships, Vessels, Goods or Chatt els, which have by any

such Pirate or Robber piratically and feloniously taken . . .

are hereby likewise declared . . . to be Accessary to such

1 4 5

C H A P T E R 6

Piracy and Robbery. . . . And . . . shall and may be . . . Ad-

judged . . . as the Principals of such Piracies and Robberies.

Second, the law encouraged merchantmen to defend them-

selves against pirate att acks by providing them a reward “not exceeding Two Pounds per Cent. Of the Freight, and of the Ship

and Goods so defended.” By 1717 England not only rewarded

individuals for defensively resisting pirate aggression; it also rewarded them for off ensively initiating aggression against pirates.

Th

ese rewards, published in the Boston News-Lett er, awarded

“for every Commander of any Pirate-Ship as Vessel the Sum of One hundred Pounds; for every Lieutenant, Master, Boatswain, Carpenter, and Gunner the Sum of Forty Pounds; for every Inferior Offi cer the Sum of Th

irty Pounds; And for every Private Man the Sum of

Twenty Pounds.”

In September 1717 Britain off ered pirates a pardon to try

and curb their activities. Th

e initial “Act of Grace” expired on

September 5, 1718, but government subsequently extended the

pardon deadline to July 1, 1719. A number of pirates accepted

the government’s pardon. But fewer did so with the intention

government had in mind when off ering clemency. Accepting

His Majesty’s gracious pardon was good business for pirates

whether they intended to give up their trade or not. Th

e terms

of pardon wiped the slate clean for all piracies previously com-

mitt ed. So, even if a pirate had no intention of permanently re-

nouncing his wicked way of life, it still behooved him to accept

any pardon Britain off ered.

Although many pirates accepted pardon, then, as the att or-

ney general at one pirate trial remarked, “like Dogs to their

Vomits,” many “returned to their old detestable way of living.”

In 1718, for example, Woodes Rogers, the man who did the

most to extinguish eighteenth-century sea bandits, “reduc’d

above a thousand” pirates at New Providence “to accept his

1 4 6

P R E S S I N G P E G L E G

Majesty’s Pardon.” But as several British military offi

cers re-

marked, although these rogues “submitt ed to his Majesty’s

Act of Grace, and sworn allegiance &c. taking Certifi cates of their Submission, yet most of them retained their piratical

Principles.” Rogers estimated that a hundred of the six hundred

New Providence pirates who initially accepted the king’s par-

don returned to their old trade within three months of accept-

ing it.

In 1721 parliament bolstered antipiracy law again, now to

hold accountable anyone who traded with pirates. Under the

new the law any person who “any wise trade with any pirate, by

truck, barter, exchange, or any other manner” was “deemed, ad-

judged and taken to be guilty of piracy” and punished as the

same. Further, to the carrot of reward money, which the 1700

law promised merchantmen that successfully defended their

ships and cargo against pirate att ack, the 1721 law added the

stick of wage forfeiture and six months imprisonment for armed

merchantmen that didn’t try to defend themselves against pi-

rate aggression.

Another important addition in the 1721 law punished naval

vessels charged with hunting sea rovers and protecting mer-

chant ships from pirates for engaging in trade instead. It seems

His Majesty’s warships had taken to using the government’s

vessels as their personal trading convoys rather than to defend

merchantmen and capture pirates. In 1718, for example, Jamai-

ca’s governor complained to the Council of Trade and Planta-

tions of “the neglect of the Commanders of H.M. ships of warr,

who are said to be appointed for the suppressing of pyrates and

for a security to this Island, and protection of the trade thereof, but in reality by their conduct, have not the least regard to the service they are designed for” and are instead engaged in “transporting goods and merchandize which otherwise would be

done by vessells belonging to the Island.” By introducing stiff

1 47

C H A P T E R 6

penalties for such behavior the 1721 law reduced this problem,

putt ing stronger screws to the pirates.

In addition to punishing private individuals who aided and

abett ed pirates, these legal changes could be used to prosecute

public offi

cials, some of whom weren’t exactly on adversarial

terms with pirates. Besides corrupting some merchant sailors,

piracy’s potential riches corrupted some men in government

too. As Alexander Spotswood put it, “People are easily led to

favor these Pests of Mankind when they have hopes of Sharing

in their ill-gott en Wealth.” In the face of strong punishments

for showing such favor, the law could indirectly squeeze pirates

who relied on “legitimate” citizens to carry on their criminal

trade.

Together, these legal changes made piracy in the second and

third decades of the eighteenth century a considerably riskier

employment than it had been before. Pirates rationally re-

sponded to this increased risk with their own tricks for circum-

venting punishment under the law. Th

e primary trick they em-

ployed for this purpose was conscription. Th

is conscription had

one catch, however; in many cases it wasn’t real. More than a

few sailors who pirates forced to join them were, in the words of Captain Johnson, “willing to be forced.”

Once authorities apprehended them, most pirates had litt le

to off er in their defense at their trials. As a result, lame arguments abounded. A key piece of William Taylor’s defense, for

instance, was that he was “given to Reading, not swearing and

bullying like others of them.” Th

is argument failed to persuade

the court. Th

e one defense that did occasionally prove eff ective,

however, was that pirates had pressed a sailor into their service when they captured his ship. Th

e law harshly punished individ-

uals who willingly robbed on the sea. Most convicted pirates

were hanged. However, courts were reluctant to condemn men

who pirates compelled into service under the threat of death or

1 4 8

P R E S S I N G P E G L E G

bodily harm. If accused pirates could demonstrate to the court

that they were in fact pressed men, they could escape their trials unscathed. As Captain Johnson observed, “Th

e plea of Force

was only the best Artifi ce they had to shelter themselves under, in Case they should be taken.” Under the law “Th

e court acquit-

ted all those who could prove that they had been forced to join

the pirates.”

Th

e court that tried several of Bartholomew Roberts’s crew

members in 1722, for instance, identifi ed “the three Circum-

stances that compleat a Pyrate; fi rst, being a Voluntier amongst them at the Beginning; secondly, being a Voluntier at the taking

or robbing of any Ship; or lastly, voluntarily accepting a Share in the Booty of those that did.” Or, as the court that tried William Kidd indicated, “Th

ere must go an Intention of Mind and Free-

dom of the Will to the committ ing an Act of Felony or Pyracy.

A Pyrate is not to be understood to be under Constraint, but a

free Agent; fi r in this Case, the bare Act will not make a Man

guilty, unless the Will make it so.” Clearly, voluntarily complicity with a pirate crew was important to establishing guilt. Pirates exploited this loophole by pretending to conscript seamen who

joined their ranks voluntarily. Since, as discussed above, pirates genuinely compelled some seamen to join their companies,

court offi

cials considered the impressment defense plausible.

For their ruse to work, pirates needed to concoct evidence

that they were conscripts. Although many pirates att empted to

escape punishment by simply claiming they were forced, absent

corroborating evidence to this eff ect the impressment defense

didn’t usually persuade. Pirates generated convincing evidence

of their impressment in two ways. First, conscripts, real and

pretend, asked their captured fellow sailors who the pirates re-

leased to advertise their impressment in one of the popular

London or New England newspapers. If authorities ever cap-

tured the pirates the “conscripts” sailed with, “conscripts” could 1 4 9

C H A P T E R 6

use the newspaper ads verifying their forced status as evidence

in their defense. Aft er being “forced on Board” Captain Rob-

erts’s ship, for instance, Edward Th

ornden “desired one of his

Ship-Mates . . . to take notice of it, and incert it in the Gazett e.”

Out of guilt, pity, or perhaps even complicity, most released

sailors were only too willing to place them for their unfortunate friends. If they weren’t, a litt le palm grease could help things along. Sailors considered these ads such important evidence of

their innocence that they had no compunction about paying

fellow crew members to place them. Nicholas Bratt le, for exam-

ple, “gave all his Wages” to his captain “to put him in the Gazett e as a forced Man.”

“Ads of force” were a marvelous invention for conscripted

sailors. But they were equally useful to volunteers who wanted

to insure themselves against conviction in the event of their

capture. Such sailors could join the pirates, ask their released

colleagues to place an ad verifying their conscription in the

paper, and proceed to go roving about with the comforting

knowledge that if the law ever caught up with them, they had

at least a reasonable shot of gett ing off as forced men. What’s more, this invention was an excellent recruiting tool for pirates.

By reducing the cost of piracy, “ads of force” made it easier for pirates to fi nd volunteers in the face of a more dangerous legal environment. Th

us, far from objecting to these ads, in some

cases at least, pirates actively encouraged them. Aboard one

ship, for instance, “the Quarter-Master of the Pirate Publickly Declared, they would carry them [captives] , and let them send to New England and Publish it if they pleased. ” Pirate captain John Phillips went a step further and demanded that his (alleged)

conscripts’ colleagues represent them as such in the news.

When he forced John Burrell into his crew he “ordered” Jethro Furber, Burell’s captain, “to declare upon his return home, that 1 5 0

P R E S S I N G P E G L E G

the said Burell was a Forc’d Man: And that if the said Furber should neglect to do it, when he met with him again he would Cut off his Ears.”

Th

e second ruse seamen who were eager to join the pirates

used to insure themselves against conviction if captured worked

to enhance the fi rst. Such sailors staged “shows” of pirate im-

pressment in coordination with their att ackers, acted out in

front of their more scrupulous sailing companions who had no

intention of becoming “Brethren in Iniquity.” When pirates at-

tacked a merchant ship, for example, the ship’s crew members

who wanted to join the pirates might devise a plan whereby one

of the aspiring sea bandits would pull aside the pirate captain or quartermaster and inform him of their desire to join the company. Th

e eager sailors would then request their pirate captor to

make a public spectacle of compelling their service to convince

their fellow crew members who didn’t desire to join that they

were conscripted. “Th

eir request was granted with much wav-

ing of cutlasses and brandishing of pistols and shouting in the

hearing of the offi

cers and men on the merchant ship who were

not going to join the pirates.” Captain Roberts, for instance,

asked one prize’s crew members “whether they were willing to

go with him? for that he would force no body; but they making

no Answer, he cry’d, these Fellows want a show of Force” and

pretended to conscript the sailors, who in reality had “agree[d]

one with another to enter.” As Captain Johnson put it, “Th

e pre-

tended Constraint of Roberts, on them, was very oft en a Com-plotment between Parties equally willing.”

Shows of force helped legitimize the advertisements pretend

conscripts used to insure themselves against the risk of convic-

tion if authorities captured them. Since honest captives be-

lieved they had witnessed their comrades’ conscription, they

had no scruples about placing ads publicizing the “victims’”

1 5 1

C H A P T E R 6

names in the newspaper. Further, since witnesses to shows of

force believed this force was genuine, they could supply com-

pelling testimony of their former crewmen’s compelled status

at trial if authorities later captured the pirates.

According to historian Patrick Pringle, “this ruse oft en

worked.” It oft en worked because courts relied on observer tes-

timony about accused pirates’ free or coerced status in deter-

mining their guilt or innocence. For instance, pirate prisoners

Stephen Th

omas, Harry Glasby, and Henry Dawson testifi ed

on accused pirate Richard Scot’s behalf at his trial. All three testifi ed Scot “was a forced Man.” What persuaded them of this

was Scot’s demeanor and behavior while among the pirate crew.

Scot, they deposed, “lamented his Wife and Child . . . with Tears in his Eyes” and “received no Share” in the pirates’ plunder. “Th e

Court from these several Circumstances concluded he must be

a forced Man” and acquitt ed him.

Similarly, eyewitness testimony that a sailor seemed to act

freely or was pleased to be among the pirates could be crucial in establishing his guilt. According to the testimony of one pirate

captive, for example, “I was a Prisoner, Sir, with the Pyrates

when their Boat was ordered upon that Service, and found,

upon a Resolution of going, Word was pass’d thro’ the Com-

pany, Who would go? And I saw all that did, did it voluntarily;

no Compulsion, but rather pressing who should be foremost.”

Th

e court found the pirates he testifi ed against guilty and sen-

tenced them to hang. By the same token, a sailor stupid enough

to publicly declare his piratical desires could expect eyewitness testimony to this eff ect at his trial if pirates later captured his crew and he went along with them. One such sailor, Samuel

Fletcher, whose fellow seamen heard him say “several times

[he] wish’d to God Almighty they might meet the Pyrates,” and

later in fact did, was confronted with his wish at his trial and

found guilty of piracy.

1 5 2

P R E S S I N G P E G L E G

Th

e artifi cial pirate press wasn’t an iron-clad way to escape

punishment. Courts naturally viewed the common claim of

conscription with considerable suspicion, the “Plea of constraint or force, (in the mouth of every Pirate),” as one prosecutor put it.

If a prisoner’s testimony contradicted an accused pirate’s claim

that others forced him, this was doubly so. For instance, Peter

Hooff , a pirate in Sam Bellamy’s crew, argued at his trial “that the said Bellamy’s Company Swore they would kill him unless

he would joyn with them in their Unlawful Designs.” Unfortu-

nately for Hooff , actual prisoners aboard the Whydah, such as Th

omas Checkley, informed the court that “at that time [Bella-

my’s crew] forced no Body to go with them; and said they

would take no Body against their Wills.” Commissioners at pi-

racy trials oft en needed to negotiate confl icting claims like

these. Th

is is where the harder evidence of a newspaper ad

proved especially helpful to accused pirates claiming to be con-

scripts. Sadly, Hooff had no such ad. Th

e court found him guilty

and sentenced him, along with several others, to “be hanged up

by the Neck until you & each of you are Dead; And the Lord

have Mercy on your Souls.”

Even with an ad of force as evidence, however, an accused pi-

rate might not manage to weasel his way out of conviction.

Court offi

cials were weary of “that Hackney Defense made by

every Pirate upon Trial, namely, Th

at he was a forced Man,” as one

advocate general put it, even if less so when such a defense re-

lied on the newspaper ads discussed above. Joseph Libbey, for

instance, who “said he was a forced Man, and was detained by

Low, and produced an Advertisement of it” was nevertheless convicted of piracy and sentenced to hang. Still, the pirates’

ploy was sometimes eff ective. Th

e same court that condemned

Libbey acquitt ed Joseph Swetser whose defense was an ad stat-

ing Captain Low forced him to serve with the pirates. Perhaps

Swetser really was a conscript. Or, like many others, he may

1 5 3

C H A P T E R 6

Figure 6.1. Conscript or volunteer? Joseph Swetser’s “ad of force.” From Boston News-Lett er, June 11–June 18, 1722.

have simply manipulated the court’s judgment with his ad of

force. We’ll never know. And the point is, neither did the court.

Contrary to popular perception, most pirates were volunteers,

not conscripts. Pirates sought willing companions instead of

forced men because of simple cost-benefi t considerations, not

1 5 4

P R E S S I N G P E G L E G

because of a principled objection to using force to get what they wanted. On the one hand, in many cases pirates simply didn’t

have to resort to coercion to increase their numbers. Th

e bett er

treatment and opportunity for vastly superior pay on pirate

ships was plenty incentive for many sailors to sign on under the

black fl ag when given the opportunity. Th

e benefi t of conscript-

ing ordinary sailors was therefore quite low. On the other hand,

the costs of pressing sailors could be very large. Forced men

threatened to destroy the harmony pirates’ system of private

governance was based on. Conscripts were liabilities to pirates

in other ways as well. Th

ey could escape, informing authorities,

or leaving the remaining crew too small to take advantage of the

ship. Even if conscripts didn’t manage to escape, a crew with a

sizeable portion of forced men was less likely to succeed since

conscripts didn’t have the same incentive to participate as vol-

unteers. For some specially skilled sailors, such as surgeons,

coopers, and navigators, the cost-benefi t calculus pirates con-

fronted was diff erent. Since these seamen were necessary and

diffi

cult to come by, and furthermore, since they were relatively

few and therefore taxed pirates’ governance system litt le, pirates conscripted skilled sailors more oft en.

Although the historical record contains many claims of pi-

rate conscription, these claims must be analyzed more closely.

In response to legal changes in the early eighteenth century that raised the risk of pirating, pirates rationally reacted to protect themselves. Th

ey did this by feigning conscription through

staged “shows” to fool their more scrupulous fellow sailors who

didn’t want to join the pirates, and through newspaper ads that

publicized their “forced” status. Th

ese two ruses generated evi-

dence of innocence pirates could use at their trials if they were captured. If these tricks had worked for pirates even half as well as they’ve worked to create the modern perception that most

sea bandits were forced men, nary a pirate would’ve swung from

the gallows.

1 5 5

7 EQUAL PAY FOR EQUAL PREY

T H E E C O N O M I C S O F

P I R A T E T O L E R A N C E

Centuries before the civil rights movement, the ACLU,

or the Equal Opportunity Act, some pirates had al-

ready adopted a policy of “hiring” black sailors in their

crews. What’s more, these pirates extended suff rage to their

black members and subscribed to the practice of “equal pay for

equal work,” or rather, “equal pay for equal prey.” Th

is is star-

tling considering the views and policies towards blacks in the

rest of the seventeenth- and eighteenth-century world. In Eng-

land government didn’t abolish slavery until 1772; and slaves in

the British colonies didn’t enjoy freedom until 1833. In the

United States slavery persisted until 1865. Blacks didn’t enjoy

equal rights as citizens, politically or in the workplace, until

even later than that. In contrast, some pirate crews granted black sailors the same perquisites and privileges of “citizenship” in

their fl oating societies as white sailors in the early 1700s.

Pirates weren’t the only seventeenth- and eighteenth-century

mariners to have black crew members. Merchant ships, Royal

Navy vessels, and slavers also relied on black sailors for labor.

Some blacks even nominally captained smaller ships engaged in

coastal or interisland transport. A few of these black seamen

were freemen. However, most were slaves, operating on behalf

of, or hired out by, their owners, or runaways who found employ-

ment on vessels in need of men. Pirate ships had a larger propor-

tion of black crew members than their legitimate counterparts,

E Q U A L P A Y F O R E Q U A L P R E Y

and as noted above, they sometimes enjoyed the same rights as

their white colleagues. In contrast, on legitimate vessels, slave sailors were invariably treated as, well, slaves. Most signifi cantly, this meant they sailed without pay or voice in their crews.

Were pirates early abolitionists, predecessors of the great

Harriet Tubman and Booker T. Washington, and harbingers of

enlightened color-blind thinking? Far from it. Economic con-

cerns, not loft y ideals, drove pirates to enroll black sailors as paid, full-fl edged crew members. Simple self-interest, in the

unique context in which pirates operated, explains some pirates’

progressive racial practices. Th

e invisible hook, it turns out, may

have fostered pirate tolerance.

Black Pirates

W. Jeff rey Bolster, whose book, Black Jacks, extensively explores black seamen in the age of sail, notes that although data are hard to come by, “the impression is that” black sailors in pirate crews

“were more numerous than the proportion of black sailors in

commercial or naval service at that time.” In 1718, for instance, eighty members of Captain Edward England’s pirate crew were

black. Eighty-eight pirates who went on the account with Cap-

tain Roberts’s crew in 1721 were as well. Sixty black pirates

sailed on one of Blackbeard’s ships in 1717. And at least one of

these was close to Blackbeard personally. Th

is pirate’s name was

Caesar, “a resolute Fellow, a Negroe, whom he had bred up.”

Historian Kenneth Kinkor has performed an invaluable ser-

vice in compiling the racial composition of several pirate crews.

Table 7.1 presents his data, which identifi es the racial makeup of twenty-three pirate companies active between 1682 and 1726.

Th

e data portray highly racially mixed pirate crews. Th

e percent-

age of black crew members in Kinkor’s sample ranges from 13

1 57

C H A P T E R 7

TABLE 7.1.

Th

e racial composition of 23 pirate crews, 1682–1726

Crew

Captain Year

Total

White

Black

%

Black

Anstis 1723

60

40

20

33

Bellamy 1717

180

⬍153

⬎27

⬎15

Charpes 1713

68

48

20

29

Cooper 1726

19

15

4

20

Davis

250

⬍210

⬎39

⬎16

Edmonson 1726

10

6

4

40

England (est. one)

1718

180

130

⬍50

⬍28

England (est. two)

1719

380

300

80

21

Franco 1691

89

39

50

56

Hamann 1717

25

1

24

96

Hamlin 1682

36

16

22

61

Harris 1723

48

42

6

13

La Bouche

1719

64

50

Lewis

80

40

40

50

Lowther 1724

23

16

9

39

Philips 1724

20

17

3

15

Roberts (est. one)

1721

368

280

88

24

Roberts (est. two)

1722

267

197

70

26

Shipton 1725

13

9

4

31

Th

atch (est. one)

1717

100

40

60

60

Th

atch (est. two)

1718

14

9

5

36

Unnamed 1721

50

1

⬍49

⬍98

Williams 1717

40

⬍25

⬎15

⬎38

Source: Kinkor, “Black Men under the Black Flag,” 201.

1 5 8

E Q U A L P A Y F O R E Q U A L P R E Y

to 98 percent. None of these pirate companies were all white. In

seven of the twenty-three crews, or nearly a third, half or more

of the pirate crew was of African descent. If this sample is representative, an astonishing 25 to 30 percent of the average pirate

crew operating in the height of piracy’s golden age was black.

Historians disagree about the status of black crewmen on pi-

rate ships. David Cordingly suggests they were mostly slaves. As

he puts it, “Th

e pirates shared the same prejudices as other

white men in the Western world.” Th

ere’s good reason to believe

this statement. As this book has emphasized throughout, pirates

were profi t seekers and therefore opportunists. Th

ey had no

qualms about doing what was necessary to enhance their hauls.

Sometimes this meant selling captured slaves. Other times it

meant keeping the slaves they captured for the menial tasks

aboard their ships. Further, there’s nothing in the historical record to suggest pirates were racially enlightened compared to

their legitimate contemporaries. But just because pirates proba-

bly shared the same racist beliefs as their legitimate contemporaries doesn’t mean pirates must have always behaved as prejudicially as their legitimate contemporaries did. Contradictory as it may seem, pirates holding contempt for black sailors and simultaneously treating them as equals isn’t contradictory at all.

Th

e reason for this is that indulging one’s beliefs or prefer-

ences can be very expensive. Th

is costliness can lead people to

behave in ways at odds with what they actually prefer. To see

this more clearly, consider a bigoted employer who loves bru-

nett es but loathes redheads. Our bigoted employer owns a shoe

factory and needs employees. Redheads and brunett es are

equally productive; a redhead with 60 hours of training and a

brunett e with 60 hours of training produce the same number of

shoes per hour. But redheads are willing to work at the shoe fac-

tory for $10 per hour, whereas brunett es demand $20 per hour

for the same labor.

1 5 9

C H A P T E R 7

What will the bigoted employer do? He hates redheads. But

for every redhead he hires instead of a brunett e, he pockets an

additional $10 per hour in profi t. In other words, if he wants to indulge his prejudice, it’s going to cost him $10 per hour for

every brunett e worker he employs. If the bigoted shoe factory

owner is as greedy as he is bigoted, he’ll hire redheads even

though he despises them. Th

e profi t motive “forces” him to be-

have in his hiring decisions as though he weren’t prejudiced at

all. In fact, the profi t motive leads the redhead-hating employer to behave as though he actually preferred redheaded workers.

Provided redheaded workers charge less per hour than brunett e

workers, it pays the prejudiced employer to discriminate against

brunett es, hiring only redheads instead.

Th

e bigoted, but profi t-motivated, employer’s actions—hir-

ing redheads and lett ing go of brunett es—also serves to bring

the wages of redheads and brunett es into parity. As he pur-

chases more redheaded labor, redheaded workers’ wages rise.

At the same time, as he purchases less brunett e labor, brunett e workers’ wages fall. Th

e former will rise and the latt er will fall

until there’s no longer a gap the employer can exploit for his

own profi t, that is, until redhead and brunett e worker wages are the same.

Of course, our bigoted employer could choose to indulge his antiredhead thinking in practice. In this example, there’s no law preventing him from discriminating against redheaded workers.

But if he’s interested in making as much money as possible, this

doesn’t matt er. Th

e bigoted employer still acts as if he loves red-

heads rather than loathes them. His antiredhead preferences

and proredhead behavior coexist without contradiction because

there’s a cost of catering to the former, which leads him to act in accordance with the latt er. Incidentally, if the bigoted employer decided to indulge his antiredhead thinking even though he’d

lose money by doing so, it’s unlikely he’d remain in business for 1 6 0

E Q U A L P A Y F O R E Q U A L P R E Y

long if he has competitors. A more profi t-motivated competitor

could hire all the less expensive redheaded workers, lower his

prices accordingly, and drive the bigoted employer, who’s pay-

ing more for brunett e workers and thus can’t lower his prices to compete, out of business.

Th

e relevance of this example for pirates is what it tells us, or

rather doesn’t tell us, about how pirate racism infl uenced the

status of black crew members on pirate ships. Like the bigoted

shoe factory employer above, it’s possible pirates “thought rac-

ist” without “acting racist” when it came to their enterprise. In short, it’s wrong to conclude that because pirates held the same

detestable views about blacks as their legitimate contempo-

raries that pirates necessarily treated blacks in the same detestable ways as their legitimate contemporaries. Pirates, aft er all, were profi t seekers, which means they cared more about gold

and silver than they cared about black and white.

It’s impossible to say what percentage of black pirates identi-

fi ed in table 7.1 was free and what percentage of them was

slaves. But several facts suggest a signifi cant number of black

sailors on pirate ships—and certainly more than on legitimate

vessels—were “regular” pirate crew members in good standing.

For example, some black sailors in pirate companies carried

arms and actively participated in batt le. Several black pirates

fought alongside Blackbeard, for instance. Similarly, a black pi-

rate in Bartholomew Sharp’s crew fought as hard as any of his

white colleagues. Th

is “Negro, who had his Leg shot off , being

off ered quarter, refused it, and killed four or fi ve of their Men, before he was shot dead on the spot.” Unless pirates were in the

dangerous habit of arming slaves, and slaves enjoyed fi ghting to enrich their enslavers, the presence of armed and fi ghting black sailors among pirates suggests they were freemen, not slaves.

Th

e black pirate in Sharp’s crew, for example, was certainly free.

“Th

is fellow,” one of Sharp’s white pirates remarked, “had been

1 61

C H A P T E R 7

a Slave, whom our Commander had freed, and brought from

Jamaica.”

Several black pirates weren’t only active, but rose to positions

of importance, and even authority, within their crews. Caesar,

for instance, was given the important task of blowing up the pi-

rates’ ship should authorities overtake his crew. Similarly, one

Spanish pirate ship’s pilot—among the most important posi-

tions in the company—was “a Negro Man.” Further, as Marcus

Rediker points out, “Black crewmen made up part of the pirate

vanguard, the most trusted and fearsome men designated to

board prospective prizes . . . more than half of Edward Con-

dent’s boarding party on the Dragon,” for instance, “was black.”

Th

ese black pirates are reminiscent of the black soldiers in “the

fi rst integrated national institution in the United States,” the Continental Army. According to historian David Fischer, some

of these men rose to the position of colonel in New England—

an impressive feat in 1776. Notably, the Fourteenth Massachu-

sett s Continental, which led the Continental Army’s racial inte-

gration, hailed largely from Massachusett s fi shing towns, such

as Marblehead, where seafaring and thus racial integration were

more common. But even the Marblehead regiment’s integra-

tion came more than half a century aft er pirates’.

Other black pirates’ behavior also indicates their free status.

A black pirate in Stede Bonnet’s crew, for instance, displayed

“regular” standing in his company. He verbally accosted a white

prisoner, Jonathan Clarke, with the same gusto as other pirates,

calling Clarke the “Negroe.” As Clarke described it: “I was abaft , and one of the Negroes came and damned me, and asked me

what I did there? Why I did not go and work amongst the rest?

And told me I should be used as a Negroe.”

Th

e experience of mulatt o mariner Th

omas Gerrard, who

this same crew captured, suggests pirates treated black sailors

as freemen if they entered the pirates’ company voluntarily.

1 6 2

E Q U A L P A Y F O R E Q U A L P R E Y

According to Gerrard, when “one of the [pirate] Men came

and asked if I would join with them? I told him, No. he said, I

was but like a Negro, and they made Slaves of all of that Co-

lour, if I did not join them.” In his correspondence with the

Council of Trade and Plantations, the governor of Bermuda

corroborated the implication of Gerrard’s remark. He wrote:

“As for the negro men they are grown soe very impudent and

insulting of late that we have reason to suspect their riseing,

soe that we can have noe dependence on their assistance but to

the contrary on occasion should fear their joyning with the

pirates.” Th

is is a peculiar fear to have if by “joyning with the pi-

rates” blacks were trading one form of slavery for another. But

it makes sense if by voluntarily joining the pirates slaves re-

ceived their freedom.

Finally, although courts sometimes acquitt ed black crew

members aboard pirate ships on the grounds that they were

slaves, several viewed black pirates as “regular” pirate crew

members on equal footing with the white members of their

company. Th

e court presiding over the trial of fi ve black pirates

in Blackbeard’s company characterized “the said Negroes” as

follows: “Being taken on Board a Pyrate vessell and by what ap-

pears equally concerned with the rest of the Crew in the Same

Acts of Piracy ought to be Try’d in the same Manner; and if any

diversity appears in their Circumstances the same may be con-

sidered on their Tryal.” Evidently no “diversity . . . in their Circumstances” appeared. Th

e court convicted the black pirates

and sentenced them to death for their crime. If, as this example

suggests, “circumstances” were the same for some black pirates

as they were for white ones, these black pirates must have re-

ceived an equal share of plunder and equally enjoyed the other

rights of crew membership.

Eyewitness testimony to one pirate crew’s operations, for ex-

ample, demonstrates not only that free black pirates existed but

1 6 3

C H A P T E R 7

also that they had the same voting rights as whites. In 1721 a

conscripted “surgeon’s mate” named Richard Moore sailed as a

prisoner in Captain John Taylor’s pirate crew. In his deposition

following his release Moore records an important vote Taylor’s

crew took in which “a hundred & twelve white men & forty

Blacks voted to go to the West Indias” “to endeavour to get a

Pardon.” Th

is couldn’t have been a situation in which everyone

on the pirate ship was allowed to vote, including slaves and

other forced men, because “the Surgeons,” Moore noted, who

like him were conscripts, “had no vote” in the aff air. Although

Moore’s deposition doesn’t speak to the issue of black pirates’

pay directly, it’s almost certain that black pirates who voted received shares equal to every other free crew member. According

to Kinkor, for example, Blackbeard-captive Henry Bostock de-

posed that Blackbeard’s black pirates received booty along with

white ones. “Rewards and incentives therefore appear to have

been based on an individual’s ability to function eff ectively

within the pirate crew rather than on skin color.”

Concentrated Costs, Dispersed Benefits,

and Pirate Slavery

Th

e fact that some, or perhaps even many, blacks sailing on pi-

rate ships were slaves isn’t surprising. What’s surprising is that any blacks sailing on pirate ships were treated as freemen. If anything, we would expect pirates to enslave even the free

blacks they captured from merchant vessels. Merchant ship

captains couldn’t enslave these sailors whose free status the law protected. But pirates, who were full-blown criminals, and thus

totally unconstrained by such legal protections, could enslave

anybody they wanted—freeman or not. Even if the number of

free black pirates was small (which as discussed above there’s

1 6 4

E Q U A L P A Y F O R E Q U A L P R E Y

good reason doubt), how can we account for pirates’ extension

of freedom to any blacks they could enslave?

Rather easily, it turns out. As in chapter 6, simple cost-bene-

fi t reasoning goes a long way. It was oft en in pirates’ economic interest to treat black sailors as freemen, as we’ll see.

Th

e benefi t of a slave in any productive activity was the addi-

tional revenue his “costless” labor earned for his owner. Typi-

cally, a slave had only one owner who therefore enjoyed all of

the slave’s additional revenue. If adding a slave to a sugar plantation, for example, created $1,000 per year in additional revenue

for the plantation owner, the plantation owner benefi ted from

the slave in the amount of $1,000.

On pirate ships, however, things were diff erent. As with their

ships, pirates jointly owned their slave labor. Th

is was because of

pirates’ pay system, discussed in chapter 3. Th

is system, recall,

pooled the proceeds of the entire crew’s labor and divided it

into roughly equal shares (except for a few pirate offi

cers who

received slightly more). So, if a pirate crew enslaved a black

sailor, or anyone else for that matt er, the additional piratical revenue his labor created was combined with the revenue created

by everyone else’s labor and divided among the crew. Of course,

booty was only shared among free pirates, which is where the

benefi t of slavery came in. While a slave’s labor was “costless” to the crew in the sense that the crew didn’t pay the slave a share of the loot, the slave’s labor contributed to greater booty, allowing a larger pool of revenue to be divided among the same number

of pirates. Simplifying a bit, in a pirate crew with n free sailors, if by enslaving a black sailor the crew could take a prize worth, say, $1,000 more than it could take without him, each free pirate

earned an extra $1,000/ n from enslaving the black sailor. Note how this situation diff ers from the plantation owner who enjoyed $1,000 of the additional $1,000 his slave’s labor generated.

Each free pirate crew member, in contrast, enjoys only $1,000/ n 1 6 5

C H A P T E R 7

of the additional $1,000 the slave’s labor generates. In this sense, pirates’ benefi t of slavery was “dispersed.”

Adding concrete numbers to this example illustrates how

dispersed pirates’ benefi t of enslaving a black sailor was. As

noted in chapter 2, the average pirate ship had about eighty crew members. Th

is fi gure, however, includes both free and enslaved

pirates (assuming there are any of the latt er). If, as Kinkor’s data suggests, 25 percent of the average pirate crew was black and,

furthermore, we assume for the sake of argument that all black

pirates were slaves, the remaining crew, among whom booty

would be distributed in equal shares, numbered sixty. Th

at

means, if, as in the example above, enslaving a black sailor en-

abled our pirate crew to take a prize worth an additional $1,000, each free pirate earned only ($1,000/60≈) $16.67 extra, or

about 1.67 percent of the total additional revenue the slave’s

labor created. Under pirates’ pay system, then, an individual pi-

rate received less than 2 percent of the benefi t of a slave that he could potentially enjoy if, like the plantation owner, he was the exclusive owner of the slave’s labor. Th

at’s quite small.

In contrast, an individual pirate’s cost of enslaving a black

sailor was largely “concentrated;” each pirate bore the major

downside of slavery personally. Th

e costs of enslaving a black

sailor were similar to the costs of conscripting a white sailor,

discussed in chapter 6. Although some of these costs to an indi-

vidual pirate were dispersed among the free pirate crew mem-

bers, the most signifi cant cost of a conscript—the liability he

posed in contributing to his crew’s capture, and thus to a pirate’s execution—was concentrated on each sea bandit individually.

Unlike an individual pirate’s benefi t of slave labor—money and

goods—which could be divided and shared, his cost of slave

labor—his death—couldn’t be. Although, as shown above,

under pirates’ pay system an individual pirate enjoyed only

1.67 percent of the benefi t of a slave he could in principle enjoy, 1 6 6

E Q U A L P A Y F O R E Q U A L P R E Y

he suff ered 100 percent of the cost of a slave he could in principle incur.

Collectively, the cost of a slave who led to his crew’s execu-

tion was sixty pirates’ lives. But from the perspective of an individual, self-interested pirate’s cost-benefi t calculus, his comrades’

fi ft y-nine lives don’t enter the equation. Th

e only death that’s

costly to him is his own, and that one he always bears fully. Th

e

“collective benefi t” of a slave, in contrast, could in principle be enjoyed exclusively by an individual pirate. If, like the plantation owner, a pirate singly owned a slave’s labor, he would reap 100

percent of the benefi ts associated with the slave. Th

e only reason

he doesn’t is because of the slave labor ownership arrangement

on pirate ships—the result of pirates’ pay system—which makes

every free pirate an equal “owner” of a slave’s labor.

Like white conscripts, slaves could contribute to a pirate

crew’s capture in multiple ways. One way was through giving

minimal eff ort if authorities accosted their ship, helping their crew to lose in the contest and allowing authorities to overtake

their pirate enslavers. Even more important, minority, as well as white, conscripts could revolt against their pirate enslavers and deliver them to the law. We already considered several cases in

which forced men did this. But, of course, nonwhite prisoners—

slaves—could do so too. For example, an Indian prisoner helped

overtake John Phillips’s crew. According to one of Phillips’s white prisoners, the Indian wasn’t merely a participant in the revolt.

He was the reason for its success. As the white captive put it, had

“it not have been for him our plot would most probably have

failed in the execution.” Similarly, black prisoners aboard Cap-

tain Grinnaway’s pirate sloop helped overwhelm their captors.

As noted above, if such a revolt proved successful, each free pi-

rate shouldered the full brunt of the resulting cost that matt ered to him, which was the end of his piratical employment and oft en

his life. Together with pirate slavery’s dispersed benefi ts, this 1 67

C H A P T E R 7

concentrated cost created an incentive for many pirates to treat

black sailors as freemen instead of slaves.

It’s interesting to compare the logic of dispersed benefi ts and

concentrated costs associated with enslavement for work pur-

poses on pirate ships with the situation on merchant ships.

Since merchant shipping was legitimate, pirates’ chief costs of

slavery—slaves’ contribution to crew member capture and exe-

cution—wasn’t only not concentrated on merchant ships; it

was totally absent. Equally important, rather than facing dis-

persed benefi ts of enslaved black sailors as pirate ships did, on merchant vessels the benefi ts of enslavement were concentrated. As noted above, merchant ships also had black sailors—

a few freemen, but primarily slaves. Landed masters or captains

sailing the ships black sailors worked on owned the black slaves

who manned merchant vessels. Because of this, the full addi-

tional earnings associated with the slave accrued to his owner.

Instead of being dispersed among many pirates, this benefi t was

concentrated on the master who therefore had a much stronger

incentive to keep his slave a slave. Th

is stronger incentive for

the continuing enslavement of blacks sailing on legitimate ves-

sels explains why black slaves on legitimate ships were always

slaves, while black slaves who made their way onto pirate ships

were sometimes granted their freedom.

Given the dispersed benefi t and largely concentrated cost

associated with enslaving black sailors, it’s not surprising some pirate crews placed black pirates on equal footing with whites

instead of enslaving them. But what about the pirates who

didn’t? As pointed out earlier, some pirates held slaves. Despite the dispersed nature of enslavement’s benefi ts and the concentrated nature of an important part of enslavement’s costs, in

some cases pirates’ benefi t of enslaving black sailors must have still exceeded the cost. Why did pirates sometimes fi nd slavery

profi table and other times not?

1 6 8

E Q U A L P A Y F O R E Q U A L P R E Y

Several factors could contribute to slavery’s profi tability for

pirates. Th

e discussion above focused on black sailors forced to

work as slaves on pirate ships. But pirates also desired slaves to sell. In this case the benefi t of enslavement wasn’t only the additional earnings enabled by “free” slave labor, but also 1/ n th of the price a slave could fetch when sold. If slave prices were high, this benefi t, though dispersed, could be signifi cant. More important, if pirates expected to fi nd a ready market for stolen

slaves, the concentrated cost of slaves could be very low. In this case pirates only needed to hold slaves for a short time before

unloading them, shrinking slaves’ window of opportunity to re-

volt. Under these circumstances the probability slaves would

contribute to pirates’ capture, and thus pirates’ cost of slavery, was much lower.

Two other factors could also contribute to the profi tability

of pirate slavery despite the dispersed benefi ts and concentrated costs discussed above. As discussed in chapter 6, like all ships, pirate ships required certain skilled sailors to function. Compared to unskilled seamen, the skilled variety were diffi

cult to

come by. If pirates couldn’t fi nd volunteers to fi ll a needed position, but a captured black sailor could perform this role, the

black sailor’s indispensability signifi cantly increased the benefi t of enslaving him.

Similarly, if pirates captured black slaves who didn’t have the

sailing or navigational expertise required to sail the ship, this could also aff ect pirates’ cost-benefi t calculus of resorting to slavery. Enslaved sailors who revolted against their pirate oppressors posed a considerably lesser threat to their captors if they couldn’t bring the ship to authorities. In such cases pirates’ cost of enslaving black captives, while still concentrated, was much lower. In

turn, pirates had a greater incentive to resort to slavery.

Perhaps the most important factor that could contribute to

pirates’ incentive to enslave black sailors, however, was the

1 6 9

C H A P T E R 7

probability they would be brought to justice if slaves wrested

control of the ship and delivered it to authorities. Chapter 6 discussed eighteenth-century legal innovations that made pirating

riskier than it was previously. Th

e Act for the More Eff ectual

Suppression of Piracy was especially important in this regard.

However, parliament didn’t make this statue permanent until

1719. Th

us it wasn’t until 1719 that the machinery of govern-

ment’s antipiracy legislation was fi ring on all cylinders. Not co-incidentally, the few years following parliament’s permanent es-

tablishment of the 1700 statue correspond with the beginning

of the precipitous decline of the Anglo-American pirate popula-

tion. Th

e year 1719 consequently marked a signifi cant moment

in government’s war against the pirates.

In light of this legal development, a pirate’s probability of government trying and convicting him from 1719 onward increased

signifi cantly. Since the concentrated cost of pirate slavery was slaves’ potential contribution to bringing pirates to justice, pirates’ incentive to hold slaves before 1719 was considerably

greater than it was aft er 1719. Th

is suggests that those pirate

crews most likely to have enslaved black sailors were those oper-

ating before this date, while those operating aft er 1719 had a

stronger incentive to treat black sailors as freemen, per the concentrated cost reasoning discussed above. As noted earlier, there aren’t data on the number of enslaved versus free black sailors on pirate ships to permit us to examine this issue directly. However, the data we do have from table 7.1 on the proportion of black

sailors in twenty-three pirate crews operating between 1682 and

1726 allows us to investigate this issue indirectly. And the evi-

dence is consistent with the argument that pirate crews active

before 1719 were more likely to carry enslaved black sailors than pirate crews active between 1719 and 1726.

While the average pre-1719 pirate crew in table 7.1 was 46.6

percent black, the average 1719–26 pirate crew was only 34.2

1 70

E Q U A L P A Y F O R E Q U A L P R E Y

percent black. Th

e 12.4 percentage point diff erence between

the proportion of black sailors in pirate crews before and aft er parliament made the Act for the More Eff ectual Suppression of

Piracy permanent suggests pirate crews operating in the less

stringent legal environment before 1719 may have carried more

black slaves than pirate crews operating in the more stringent

legal environment established aft er 1719. What portion of this

diff erence is att ributable to black slaves that pre-1719 pirate crews held but post-1719 crews didn’t because of the diff erence

in the probability of being brought to justice is uncertain. But in light of the concentrated cost of pirate slavery discussed above, which becomes more binding on pirates’ policy toward blacks

as the probability of being brought to justice increases, there’s good reason to suspect that at least part of this diff erence is due to black slaves present in earlier pirate crews that weren’t present in later ones.

Queer Buccaneers?

A few scholars have suggested that pirates were a community of

homosexuals. Historian B. R. Burg’s study of pirate sexuality,

Sodomy and the Perception of Evil, makes this argument most forcefully. Given pirates’ progressivism in other areas, such as

governance, social welfare, and race relations, it’s not hard to

also imagine they may have been sexually forward thinking.

Despite this, it’s highly doubtful pirates cared one way or

another about their fellow rogues’ sexual proclivities. As Burg

points out, homosexual contact was present on seventeenth- and

eighteenth-century marine vessels of all varieties. I think Burg

probably overstates the extent of this contact; but there’s litt le doubt homosexuality wasn’t confi ned to landlubbers. Still, there doesn’t seem to be any evidence that the pirate community was

1 7 1

C H A P T E R 7

a predominantly homosexual one, let alone that “homosexual

acts . . . were the only form of sexual expression engaged in by the members” of the pirate community, as Burg contends.

Th

ere is evidence, on the other hand, that at least some pirates were not gay. Several members of Bartholomew Roberts’s crew clearly had a taste for the fairer sex, intending, as they informed a prisoner, “to spend their Money with the Portuguize

Negro Women.” Other pirates, such as Stede Bonnet, were mar-

ried . . . to women. According to eighteenth-century rumor,

Blackbeard had more than a dozen wives. It’s doubtful this is

true; but it’s equally doubtful Blackbeard would have developed

this reputation if he hadn’t taken a strong interest in women. Of course, being married wouldn’t preclude a pirate from engaging

in some side buggery. And it’s possible pirates used the façade

of heterosexuality to mask hidden homosexual desires. But in

the absence of evidence for this, it seems strange to conclude

that all pirates were homosexuals.

Two pirates were cross-dressers. Both sailed with the pirate

dandy, Captain “Calico” Jack Rackam. Th

ese pirates stand out

for a reason besides their cross-dressing, however. Both were

women. In fact, they’re two of only four female Anglo-Ameri-

can pirates we know of in the golden age. One of them, Anne

Bonny, was Rackam’s lover and sailed with his crew dressed as a

man. In an astonishing but confi rmed defi ance of probability,

the other cross-dressing female pirate, Mary Read, was also a

member of Rackam’s crew. In a peculiar twist, Bonny, taking the

pirate lass for a pirate lad, developed a crush on Read only to

have her hopes dashed when Read revealed she was actually a

woman. As Dorothy Th

omas, a prisoner on Rackam’s ship, tes-

tifi ed at their trial: “the Two Women, Prisoners at the Bar . . .

wore Mens Jackets, and long Trouzers, and Handkerchiefs tied

about their Heads; and that each of them had a Machet and Pis-

tol in their hands, and cursed and swore at the Men.” According

1 72

E Q U A L P A Y F O R E Q U A L P R E Y

Figure 7.1. Cross-dressing pirate co-eds: Anne Bonny and Mary Read. From Captain Charles Johnson, A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pyrates, 1724.

to two other eyewitnesses, Bonny and Read “were very active

on Board, and willing to do any Th

ing.” Apparently the pirate la-

dies fi t right in as pirate gents. Dorothy Th

omas was only able

to surmise diff erently “by the largeness of their Breasts.”

Even so, Bonny and Read’s ample bosom wasn’t large enough

to halt the wheels of justice. Th

e court sentenced both cross-

dressing femmes to death by hanging. But their femininity didn’t

prove totally worthless either. As Jamaican governor Nicholas

Lawes reported to his superiors in England, although “the

women, spinsters of Providence Island, were proved to have

taken an active part in piracies, wearing men’s clothes and armed etc. Being quick with child, their sentence was suspended.” Th

us

were spared the pregnant pirates in history’s most infamous

co-ed crew.

Entertaining though they are, the cross-dressing practices

of Bonny and Read and the details of the almost-lesbian love

1 73

C H A P T E R 7

triangle connecting Bonny, Read, and Rackam don’t contain an

ounce of evidence of pirate homosexuality. Th

e pirate commu-

nity was testosterone-driven. As previously discussed, some pi-

rate crews prohibited women from their ships because of the

potential for confl ict females might introduce. (Th

ough, in fair-

ness, Roberts’s crew also prohibited boys). Because of this,

Bonny and Read disguised themselves as men. Th

is obviously

created some confusion for Bonny, a woman dressed as a man,

who developed feelings for Read, who she believed was a man

(thus suggesting a heterosexual preference) but was in fact also

a cross-dressing woman like herself. But there’s no evidence of

homosexuality here.

Th

ose protopirates the seventeenth-century buccaneers,

which this book has referred to at various points, established an interesting institution called matelotage, which some have suggested had homosexual overtones. Under this institution one

buccaneer would pair up with another, mutually agreeing to

share belongings and creating a contract according to which, in

the event either man died in batt le, for instance, his share of

booty would pass to his matelot. If there’s something implicitly homosexual about such arrangements, I must confess, it’s certainly escaped me. As Exquemelin described it, matelotage agree-

ments sometimes explicitly made provisions for bequeathing

property to a dead buccaneer’s wife: “When a man has fi nished service, he seeks out a partner and they pool all they possess.

Th

ey draw up a document, in some cases saying that the partner

who lives longer shall have everything, in others that the survi-

vor is bound to give part to the dead man’s friends or wife, if he was married.”

Like other pirate practices, this one also has a simple eco-

nomic explanation: risk sharing. Matelotage was as a form of in-

surance. Buccaneers could diversify the risk of their chosen

trade by spreading their potential gains and losses over two

1 74

E Q U A L P A Y F O R E Q U A L P R E Y

people instead of one. Whether they sodomized one another is

beside the point. Matelotage created insurance for buccaneers

and helped them bear the uncertainties of maritime marauding.

Pirates’ relationship to black sailors was peculiar. On the one

hand, pirates’ att itudes toward blacks don’t appear to be diff erent from their lawful contemporaries’ att itudes toward them.

Pirates took slaves, held slaves, and sold slaves. On the other

hand, some pirates displayed signifi cantly more tolerant behav-

ior toward blacks. Upward of a quarter of the average pirate

crew may have been black. Many of these sailors were former

slaves and at least some of them were treated on equal terms

with white sailors in the pirate crews they sailed with. Th

ey had

equal voting rights in the pirates’ democracy and likely received an equal share of the pirates’ plunder. Th

is is especially remark-

able since, on the surface, pirates had nothing holding them

back from enslaving black sailors they captured—bondsmen or

free.

Th

e simple logic of the “dispersed benefi ts and concentrated

costs” of slavery on pirate ships may explain pirate tolerance.

Since the benefi ts of enslaving a black sailor on a pirate ship

were divided among its many free crew members and a substan-

tial part of the potential cost of enslavement, namely the in-

creased odds of a pirate crew’s capture, was borne fully by each

free crew member, pirate slavery was sometimes unprofi table.

Th

is wasn’t always true. But sometimes the invisible hook led

pirates to display a racial progressivism in practice that didn’t accord with the racial views in their minds.

1 75

8 THE SECRETS OF PIRATE

M A N A G E M E N T

Piracy’s peak in the eighteenth century lasted litt le more

than a decade. But pirates’ swan song in the 1720s isn’t

a refl ection on their ineff ectiveness. On the contrary, as

previously mentioned, pirates ingeniously extended their pres-

ence as the odds mounted against them. And while they lasted,

pirates were incredibly successful, sometimes earning in only a

few months what it might have taken forty years to earn in legit-

imate maritime employment. Pirates’ demise had litt le to do

with their defects and much to do with a stronger government

determined to exterminate them. Th

at pirates lasted as long as

they did without a government to maintain peace, or facilitate

cooperation, among them is a testament to their eff ectiveness,

not a strike against it. How many other rag-tag bands of miscre-

ants succeeded in causing so much trouble for the world’s great-

est superpower in so litt le time? Not many. So, what was the se-

cret to pirates’ success? For the answer to that question you’ll

have to enroll in Professor Blackbeard’s Management 101 class.

And don’t be late. I hear he’s got a hell of a temper.

Management 101, Prof. Blackbeard, T and Th,

1:00–2:15, Queen Anne’s Revenge

Th

ere would be a lengthy waitlist for a management course

taught by a pirate captain. And students wouldn’t (or at least

T H E S E C R E T S O F P I R A T E M A N A G E M E N T

shouldn’t) scurry to enroll in the course only to hear their pirate professor’s lectures recounting adventurous tales of his criminal life at sea. Th

ey would also hope for a seat in the class because

of what they could learn from their pirate professor about suc-

cessful management. Let’s take a look at the course syllabus.

WEEKS 1–2. Follow the Booty

Readings: Adam Smith, Wealth of Nations; Bernard

Mandeville, The Fable of the Bees

Central Lesson: Greed is good.

Th

e idea of allowing the lure of money to drive people’s behav-

ior conjures up images of corporate mismanagement—embez-

zlement, fraud, and others kinds of self-dealing that benefi t

those at the top and harm prett y much everyone else. In no

small part, this is because of the unfortunate misbehavior of a

few. But what’s overlooked in focusing on this small handful of

exceptions is the regular, even routine, profi t-driven behavior

that results in socially desirable outcomes and makes everyone

bett er off . In the words of Wall Street’s Gordon Gekko, a modern-day pirate if there ever was one, “Greed is good.”

It’s common to associate the “goodness” or “badness” of be-

havior with the “goodness” or “badness” of the motivations that

drive it. But the nobility or ignobility of individuals’ motiva-

tions oft en bears no relationship, and in some cases even exhib-

its an inverse relationship, to the nobility or ignobility of the outcomes these motivations create. Sometimes the basest of intentions can produce the best of outcomes. Th

e milk producer

example used in chapter 1 to illustrate Adam Smith’s invisible

hand principle is one case of this. Your milk producer’s motives

aren’t necessarily “good.” He’s not trying to help you. He

doesn’t care about you and doesn’t even know you. Th

e milk

producer is just a businessman; he’s in it for the money. But his ignoble motives don’t prevent “good” outcomes. Th

ey don’t,

1 7 7

C H A P T E R 8

for instance, prevent you from gett ing the milk you want at a

price you can aff ord. On the contrary, the milk producer’s igno-

ble motives are precisely the reason you do get milk. As Adam Smith put it, “It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, or the baker that we expect our dinner, but from their

regard to their own interest.” Th

e milk producer’s greed com-

pels him to serve you. As a result, you get the milk you desire at the best possible price.

Th

e profi t motive is the most reliable way to make sure your

needs get met. Without the grocer’s greed, you’d be scratching

for turnips in your backyard. Without your landlord’s greed,

you’d be living in a tree house somewhere. And without your

employer’s greed, you wouldn’t have a job. Th

e beauty of mar-

kets is that they harness individuals’ greed and make it service

other people’s desires. Remove the lure of riches and you re-

move your best shot at living a materially enriched life.

Th

e important diff erence between the nobility of individu-

als’ motivations and the actual outcomes their behavior pro-

duces sheds important light on how we should go about evalu-

ating pirates. Pirates may have been “bad” men, motivated by

ignoble desires, and even willing to use violent means to satisfy these desires. But the outcomes of their profi t-motivated behavior were sometimes laudable. For example, profi t seeking is

what led pirates to avoid blasting their prizes to pieces. It also prevented them from wantonly brutalizing their captives. And

it limited their reliance on conscripts. Of course, in each of

these cases, piratical greed didn’t lead to genuine public “bene-

fi ts.” Pirates’ victims would have always been bett er off if they hadn’t faced the threat pirates posed in the fi rst place. But conditional on pirates’ presence, pirates’ ignoble motives—self-in-

terested greed—soft ened the harms pirate victims suff ered.

1 7 8

T H E S E C R E T S O F P I R A T E M A N A G E M E N T

Even more signifi cantly, pirate greed is what motivated

pirates to pioneer progressive institutions and practices. For

example, this greed is responsible for pirates’ system of consti-

tutional democracy—a system virtually unknown in the legiti-

mate seventeenth- and eighteenth-century world. It’s responsi-

ble for pirates’ system of social insurance. Pirate greed is also responsible for some sea rogues’ superior treatment of blacks.

In each of these cases, ignoble pirate motives—indeed, as

greedy criminals, ignobility in the extreme—generated “enlightened” outcomes consistent with some of the modern world’s

most heralded values, such as democracy, equality, and social

safety.

Pirates didn’t embrace “enlightened” values as ends in and of

themselves. Th

ey embraced money. But their tireless pursuit of

the latt er gave way to the desirable outcomes associated with

the former and did so before their legitimate contemporaries

achieved anything like the same. As examined in chapter 3, for

instance, piratical institutions refl ected the brilliance of Madison’s arguments for democratically divided power more than

half a century before Madison wrote them down. In this sense

pirates were harbingers of our most sacred ideas about social

organization. America’s Founding Fathers, to borrow the slogan

of a popular pirate-inspired rum, “had a litt le Captain in them.”

Th

is is why I say pirates deserve more of our respect rather than

less of it. In these ways pirates were truly pioneers, or at least provided early testimony of the workability of a society that

embraced these values. And in this sense we should be decid-

edly, and unabashedly, “propirate.” “Greed,” as Gordon Gekko

put it, “is right. Greed works. . . . Greed, in all of its forms . . . has marked the upward surge of mankind.” A real pirate couldn’t

have said it bett er himself.

1 79

C H A P T E R 8

WEEKS 3–4. Leave Yer Utopia Buildin’ at Madagascar

Readings: Ludwig von Mises, Socialism; F. A. Hayek, “The

Use of Knowledge in Society,” American Economic

Review

Central Lesson: Let your business drive your thinking

about managerial organization, not the other way

around.

Pirate ships confronted many of the problems legitimate busi-

nesses face in att empting to maximize profi ts. Foremost among

these are preventing fi rm members with leadership roles from

self-dealing and motivating workers to contribute to the fi rm’s

goals. As noted above, over the last decade or so in particular,

media reports have revealed shady corporate leaders who em-

bezzled their fi rm’s funds, fraudulently represented their fi rm’s fi nancial position, and engaged in other behaviors that benefi ted themselves at their employees’ expense. Conversely, al-

most all of us can also think of less-than-committ ed employees

we know who steal from the company supply room, conve-

niently fall sick as deadlines approach, and spend more time in

the offi

ce “bathroom” than human gastrointestinal limits sug-

gest is possible. Dishonest workers don’t receive the media at-

tention dishonest CEOs do, but they’re at least as common.

Both sorts of problems—those originating at the point of

fi rm leadership and aff ecting employees, and those originating

at the point of employees and aff ecting fi rm leaders (and oft entimes other employees)—negatively aff ect fi rms’ ability to

function. And both sorts of problems have the same source: a

failure to properly align management-worker incentives. On a

pirate ship, of course, the specifi c forms these problems took

diff ered from the forms they take in legitimate modern fi rms.

But they posed the same threat to the piratical “fi rm’s” success.

Rather than engaging in shady accounting, for instance, pirate

1 8 0

T H E S E C R E T S O F P I R A T E M A N A G E M E N T

captains could self deal by stealing from their crew members,

cutt ing their rations, and abusing their power in other ways.

Similarly, instead of spending unnatural amounts of time in the

“bathroom,” pirate crew members could shirk in their duties by

staying back in a fi ght or hiding loot from their fellow rogues.

As the previous chapters of this book discussed, pirates

largely overcame these incentive-alignment problems by orga-

nizing their enterprises in enterprising ways. To prevent captain self-dealing, pirates democratically elected their leaders and

dispersed power among other members of the crew, such as

the quartermaster. Under this managerial setup a captain best

served his own interest by serving his crew’s interest. If he

didn’t, his crew could remove him from command. To prevent

crew members from shirking, pirate organization made all crew

members equal, or nearly equal, “shareholders” in the compa-

ny’s profi ts. Th

is strengthened the connection between each in-

dividual pirate’s eff ort and his individual payoff . To prevent piratical free riding, pirate articles established bonuses for crew members who displayed noteworthy courage and spott ed prizes;

and in some cases crew members reserved the right to vote on

the share a particular pirate received. Th

is allowed pirates to re-

ward hard-working crew members and punish lazy ones. Pirate

articles also provided workman’s compensation, which reduced

private disincentives to take risks that could cause injury. Th

ese

steps helped align individual crewmembers’ incentives, both

between “ordinary” pirates and between ordinary pirates and

their offi

cers.

Legitimate modern fi rms take similar steps to overcome the

incentive-alignment problems discussed above. Some fi rms have

profi t-sharing arrangements, off er their employees stock op-

tions to more closely connect employee eff orts with the fi rm’s

success overall, and allow stockholders, who are oft en workers,

to have a say in the company’s leadership. Like the steps pirates 1 8 1

C H A P T E R 8

took to bett er align crew member incentives, the measures le-

gitimate modern fi rms take for this purpose are imperfect. But

they must help somewhat or these fi rms, like pirates, wouldn’t

adopt them.

Advocates of “workers’ democracy” (sometimes called “work-

ers’ socialism”) take particular delight in the fact that pirate

ships carried a great deal of intrafi rm decision making by popu-

lar vote. Nineteenth-century Christian socialist Charles Kings-

ley is a good example of this. Kingsley considered a pirate ship a shining example of a “workers’ cooperative,” which he praised

in his poem “Th

e Last Buccaneer.” Twenty-fi rst-century propo-

nents of workers’ democracy see things similarly. In their view,

all fi rms should be managed by a show of employee hands.

Workers should elect managers and CEOs. Th

ey should partici-

pate in hiring and fi ring decisions related to other employees.

Workers should vote on their company’s production activities,

employee and CEO wages, among other things. Th

e “evils” of

corporate capitalism, these advocates contend, result from many

fi rms’ more autocratic managerial structures, which allow cor-

porate leadership to benefi t itself at employees’ expense. Work-

ers’ socialism will solve this and create a more egalitarian and

thus “fair” distribution of corporate earnings.

What the advocates of workers’ democracy overlook is that

profi t-seeking drove pirate democracy. In the particular eco-

nomic context pirates operated in, radical democratic manage-

ment made sense. As discussed in chapter 2, to maximize profi t,

pirates required such organization. Th

is, in fact, is why pirates

used it. But the sensibility of pirates’ democratic managerial organization in the particular context they operated in doesn’t

mean democratic management makes sense for all fi rms in all

circumstances. Diff erent fi rms that operate in diff erent eco-

nomic contexts will fi nd diff erent managerial forms most con-

ducive to making profi ts.

1 8 2

T H E S E C R E T S O F P I R A T E M A N A G E M E N T

A number of specifi c economic factors infl uence the profi t-

ability of various forms of fi rm management. For very large

fi rms, for example, the decision-making costs of workers’ de-

mocracy are simply too large to be cost eff ective. Similarly, for enterprises that require large sums of externally raised capital, it makes sense that external fi nanciers should have a say in the

fi rm’s activities, and in particular its leadership, in proportion to the amount of capital they have at stake. Giving everyone, including workers, an equal say in the fi rm’s decision making

when a small group of investors is footing the bill for the bulk of the fi rm’s operations would lead to ineffi

ciencies. For instance,

workers with much smaller stakes in the fi rm’s capital would

bear much smaller losses if they voted for very risky decisions

and these risks didn’t pan out. In eff ect, they would be able to foist part of the costs associated with risky decision making

onto the fi rm’s primary fi nanciers, who have much more at

stake. Because of this, workers would have an incentive to vote

for very risky projects—projects that would appear too risky to

them if they had to bear the full costs of failure.

Th

e unique nature of piracy prevented such a problem from

emerging on pirate ships. Venture capitalists didn’t fund pirate

“fi rms.” Pirates didn’t require capital beyond what they plun-

dered. Each pirate crew member was consequently an equal

contributor and part owner of the “fi rm” in addition to being

one of the fi rm’s workers. If pirates had required venture capitalists to fi nance them, their managerial structure would have

looked very diff erent; it would’ve been less democratic to pro-

tect the interests of the fi rm’s major fi nanciers. Privateers, for example, engaged in essentially the same activity as pirates—

maritime plunder. However, because they were legal enterprises

and couldn’t rely on stealing the capital they required as pirates could, they required external fi nanciers to supply the capital

they needed to operate. Predictably, privateers used signifi cantly 1 8 3

C H A P T E R 8

more autocratic management than pirate ships. For instance,

privateer fi nanciers appointed privateer captains; crew mem-

bers didn’t elect them. Even though they were engaged in es-

sentially the same activity as pirates, because of the diff erent economic circumstances privateers confronted—namely the

fact that they required external fi nanciers to operate—privateer profi tability dictated a diff erent managerial organization, one that in some important respects was like merchant ships’ managerial organization.

Large modern fi rms that require lots of capital could get away

with piratelike democratic management if their workers fully

and equally “fi nanced” their fi rms as pirates did. But most workers don’t have the fi nances required for this. And many others,

quite reasonably, don’t wish to bear the risk associated with

vesting a substantial portion of their wealth in the fi rm they also work for. Workers in such fi rms are bett er off if specialists with the fi nances required to supply needed capital, and the capacity to bear the risk associated with doing so, provide the capital

their fi rms need instead. But to att ract such fi nanciers, workers can’t expect to have an equal say in the fi rm’s decision making.

Th

e alternative is for fi rms to go without externally raised capi-

tal, which may permit more democratic management, but will

also dramatically reduce the fi rm’s profi tability by artifi cially curtailing production and reduce workers’ wages by limiting the

amount of capital they have to work with.

For very small fi rms where would-be employees are willing

and able to supply all the capital the fi rm requires, things may be diff erent. For example, if three friends with bartending experience pool their resources to start a small bar, which they also

staff , it may make sense to organize their partnership as a kind of

“workers’ democracy” where each friend has an equal vote in de-

cisions relating to the business. In this case the decision-making costs of such an arrangement are low; there aren’t any external

1 8 4

T H E S E C R E T S O F P I R A T E M A N A G E M E N T

capital suppliers to satisfy, and so on. Th

e diff erent costs and

benefi ts that diff erent types of fi rms face, which their diff erent economic contexts create, determine the profi tability of alternative modes of managerial organization and hence which man-

agement mode it makes sense for them to adopt.

In short, there’s no such thing as the effi

cient form of mana-

gerial organization. What’s organizationally effi

cient for one

fi rm may be totally inappropriate for another. Concluding from

the eff ectiveness of democratic management on pirates ships,

or anywhere else for that matt er, that democratic management

is “the best” kind of management, and that Wal-Mart, for exam-

ple, should be organized democratically, is like concluding from

the eff ectiveness of “family government” in which the mother

or father makes all household decisions dictatorially that dicta-

torship is “the best” kind of government and that the U.S. gov-

ernment should be organized autocratically. Such a conclusion

is, of course, absurd. Family government and the U.S. govern-

ment cover very diff erent populations and operate in very dif-

ferent contexts. Pirate ships and Wal-Mart also involve very dif-

ferent populations and operate in very diff erent economic

contexts. Th

ose who make blanket assertions about the superi-

ority of workers’ democracy over all other fi rm organizational

forms propose a one-size-fi ts-all approach where it doesn’t be-

long and where the particular size they advocate actually fi ts

very few. Th

e desire to make profi ts drives fi rms to organize in

the most economically effi

cient manner. Th

is isn’t to say fi rms

never make mistakes. But over time the profi t motive does a

prett y good job of leading them down the correct managerial

paths. What we should take away from pirates’ “workers’ de-

mocracy,” if one insists on calling it that, isn’t the universal desirability of democratic management, but rather the universal

desirability of allowing profi ts to drive fi rms’ organizational forms.

1 8 5

C H A P T E R 8

WEEKS 5–6. Smite Me Blind and Speechless but Don’t

Regulate Me Crew

Readings: Geoffrey Brennan and James M. Buchanan,

The Reason of Rules: Constitutional Political Economy;

G. Warren Nutter, “Strangulation by Regulation,” in

Political Economy and Freedom.

Central Lesson: Regulations are important, but using

government to impose them can backfire.

**Class Reminder** Next week is spring break. Enjoy your

vacation and don’t forget to practice reloading your

blunderbuss. You’ll be tested on this when we return.

See you on the beach.

As discussed in chapter 3, rules and regulations are necessary

for any society to function. Whether government supplies

these rules or private governance does instead, for greed to ser-

vice cooperation rather than undermine it, individuals’ require

some kind of regulatory regime to direct self-interest toward

activities that enhance the former and away from activities that

lead to the latt er. Since pirates were outlaws, they operated outside the scope of government regulations. To prevent their

criminal enterprise from imploding, they regulated themselves

instead. Pirate regulations, which were privately and voluntarily adopted, were successful because they were private and voluntary. Pirates had a bett er idea about the kinds of regulations

their ships needed than outsiders did. Th

ey knew, for instance,

that it was important for them to restrict smoking in the hold

but unimportant to ban smoking altogether. Pirates had what

economists call “local knowledge” of their particular circum-

stances and how various rules were likely to aff ect life aboard

their ships.

Legitimate modern fi rms also have more “local knowledge”

about what kinds of regulations they require to facilitate worker 1 8 6

T H E S E C R E T S O F P I R A T E M A N A G E M E N T

cooperation, and what kinds of regulations are unnecessary

and might even stifl e workers’ ability to cooperate, than out-

siders do. Modern governments aren’t terribly interested in

this, however, and oft en act as if they had bett er local knowl-

edge about what regulations various fi rms need than fi rms do

themselves. Government’s regulatory impositions may very

well have noble motivations. But as the discussion above

pointed out, motivations and actual outcomes can be worlds

apart. Just as self-interested motives can generate socially de-

sirable outcomes, “benevolent” motives can generate socially

undesirable outcomes. Th

us as important as appreciating the

potential “benefi ts of vice” is appreciating the potential “harms of virtue.”

Oft en times, when people deliberately aim to help others,

they actually hurt them rather than helping them. Consider, for

instance, the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA). Th

e U.S.

government created the ADA in 1990 to prevent employers

from discriminating against disabled workers. Th

e ADA seeks

to do this by prohibiting “wrongful termination” of disabled

employees, along with introducing a number of other man-

dates. Under the ADA a disabled worker who believes his em-

ployer has fi red him or otherwise discriminated against him be-

cause of his disability can sue his employer. Th

is legislation’s

intent is to increase disabled Americans’ employment. Th

at’s

certainly a noble goal. But this legislation’s outcome has been

just the opposite of its intention. Th

e ADA’s actual eff ect has

been ignoble indeed. In a 2001 study of the ADA’s eff ects on

disabled individuals’ employment, MIT economists Daron Ac-

emoglu and Joshua Angrist found the ADA signifi cantly reduced the number of disabled citizens American employers hired. In

economist lingo, the ADA creates “perverse, unintended conse-

quences.” Th

e ADA rules raise the cost of hiring disabled work-

ers. If such a worker proves less diligent or productive, for

1 8 7

C H A P T E R 8

example, even for reasons totally unrelated, to his disability, the ADA makes it more diffi

cult to fi re him. So, employers simply

avoid hiring disabled workers in the fi rst place.

Allowing the profi t motive to drive the regulations fi rms

adopt isn’t perfect. But it tends to produce bett er outcomes,

and fewer “regulatory backfi res,” like in the ADA example

above, than government-imposed regulations. Because they

were profi t driven, pirates, recall, had an incentive to create

rules and regulations that created a more desirable workplace.

For instance, to att ract willing sailors, pirate “fi rms” needed to create rules that ensured offi

cers wouldn’t cheat them out of

their shares or abuse them in other ways. Because they’re also

profi t motivated, legitimate modern businesses confront simi-

lar pressures to create desirable workplaces for their employ-

ees, lest they lose them to competitors that do. Th

is includes

voluntarily adopting workplace rules and regulations that facili-

tate cooperation and provide for workers’ safety. Since fi rms

have local knowledge about what regulations make sense in

their particular case and what ones don’t, the rules they intro-

duce are more likely to be eff ective and less likely to generate the undesirable, unintended consequences government regulation can produce.

WEEKS 7–8. An Open Mind Is a Full Treasure Chest

Readings: Gary S. Becker, The Economics of

Discrimination; Thomas Sowell, Race and Economics

Central Lesson: Don’t let your prejudices get in the way

of a better payday.

As discussed in chapter 7, to maximize the profi tability of their enterprise, pirates sometimes had to put aside their thinking

about black and white to focus on seizing silver and gold. Th

is

lesson is doubly important for legitimate modern fi rms to

1 8 8

T H E S E C R E T S O F P I R A T E M A N A G E M E N T

appreciate. Pirates’ “competitors” were other ships operated by

men as racist as they were. Further, the minority sailors pirate

ships dealt with were oft en escaped slaves with very litt le bargaining power to “shop around” for a bett er deal than the one

off ered by the ship they sailed on. Th

us, although profi t seeking

in the presence of the “concentrated costs and dispersed bene-

fi ts” of slavery led some pirates to display racial tolerance despite their racist beliefs, competitive pressures didn’t have any infl uence on pirates’ racial policies.

For modern legitimate fi rms, however, simple competitive

pressures can have a substantial infl uence on their bott om lines.

Whether an employer is prejudiced against blacks, women,

disabled workers, or pirates, he can indulge his prejudice only

at his profi t’s peril. Chapter 7 discussed why this is so. Refusing to hire a worker because an employer doesn’t like him—for

whatever reason—will backfi re if the worker adds more value

to the fi rm than he’s asking for in compensation. If a prejudiced employer does this, his more profi t-driven rival will hire the

worker instead, leading the prejudiced employer to lose and

his rival to gain. Th

us, even more so than for pirates, for legiti-

mate modern fi rms, an open mind is paramount to profi t

maximization.

Weeks 9–10. Look Sharp to the Law and Devil Damn Ye

if Ye Don’t

Readings: F. A. Hayek, The Constitution of Liberty; James M. Buchanan, Robert D. Tollison, and Gordon Tullock,

Toward a Theory of the Rent-Seeking Society

Central Lesson: Be on the lookout for legal changes that

might affect your bottom line.

To protect themselves against the rising cost of their illicit trade that new antipiracy legislation created, pirates needed to be

1 8 9

C H A P T E R 8

aware of the changing legal environment they confronted and

develop ways to try and circumvent these changes. Pirates did

their best; they staged “shows” of impressments and used “ads

of force” to adduce evidence of their innocence if their crews

were caught. Th

ese strategies were partly eff ective; but they

weren’t enough to survive a British government determined to

squelch sea dogs’ very existence.

Legitimate modern fi rms also face an uphill batt le when it

comes to changing laws that make it more diffi

cult for them to

survive. Th

e tremendous growth of government over the last

280 years has created continuously sprawling legislation that af-

fects every fi rm that operates today. More than ever, this makes economic survival dependent on knowledge of and adaptation

to a changing legal environment. One way fi rms have adapted

to the expanding reach of legislation is through what econo-

mists call “rent seeking.” Some fi rms have cleverly fi gured out how to make the far-reaching regulatory environment they confront work to their advantage.

Firms of all stripes invest astonishing sums every year to

“capture” the legislative process on which their continued

livelihood depends. For example, since the legislative process

has the power to protect domestic steel producers against for-

eign steel producers by imposing tariff s on foreign steel, do-

mestic steel producers spend money lobbying legislators to

use the law to protect them this way. If, for instance, the value of a potential tariff to domestic steel producers is $5 million—

that is, the tariff will allow domestic steel producers to earn $5

million more than if they were subjected to competitive pres-

sures from more effi

cient foreign steel producers—in princi-

ple, they’ll be willing to spend up to $5 million to capture leg-

islators’ support for a law that protects them through such a

tariff .

1 9 0

T H E S E C R E T S O F P I R A T E M A N A G E M E N T

Th

e incredible growth of government in the twentieth cen-

tury has given it the power to make or break any fi rm or indus-

try it desires by granting special privileges or imposing new

costs on fi rms, or their competitors, through the legislative process. As a result, fi rms engage in unprecedented rent seeking to capture government’s power to create laws that help them and

harm their competitors. Economists David Laband and John

Sophocleus estimated that private parties in the United States

invested nearly $7.4 billion in political “capturing” activities in 1985 alone. In 2007 they spent more than $2.8 billion just on

lobbying.

Although rent seeking makes good sense for fi rms in the

face of an active government, its eff ects on the overall econ-

omy aren’t so desirable. Th

e resources fi rms spend trying to

capture the legislative process are resources they don’t use to

produce goods and services—wealth—that benefi t society. In

the example above, for instance, the $5 million domestic steel

producers spend capturing the political process is $5 million

they could have spent producing steel, which is wasted on so-

cially unproductive rent-seeking activities instead. Th

us rent

seeking makes society poorer instead of richer. Further, the

privileges the legislative process bestows on successful rent-

seeking fi rms tend to prevent other fi rms from competing with

them on a level playing fi eld. Th

is reduces the competitive

pressures that make markets work and also makes society

poorer.

Unfortunately, rent-seeking activity isn’t likely to disappear

any time soon. Nor should it. As long as government has the

power to privilege some producers at the expense of others, it

pays fi rms to rent seek. Businesses that want to thrive must pay close att ention to prospective changes in the legal environment

to eff ectively maneuver in the face of such changes.

1 9 1

C H A P T E R 8

WEEKS 11–12. Trademark Yer Terror

Readings: Instead of readings, your assignment for this

lesson is to come to class with the most terrifying

image you can concoct. The student with most

terrifying image will receive 5 extra credit points.

The student with the least terrifying image will be

marooned.

Central Lesson: Nothing beats a brand name.

Branding is critical to any successful business, as it was for piracy. Chapter 5 discussed how pirates used the same basic

methods to develop their brand name that legitimate modern

fi rms do: word of mouth and advertising. Unwitt ingly, pirate

victims and eighteenth-century newspapers acted as pirate pub-

licists, broadcasting and institutionalizing pirates’ fearsome

reputation as violent madmen.

Legitimate modern fi rms spend enormous sums hiring

branding experts to develop logos and slogans for them and to

help them develop and project the images they desire to be

known for. Despite this, very few have achieved the instant

brand-name recognition pirates achieved without fancy special-

ists. Pirates’ skull-and-bones symbolism against a black back-

ground may be even more widely recognized than the golden

arches. Th

eir “logo” is so powerful that it’s been appropriated

by innumerable contemporary fi rms selling everything from

tater-tots to T-shirts.

What brought this symbolism to life was pirates’ dedication

to the message it conveyed—slaughter for resistors, mercy for

those who peacefully submit—and an equal dedication to ap-

pearing heartless and insane. As the Princess Bride’s Dread Pirate Roberts quipped, “Once word leaks out that a pirate has

gone soft , people begin to disobey him and it’s nothing but

work, work, work all the time.” So, pirates made sure they never

1 9 2

T H E S E C R E T S O F P I R A T E M A N A G E M E N T

appeared soft , brutally torturing captives who hid or destroyed

valuables and behaving like madmen even if captives didn’t.

If imitation truly is the greatest form of fl att ery, pirates

should be blushing in their watery graves. Th

e incredible range

of pirate-inspired products available today—from Captain

Morgan Rum, to Pirates of the Caribbean movies, to Ralph Lauren’s Rugby line of apparel—is a contemporary testament to

seventeenth- and eighteenth-century pirates’ eff ectiveness in

brand naming themselves. It’s their brand name’s strength that’s

made pirates so memorable. And it’s their band name’s lasting

success that gives pirates power over the “pieces of eight” in our pocketbooks to this day.

1 9 3

E P I L O G U E

O M N I P R E S E N T E C O N O M I C S

Pirates provide at least one other lasting lesson: the

ubiquity of economics. Th

e rational choice framework,

introduced in chapter 1, truly is a universal way of un-

derstanding human behavior. Every person who has goals and

takes steps to att ain those goals is susceptible to economic analysis. Th

at prett y much covers everyone—from politicians, to

lovers, to thieves. Th

e power of economics isn’t just that it can

be applied so widely. It’s that only with economics can we make sense of a great deal of otherwise unintelligible individual behavior. Without economics, pirates, for example, are a veritable

ball of contradictions. Th

ey’re sadistic pacifi sts; womanizing

homosexuals; treasure-lusting socialists; and madmen who out-

witt ed the authorities. Th

ey’re stealthy outlaws who loudly an-

nounced their presence with fl ags of skulls and bones. Th

ey’re

libertarians who conscripted nearly all their members, demo-

crats with dictatorial captains, and lawless anarchists who lived by a strict code of rules. Th

ey’re torturous terrorists who com-

mand honest men’s adoration.

Economics and, I’d argue, only economics, can disentangle

this mess of piratical paradoxes. Th

is, in fact, has been one of

the major purposes of this book. History is critical. But history alone cannot accomplish this task. Th

e “raw material” contained

in the historical record needs to be “fi ltered” through a theoretical framework that makes sense of its oft en puzzling elements.

O M N I P R E S E N T E C O N O M I C S

Th

e rational choice framework, the theoretical apparatus of

economics, is uniquely suited to this purpose because of its

emphasis on purposive, self-interested behavior. In chapter 1

I stated that once pirates had been run through the “economic

fi lter,” you’d understand why they were closer to a Fortune 500

company than to the savage band of children in William Gold-

ing’s Lord of the Flies. If I’ve succeeded in my task, the reasons for this should now be clear.

It should be equally clear that the distinctive economic con-

text pirates operated in is responsible for pirates’ distinctive

practices. Pirates, like everyone else, were creatures of incen-

tives. Th

ey responded rationally to the costs and benefi ts they

confronted, seeking to decrease the former and increase the

latt er associated with “piratical production.” For example, pi-

rates faced potential costs in the form of resistant victims who hid or destroyed booty. Pirates reduced these costs by developing a brand name for ruthlessness and insanity, allowing

them to benefi t more from their sea roving. Similarly, in the

early eighteenth century the legal costs of pirating increased

because of more stringent and eff ective laws against piracy. Pi-

rates used “shows” of force and “ads of force” to reduce these

costs. Or, think about the Jolly Roger. Pirates faced costs in the form of quarries that violently resisted their ships’ att acks. To reduce these costs and thus increase the benefi t of maritime

marauding, pirates developed their infamous black ensign of

skull and bones. I could continue, but I think you get the point.

Pirates didn’t use democracy because they were “more demo-

cratic” than merchant owners. Th

ey didn’t torture prisoners

because they were naturally sadistic. And they didn’t treat

some black sailors as equals because they were less bigoted

than their contemporaries. Pirates just acted to maximize prof-

its in the particular, and rather unusual, economic context they

confronted. Th

e strangeness of these circumstances, not of

1 9 5

E P I L O G U E

pirates themselves, is what accounts for the strangeness of pi-

rate practices.

At the same time, I hope you don’t feel pirates have lost any

of the adventure and mystique that makes them so att ractive to

us in the fi rst place. If I’ve tackled my task appropriately, just the opposite should be true. I hope you have a newfound sense of

respect, awe, and even wonder about seventeenth- and eigh-

teenth-century pirates. As I mentioned earlier, I certainly think they deserve this. Th

ere’s no reason to fear subjecting sea dogs

to analytic scrutiny. Even if such analysis did take some of the

mystery out of pirates, there remains a considerable body of pi-

rate lore I doubt even economics could penetrate. Aft er fi nish-

ing Blackbeard in 1718, for example, Lieutenant Maynard be-

headed the notorious pirate, keeping the bearded monstrosity

as a trophy and tossing his body overboard. Legend has it Black-

beard’s decapitated corpse swam three laps around the ship be-

fore sinking to the ocean’s fl oor. Of course, this legend is no

more than a silly myth. Everyone knows it was only two laps.

1 9 6

P O S T S C R I P T

YOU CAN’T KEEP A SEA DOG DOWN:

THE FALL AND RISE OF PIRACY

As the seventeenth century drew to a close, the Red Sea

Men were busy marauding in the Indian Ocean to the

English government’s growing consternation. Gov-

ernment responded to this situation at the beginning of the

eighteenth century by emboldening its eff orts to exterminate

the watery rascals. Central to this endeavor was the Act for the

More Eff ectual Suppression of Piracy, introduced in 1700, made

permanent in 1719, and later bolstered through follow-up legis-

lation. England didn’t have much chance to test drive its new

antipiracy law, however. In 1702 it plunged headlong into the

War of the Spanish Succession. During the war England directly

or indirectly provided employment for many would-be pirates

as privateers, temporarily rendering the pirate problem moot.

But the reprieve was short-lived. Within a few years of war’s end the pirate population swelled once again. Th

e critical diff erence

was that, now, eff ective antipiracy legislation was in place. Th e

law couldn’t work by itself, however. Authorities needed to cap-

ture pirates so they could be tried, or otherwise cajole sea dogs into surrendering their swashbuckling lifestyle.

England’s decision in 1717 to send former privateer captain

Woodes Rogers to put the pirates’ largest and most important

land base in the Bahamas under government rule was one

P O S T S C R I P T

important step in this direction. As Colin Woodard points out,

when Rogers returned to England in 1721 aft er completing his

governorship, he did so having accomplished an important feat:

the “pirates’ republic” at New Providence was extinguished and,

although a considerable number of sea bandits remained at large,

they were scatt ered and forced to continue without a home base

to retreat to.

Madagascar, that old pirate haunt from the late seventeenth

century, ceased to operate as a substitute land base around the

same time Rogers left New Providence for England. At the re-

quest of the East India Company, which had suff ered from the

pirate problem since the days of the Red Sea Men, in 1721 the

British government sent Commodore Th

omas Mathews with

four navy ships into eastern waters to eradicate pirates located

in and around Madagascar. Mathews, it turned out, didn’t have

to do much. When Madagascar-based pirate captains John Tay-

lor and Oliver La Bouche got wind of his naval squadron’s plans,

they fl ed for the coast of Africa. Shortly thereaft er, piracy in the eastern seas died.

Britain capitalized on the upper hand it was gaining over

pirates in the early 1720s by improving the naval resources it

devoted to hunting sea bandits. In 1721 government began re-

placing unwilling and ineff ective naval commanders charged

with protecting colonial waters with more willing and eff ective

ones. It also stationed more ships in the colonies to deal with

pirates. But as Peter Earle points out, Britain’s seaborne fi ght against sea dogs fl oundered in its fi rst years. Th

is largely resulted

from inhibiting rules government imposed on its pirate-hunt-

ing naval ships. One regulation, for instance, prohibited naval

vessels from reprovisioning in the West Indies. Th

is had the un-

helpful eff ect of preventing ships from patrolling pirate-infested waters for too long since they had to return to England when

their food or drink ran out. Another regulation prohibited ships

1 9 8

Y O U C A N ’ T K E E P A S E A D O G D O W N

from careening. As a result, navy vessels already disadvantaged

relative to pirate vessels in terms of maneuverability were now

disadvantaged when it came to speed too. On top of these regu-

lations, navy ships sent to hunt or protect against pirates rarely carried a full complement of sailors.

Why the inhibiting navy policies? To keep costs down, of

course. Provisions were pricier in the West Indies than they

were at home; careening was expensive; and so were full com-

plements of men. Th

e considerable cost of hunting pirates is an

important part of the reason Britain didn’t manage to extinguish

sea bandits until it did. For a long time, it simply wasn’t pre-

pared to drop the kind of coin required to wage a serious antipi-

racy campaign at sea.

Political rulers, like everyone else, exist in a world of scarcity and thus must make choices that involve trade-off s. If you want

a new a car, you might have to curtail your nights out on the

town until you’ve saved enough to purchase one. Your resources

are scarce so you must choose: more drinks but less car, or more

car but less drinks? Either way you choose involves sacrifi cing

some bit of one thing you’d like for some additional bit of

something else you’d like too. Similarly, if, say, government

wants to repay creditors who fi nanced the last war, it may need

to send fewer ships out to hunt pirates, or impose rules that re-

duce existing pirate hunters’ eff ectiveness but save money. Re-

sources Britain devoted to its antipiracy campaign couldn’t be

devoted to other important purposes, like fi nancing wars.

Even aft er the War of the Spanish Succession was over, Brit-

ain had competing demands on its naval resources. When Queen

Anne died in 1714 the threat of Jacobite rebellion—perhaps

even civil war—loomed large. Jacobites plott ed a foiled rebel-

lion in England in 1714; but in 1715 actual rebellion struck in

Scotland. Th

e Jacobite uprising justifi ed King George’s fear that

Stuart loyalists would try to remove him from the throne and

1 9 9

P O S T S C R I P T

emphasized the perceived importance of ensuring that the navy

was available to defeat future att empted encroachments on his

government. Th

is oft en meant keeping naval vessels close to

home.

Th

e threat of Jacobite rebellions wasn’t the only competing

claim on naval resources, however. In 1718 Britain deployed

naval resources to oppose Spain’s att empts to reclaim Sicily—a

possession Spain lost in the previous war. Shortly thereaft er the War of the Quadruple Alliance offi

cially broke out, demanding

British naval resources again. From the time the War of the

Spanish Succession ended in 1714 until 1721, British merchant

ships engaged in Baltic trade also competed for the navy’s att ention. While the Northern War raged between Russia and Swe-

den, British commercial vessels sailing in Baltic waterways re-

quired protection. So there were many competing claims on

naval resources when piracy reemerged aft er 1714. And com-

pared to these needs, squelching piracy wasn’t a priority.

In the early 1720s the dwindling importance of these com-

peting uses for naval resources and the fact that in 1720 the pi-

rate population reached an all-time high improved government’s

incentive to step up its naval war against pirates. Prohibitions

against reprovisioning in the West Indies and careening were re-

voked; more men were allowed to sail on pirate-hunting navy

ships; and the number and quality of naval vessels devoted to

antipiracy were improved. In short, the rising benefi t and de-

clining cost of fi ghting pirates at sea encouraged Britain to devote more resources to this purpose.

Together with improved antipiracy legislation, the beefed-up

seaborne assault on pirates proved eff ective. In 1722 Britain’s antipiracy crusade hit its stride when HMS Swallow, captained by one Chaloner Ogle, killed piracy’s most successful captain, Bart

Roberts, and captured his remaining crew. One hundred sixty-

six men from Roberts’s crew stood trial at Cape Coast Castle in

2 0 0

Y O U C A N ’ T K E E P A S E A D O G D O W N

Ghana. Second perhaps only to Woodes Rogers’s mission to New

Providence, Ogle’s monumental capture was a watershed mo-

ment in pirate history and marked the most important victory in

bringing sea bandits who remained at large aft er 1721 to justice.

Several notorious pirates discussed in this book, including

George Lowther and Edward Low, continued to ply their trade

aft er Roberts’s death. But they didn’t escape government’s tightening grip for long. Over the next year, privateer captain Walter Moore picked off Lowther’s men while they were careening off

the coast of Venezuela. Lowther himself actually escaped Moore’s clutch. His Houdini stunt didn’t extend his life much, though.

Lowther never made it off the island where Moore att acked his

crew and in the end committ ed suicide.

Low’s pirates didn’t fare any bett er. In 1723 Captain Solgard

of HMS Greyhound att acked Low and his consort Charles Harris near New England. Low gave Solgard the slip and resumed

pirating until 1725 when the French government caught up

with him. Harris met a similar fate only sooner. Th

anks to Sol-

gard’s eff orts, he and thirty-fi ve others stood trial in Newport, Rhode Island, in the summer of 1723. Th

e court convicted

twenty-eight of them. On July 19, twenty-six pirates hanged at

Bulls Point “within the Flux and Refl ux of the Sea.”

Marcus Rediker dates the end of piracy’s golden age to 1726.

Th

is would make pirate captains William Fly and Philip Lyne,

both of whom were hanged that year, among the last surviving

sea scoundrels of note in of great age of piracy. A few pirates

outlasted Fly and Lyne. Pirate John Brie lived to plunder an-

other day; he wasn’t executed until 1727. Similarly, authorities

didn’t manage to bring John Upton to justice until 1729. Oliver

La Bouche didn’t die until 1730 when he was hanged in

Réunion. But these men were the exception. Th

e pirate popula-

tion dwindled from a height of about two thousand sea dogs

in 1720 to half that by 1723, and only a few hundred by 1726.

2 0 1

P O S T S C R I P T

Pirates’ source of revenue didn’t dry up in these years. Com-

mercial vessels may have had bett er protection from pirates

than they did previously; but merchant shipping was as plenti-

ful as it had been. In this sense the benefi t side of piracy re-

mained largely as before. However, the cost side of piracy

changed considerably. Because of government’s crackdown, the

cost of piracy rose sharply over these years, leading to fewer pirates. As David Cordingly points out, between 1716 and 1726

some four hundred pirates were hanged—an average of forty

sea dogs per year. Eighty-two of these executions came in 1723

alone, a strong indication government’s bolstered antipiracy ef-

forts, in full swing by the early 1720s, were having the desired

eff ect. It seems that rising costs rather than falling benefi ts drove eighteenth-century pirates’ extinction.

Historians of piracy tend to emphasize the abrupt end to pi-

racy’s golden age. It’s true; pirates went from their peak power

to virtual extinction in only half a decade. But for all its abrupt-ness, piracy’s decline wasn’t particularly climactic. Th

e fi nal bat-

tle between Chaloner Ogle and Bartholomew Roberts was ap-

propriately dramatic; it took place amidst a great thunderstorm.

A few other pirates’ last stands were also as impressive as one

would expect from men who “declared War against all the

World.” Blackbeard’s fi nal batt le is the best example of this; but his memorable brawl took place in 1718 before the sun was setting on piracy’s golden age. In contrast, the very last act of this period had no grand fi nale, no epic clash between the combined

forces of remaining pirates and the British navy. William Fly, for example, was the victim of his own shortsightedness and poor

planning. He pressed too many sailors, who revolted and turned

him in. Piracy ended as the world does in T.S. Eliot’s Hollow Men, “not with a bang, but a whimper.”

Aft er the pirates of the golden age disappeared there were

others. Th

e nineteenth century endured the scourge of the

2 0 2

Y O U C A N ’ T K E E P A S E A D O G D O W N

pirates of the South China Sea. Unlike their Anglo-American

counterparts, these Chinese pirates weren’t a few thousands, but

many tens of thousands—perhaps as many as 150,000—strong.

Th

ere are also contemporary pirates. Over the last decade or

so in particular there’s been a resurgence of sea banditry off the horn of Africa and in the Straits of Malacca. Like seventeenth-and eighteenth-century pirates, the modern variety chooses to

plunder ships in waters where government enforcement is weak,

such as those around Somalia and Indonesia, and commercial

vessels are abundant. Besides this, however, modern pirates

share litt le in common with their predecessors. Seventeenth-

and eighteenth-century pirates lived together for protracted pe-

riods of time at sea. Although they retired to land between ex-

peditions, they spent much of their time together prowling the

ocean in search of prey. Because of this, their ships formed min-

iature “fl oating societies” that, like all societies, required social rules and governance institutions to function.

In contrast, most modern pirates spend very litt le time to-

gether on their ships. Th

ere are three main modes of modern

piracy. Th

e fi rst and most common mode is litt le more than

maritime muggery. Pirate “crews” of two to six hop in small

boats; pull alongside ships, usually in territorial waters close to the coast; and threaten their prey at gunpoint to give up their

watches, jewelry, and whatever money they may be carrying.

Th

ese sea bandits are part timers. Aft er mugging some pass-

ersby they return to their villages on the coast where they live

among nonpirates and resume their day jobs.

A second and less-common mode of modern piracy is some-

what diff erent. Crews are still small—between fi ve and fi ft een men—and spend litt le time together at sea. But professional

land-based criminals hire them to steal boats they convert into

“phantom ships” and resell. Land-based criminals pay these

modern pirates lump sums and contract them on a case-by-case

2 0 3

P O S T S C R I P T

basis. Like the maritime muggers, pirates-for-hire rely predomi-

nantly on hijacking methods to steal ships, though for larger

vessels they’ve been known to plant “insiders”—sailors who

pretend to be legitimate sailors seeking employment—who take

the target from the inside.

Th

e third mode of modern piracy may also be “contracted

out” by land-based criminals. Here, typically tiny but well-armed crews hijack commercial vessels and take their passengers hostage. Th

ey then ransom the ship, its cargo, and the passengers.

Not exactly the stuff of Captain Blackbeard or even of William

Fly; but it pays well. Th

e pirates who hijacked a German ship in

the Gulf of Aden in July 2008, for example, extorted $750,000

from a shipping agency that paid the ransom on behalf of the

vessel’s owners.

Since modern pirates tend to sail in very small groups and

don’t live, sleep, and interact together on their ships for months, weeks, or even days on end, they don’t constitute a society and

consequently face few, if any, of the problems their forefathers

did. Because of this, most modern sea dogs don’t exhibit any

discernible organizational structure. Th

eir in-and-out M.O.,

coupled with the fact that their crews tend to be tiny, means

they don’t require elaborate rules for creating order. Most mod-

ern pirates don’t even require captains in the usual sense. Th

ere

is, of course, someone who steers the motorboat and acts as a

leader among the six or so pirates; but he isn’t a captain in the way eighteenth-century pirate captains were.

For a few modern pirates things are diff erent. Th

ey sail in

larger crews, spend more time together at sea, and consequently

come closer to forming modern pirate societies. As this book

has emphasized, predictably, this in turn has led social institu-

tions to emerge among them. For instance, the Somali pirates

that captured the French ship Le Ponant in April 2008 divided their booty along similar lines as their eighteenth-century

2 0 4

Y O U C A N ’ T K E E P A S E A D O G D O W N

predecessors. Th

is same crew adopted a social insurance system

reminiscent of that of their forefathers: if a pirate died on the job, his family received $15,000. Th

ese modern pirates even

created a partial “pirate code,” a writt en manual with rules regulating how crew members could treat prisoners.

Still, even these contemporary sea scoundrels are poor sub-

stitutes for their predecessors. Th

ey aren’t harbingers of our

most sacred ideas about social organization; they haven’t pio-

neered progressive practices; they don’t even fl y fl ags with skulls and bones. Sadly, modern pirates simply aren’t as interesting as

their golden age predecessors. Th

en again, this comparison is

probably unfair: Blackbeard, Calico Jack, and the rest set a high bar indeed.

2 0 5

This page intentionally left blank

W H E R E T H I S B O O K F O U N D

I T S B U R I E D T R E A S U R E

A N O T E O N S O U R C E S

To say pirates weren’t as diligent note takers as we’d like

would be putt ing it mildly. Historian Philip Gosse

chalks this up to pirates’ “diffi

dence . . . in recording

their own deeds.” But there are more obvious reasons why so

few pirates put quill to parchment. Literacy limitations are one.

According to historian Peter Earle, two-thirds of ordinary fore-

mastmen on merchant ships could at least sign their names.

Since pirates drew their members from the merchant sailor

population, it stands to reason many pirates could do this as

well. But it’s doubtful they could write full-fl edged accounts of their experiences. Th

en there’s the troublesome fact that pirates

were criminals and so sought to fl y (sail?) below the radar as

much as possible. Publishing a chronicle of one’s murders and

grand theft s might raise some suspicion. Despite this, we have

several “pirate memoirs,” all writt en by buccaneers, no doubt

because of their quasi-legitimacy. William Dampier, for exam-

ple, kept a journal of some of his exploits. So did John Cox, Basil Ringrose, William Dick, Bartholomew Sharp, and Lionel Wafer.

As I discuss below, Alexander Exquemelin’s buccaneer chroni-

cle is the most important and famous “pirate memoir.” How-

ever, pirates from the period between 1716 and 1726, the sea

bandits this book is most concerned with, left no such journals.

A N O T E O N S O U R C E S

Fortunately, a number of other documents exist that can il-

luminate the economics of pirates. Th

ere are two undisputed

“kings” of the primary source historical record relating to pi-

racy. Th

e fi rst is Captain Charles Johnson’s A General History of the Pyrates, published in two volumes, the fi rst in 1724 and the second in 1728. Th

e second is Alexander O. Exquemelin’s Buc-

caneers of America, fi rst published in Dutch in 1678 and translated into English in 1684. Since my discussion relies heavily on both sources, a few more words about them are in order.

Typical for a pirate, our knowledge of Exquemelin’s life is

sketchy. At the age of about twenty he began work as an inden-

tured servant for the French West Indian Company only to leave

three years later and join the buccaneers at Tortuga. Exqueme-

lin sailed with his buccaneering brethren for the next decade in

the important position of surgeon. According to Jack Beeching,

an expert on Exquemelin, our buccaneer temporarily retired

from sea roving to Europe in 1674, but appears again sailing

with the buccaneers before their extinction in 1697. Shortly

aft er returning to Europe, Exquemelin wrote his book provid-

ing a detailed fi rsthand account of the buccaneers’ raids, system of rules, and social organization. It was a smashing success, even in Exquemelin’s time, and remains “the principal source of our

knowledge about the buccaneers.”

In the early twentieth century it was popular to argue that

Exquemelin was actually the seventeenth-century Dutch ro-

mance novelist Hendrick Barentzoon Smeeks. However, in

1934 new research put this ill-founded theory to bed. As

Beeching points out, “in 1934, M. Vriejman found the names

of both Exquemelin and Smeeken [sic] on the books of the

Dutch Surgeons’ Guild, as having passed their qualifying ex-

aminations. Exquemelin, therefore, on his return from the West

Indies, went to Amsterdam to qualify professionally, and must

have been living there while the history that bears his name

2 0 8

B U R I E D T R E A S U R E

was writt en and published. Th

e ‘pseudonym’ theory will not

hold water.” Today, Exquemelin is universally acknowledged as

Exquemelin.

Th

e story with Captain Charles Johnson is similar. Almost

nothing is known for certain about Johnson, whose book was

also a best seller. Some suspect he was a maritime worker, oth-

ers, a journalist, still others, a pirate. According to David Cordingly, “What is certain is that Captain Johnson must have at-

tended several pirate trials in London and that he interviewed

pirates and seamen who had voyaged with them.” Whatever the

cause, much of Johnson’s book is consistent with the other pri-

mary source materials in the pirate historical record.

Around the time scholarly circles exonerated Exquemelin as

the genuine author of Th

e Buccaneers of America, doubts sur-

faced about Johnson’s identity. In 1932 John Robert Moore de-

clared that Captain Johnson was none other than Daniel Defoe,

author of Robinson Crusoe. Moore based his claim on what he felt was a strong stylistic similarity between Defoe’s books and

Johnson’s General History of the Pyrates, as well as Defoe’s well-known infatuation with sea robbers.

Th

is view went largely unchallenged until 1988 when, ac-

cording to Cordingly, “two academics, P. N. Furbank and W. R.

Owens, demolished Moore’s theory in their book Th

e Canoni-

sation of Daniel Defoe. Th

ey showed that there was not a single

piece of documentary evidence to link Defoe with the General

History of the Pirates, and pointed out that there were too many discrepancies between the stories in the book and the other

works on pirates att ributed to Defoe. So convincing are their arguments that there seems no alternative but to abandon the at-

tractive theory that Defoe wrote the General History of the Pirates and to return the authorship of the work to the mysterious Captain Johnson.” Today, many, though not all, historians of piracy agree with Cordingly’s assessment.

2 0 9

A N O T E O N S O U R C E S

Although Johnson’s true identity remains a mystery, no one

doubts he “had extensive fi rst-hand knowledge of piracy.” And,

as Marcus Rediker points out, “Johnson is widely regarded as a

highly reliable source for factual information” on pirates. John-

son’s book contains several errors and apocryphal accounts,

such as the fi ctitious Captain Mission and his pirate colony

called Libertalia. However, its detail and general accuracy have preserved its status as “the prime source for the lives of many

pirates of what is oft en called the Golden Age of Piracy.”

I can mention the remaining historical sources this book relies

on more briefl y. A few pirate prisoners whose captors ultimately released them, such as William Snelgrave and Philip Ashton,

published longer works describing their harrowing captivities. I

make ample use of these sources, especially Snelgrave, which

contain valuable information about pirate life and organization.

Joel H. Baer has recently edited a superb four-volume collection

that contains numerous rare and hard-to-fi nd pieces of primary

source pirate history, which I also use extensively. Th

ese vol-

umes contain, among other things, published accounts of pirate

trials, which include fascinating testimony from pirate victims

and pirates themselves, contemporary newspaper accounts re-

lating to piracy, and various pirates’ “dying speeches” before the gallows at their executions. J. Franklin Jameson has also edited

an excellent, though far less comprehensive, collection of related seventeenth- and eighteenth-century documents covering pirates and privateers. Th

ese include the depositions and exami-

nations of pirates, pirate victims, and others who had contact

with sea dogs. In addition to these sources I rely on records in

the Calendar of State Papers, Colonial North America and West Indies series, which contain correspondence from colonial governors and others relating to piracy, the Public Record Offi

ce’s

Colonial Offi

ce Papers, and the High Court of Admiralty Pa-

pers. Th

ese sources are veritable treasure troves of pirate-related

2 1 0

B U R I E D T R E A S U R E

documents from government offi

cials, pirate victims, and so

forth. I also draw on the published “fi nal sermons” of various

men of religion, such as Reverend Cott on Mather, and their con-

versations with pirates in the days leading up to their executions.

Finally, I rely heavily on and am deeply indebted to a volumi-

nous and superb literature by modern historians of piracy. Sev-

eral of these authors have already been mentioned, including

Marcus Rediker, Joel Baer, David Cordingly, Philip Gosse,

Hugh Rankin, Patrick Pringle, Angus Konstam, Kenneth Kin-

kor, and Jan Rogozinski. Th

e historical material presented in

this book isn’t original to me. Many others have discussed it for many years. Th

is literature covers all aspects of piracy, including

those discussed here, although the “economic angle,” which I’m

concerned with, is either absent or only hinted at.

2 1 1

This page intentionally left blank

N O T E S

Chapter 1. The Invisible Hook

1 a Crime so odious Th

e Tryals of Major Stede Bonnet, and other

Pirates . . . (London: Benj. Cowse, 1719), 8, reprinted in Joel H.

Baer, ed., British Piracy in the Golden Age: History and Interpretation, 1660– 1730, vol. 2 of 4 vols. (London: Pickering and Chatt o, 2007).

1 Sea-monsters; Hell-Hounds; Robbers, Opposers Cott on Mather, Instructions to the Living, fr om the Condition of the Dead . . . (Boston: Nicholas Boon, 1717), reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 4; Captain Charles Johnson, A General History of the Pyrates . . . , ed. Manuel Schonhorn (Mineola, NY: Dover, 1999 [1726–28]), 607 (hereaft er cited as GHP); A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle . . . (London: J. Roberts, 1723), 5, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 3.

1 Devils incarnate John

Barnard, Ashton’s Memorial . . . (Boston:

Printed for Samuel Gerrish, 1715), 62.

1 Children of the Wicked One Cott on Mather, Th

e Lord-High-Ad-

miral of All the Seas, Adored . . . (Boston: S. Kneeland, 1723), 20.

1 Danger lurked in their very Smiles Johnson,

GHP, 334.

1 a sort of People; Subvert and Extinguish Boston News-Lett er, February 9–February 16, 1719, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1; Th

e Trials of Eight Persons Indited for Pi-

racy &c . . . (Boston: John Edwards, 1718), 2, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 2.

N O T E S T O P A G E S 1 – 8

1 declared War against Johnson,

GHP, 319.

1 Th

ese men, whom we term Ibid., 527.

2 Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations Adam Smith, An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, 2 vols., ed. R. H.

Campbell and A. S. Skinner (Indianapolis, IN: Liberty Fund,

1976 [1776]).

7 Pirates prey upon all Mankind Tryals of Major Stede Bonnet, 8.

See also, Trials of Eight Persons, 7.

7 Privateers weren’t pirates since they had state backing Th ings

were more complicated than this, however. First, opposing na-

tions oft en saw privateers as pirates. Second, privateers some-

times abused their licenses, raiding beyond the scope of their

commissions. In this capacity, privateers acted without state

support as criminals—as pirates.

8 Buccaneering . . . was a peculiar blend Jennifer G. Marx, “Th e

Brethren of the Coast,” in Pirates: Terror on the High Seas—From the Caribbean to the South China Sea, ed. David Cordingly (At-lanta: Turner, 1996), 38.

8 the aims and means of [buccaneering] David J. Starkey, “Pirates and Markets,” in Bandits at Sea: A Pirates Reader, ed. C. R. Pen-nell (New York: New York University Press, 2001), 109.

8 banditt i of all nations Governor Sir N. Lawes to the Council of Trade and Plantations, January 31, 1719, Item 34, vol. 31 (1719–

20), 12–21, Calendar of State Papers, Colonial Series, America and West Indies, 1574– 1739, CD-ROM, consultant eds. Karen Or-dahl Kupperman, John C. Appleby, and Mandy Banton (Lon-

don: Routledge, published in association with the Public Record

Offi

ce, 2000) (hereaft er cited as CSPC). See also, Captain Can-

dler to Mr. Secretary Burchett , CSPC, Item 639 i, vol. 29 (1716–

17), 339–40; Governor Hamilton to the Council of Trade and

Plantations, CSPC, October 3, 1716, Item 350, vol. 29 (1716–

17), 183–84. Pirates also exhibited some diversity in social

standing. Although most pirates were uneducated and from the

lower classes of society, a few, such as Stede Bonnet, the “Gentleman Pirate,” were from higher stations in life. At his trial, Bonnet 2 1 4

N O T E S T O P A G E 9

was described in his prepirate life as “a Gentleman, a Man of

Honour, a Man of Fortune, and one that has had a liberal Educa-

tion.” See Tryals of Major Stede Bonnet, 9.

9 Nationalities of 700 Caribbean pirates Angus

Konstam,

Th

e

History of Pirates (Guilford, CT: Lyons, 2002), 9.

9 Where other pirates hailed fr om Jennifer G. Marx, “Th e Golden

Age of Piracy” in Cordingly, Pirates: Terror on the High Seas, 103.

9 Bermudan governor’s estimate of pirate population Lt.

Governor

Bennett to the Council of Trade and Plantations, CSPC, July 30,

1717, Item 677, vol. 29 (1716–17), 360–61.

9 Offi cial’s estimate of pirate population in 1718 Mr. Gale to Col.

Th

omas Pitt , Jr., CSPC, November 4, 1718, Item 31 i, vol. 31

(1719–20), 10.

9 Dummer’s estimate of pirate population Jeremiah Dummer to the Council of Trade and Plantations, CSPC, February 25, 1720,

Item 578, vol. 31 (1719–20), 365–68.

9 Johnson on pirate population in the Indian Ocean Johnson, GHP,

132. Th

at same year, the Boston News-Lett er reported on a lett er from the governor of the Bahamas that estimated “the Number

of the Pirates” at “upwards of 1500.” See Boston News-Lett er, October 9–October 16, 1721. For a contemporary’s estimate of the

pirate populate in the late seventeenth century, see Captain

Th

omas Warren, of HMS Windsor, to the East India Company,

CSPC, November 28, 1697, Item 115 i, vol. 16 (1697–98),

68–71.

9 Estimate of pirate population in any one year between 1716 and 1722 See, for instance, Konstam, History of Pirates, 6; Marx,

“Th

e Golden Age of Piracy,” 102, 111; Patrick Pringle, Jolly

Roger: Th

e Story of the Great Age of Piracy (New York: Norton,

1953), 185; Johnson, GHP, 132; Marcus Rediker, Between the Devil and the Deep-Blue Sea: Merchant Seamen, Pirates and the Anglo-American Maritime World, 1700– 1750 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 256.

9 Average number of Royal Navy sailors in any one year between 1716

and 1726 Rediker,

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea, 256.

2 1 5

N O T E S T O P A G E S 9 – 1 0

9 1680 population in North American colonies and US population in 1790 Jonathan R.T. Hughes and Louis P. Cain, American Economic History, 4th ed. (New York: HarperCollins, 1994) 20, 28.

9 Pirates’ New Providence land base As one contemporary described it, New Providence was “the usual Retreat and general

Receptacle for Pirates” before Rogers brought it under control.

See Boston News-Lett er, December 16–December 23, 1717.

9 Average pirate crew size Rediker,

Between the Devil and the Deep

Blue Sea, 256.

9 Several larger pirate crews See, for instance, William Snelgrave, A New Account of Some Parts of Guinea and the Slave-Trade (London: Cass, 1972 [1734]), 199; Examination of John Brown,

May 6, 1717, Suff olk Court Files, No. 11945, Paper 5, reprinted

in J. Franklin Jameson, ed., Privateering and Piracy in the Colonial Period: Illustrative Documents (New York: Macmillan, 1923), 295; Deposition of Th

eophilus Turner June 8, 1699, Colonial

Offi

ce Papers (hereaft er cited as CO) 5: 714, No. 70 VI, re-

printed in Jameson, Privateering and Piracy in the Colonial Period, 201; Examination of John Dann, August 3, 1696, CO 323: 2,

No. 25, reprinted in Jameson, Privateering and Piracy in the Colonial Period, 169; Deposition of Adam Baldridge, May 5, 1699, CO 5: 1042, No. 30 II, reprinted in Jameson, Privateering and Piracy in the Colonial Period, 180; Johnson, GHP, 442; David Cordingly, Under the Black Flag: Th

e Romance and the Reality of

Life among the Pirates (New York: Random House, 1996), 165; Deposition of John Brown, CSCP, March 12, 1718/19, Item

797 i, vol. 30 (1717–18), 410–11.

9 200 brisk Men Boston News-Lett er, April 29–May 6, 1717, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

10

Crew size on Queen Anne’s Revenge Deposition of Henry

Bostock, CSPC, December 19, 1717, Item 298 iii, vol. 30

(1717–18), 150–51.

10

Average crew size on 200-ton merchant ship Rediker,

Between

the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea, 107.

10

Size of Roberts’s squadron Cordingly,

Under the Black Flag, 111.

2 1 6

N O T E S T O P A G E S 1 0 – 1 2

10

Size of Morgan’s fl eet Alexander O. Exquemelin, Th

e Bucca-

neers of America, trans. Alexis Brown (Mineola, NY: Dover, 1969), 171.

10

had a force of at least twenty vessels Ibid., 69. See also, 85, 105, 93.

10

Size of Dampier’s expedition William

Dampier,

Buccaneer Ex-

plorer: William Dampier’s Voyages, ed. Gerald Norris (Wood-bridge, UK: Boydell Press, 2005 [1697–1707]), 62.

10

cheerfully joined their Brethren Snelgrave,

A New Account of

Some Parts of Guinea, 198.

10

Pirate age data Marcus

Rediker,

Villains of All Nations: Atlantic

Pirates in the Golden Age (Boston: Beacon Press, 2004), 49.

11

Pirates motivated by non-material concerns See, for instance, Kenneth J. Kinkor, “Black Men under the Black Flag,” in Bandits at Sea; B. R. Burg, Sodomy and the Perception of Evil: English Sea Rovers in the Seventeenth-Century Caribbean (New York: New York University Press, 1983); Marcus Rediker, “Liberty

beneath the Jolly Roger: Th

e Lives of Anne Bonny and Mary

Read, Pirates,” in Iron Men, Wooden Women: Gender and Seafar-

ing in the Atlantic World, 1700– 1920, ed. Margaret S. Creighton and Lisa Norling (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press,

1996).

11

Number of British navy sailors during and aft er War of the Spanish Succession Rediker,

Villains of All Nations, 23.

12

Average able seaman’s wage Ralph

Davis,

Th

e Rise of the English

Shipping Industry in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries (London: Macmillan, 1962), 136–37. For the conversion to

modern U.S. dollars, I used the year 1720 and the currency con-

verter (fi rst from 1720 pounds to 2007 pounds using the retail

price index, and then 2007 pounds to 2007 USD) available at

htt p://www.measuringworth.com hosted by EH.net.

12

Privateers in Time of War Johnson,

GHP, 4.

12

Th

e Privateering Stroke Cott on Mather, Faithful Warnings to Prevent Fearful Judgments . . . (Boston: Timothy Green, 1704), 37.

2 1 7

N O T E S T O P A G E S 1 3 – 1 4

13

Since the calling in Governor Sir N. Lawes to the Council of Trade and Plantations, CSPC, August 24, 1720, Item 213, vol. 32

(1720–21), 126–29.

13

for want of encouragement Ibid., December 6, 1719, Item 479, vol. 31 (1719–20), 275–81.

13

At a time when Anglo-American Jennifer G. Marx, “Th

e Pirate

Round,” in Pirates: Terror on the High Seas, 141.

13

Every’s crew’s prize Flying Post, October 17–October 20, 1696, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1. For other examples of impressive late-seventeenth-century pirate

hauls, see Copies of Extracts from Lett ers Received by the East

India Company, CSPC, January 15, 1696–97, Item 115 i, vol. 16

(1697–98), 68–71; and Deposition of Samuel Burgess, CSPC,

May 3, 1698, Item 473 ii, vol. 16 (1697–98), 227–28.

13

which yielded them 500 l; White’s crew’s earnings Johnson, GHP,

480, 485.

13

Condent’s crew’s prize; Taylor and La Bouche’s crew’s prize Marx,

“Th

e Pirate Round,” 161, 163.

14

Evans’s crew’s earnings Johnson,

GHP, 340.

14

they had got Riches Information of Richard Moore, 1/55, fol.

98, 1724, High Court of Admiralty Papers (hereaft er cited as

HCA).

14

In an honest service Johnson,

GHP, 244. Th

roughout this book

I’ve kept text that’s italicized in original sources italicized in my discussion. Th

is is why several long italicized quotes appear here

and later. Unless otherwise noted, all italicized text in quota-

tions is italicized in the original source.

14

Unpleasant working conditions att ended low pay on merchant

ships Peter Earle’s excellent book, Sailors: English Merchant Seamen 1650– 1775 (London: Methuen, 1998), considers the merchant sailor’s life more fully. As he points out, the merchant seaman’s life was not a singularly brutal and miserable one, and

it’s not my intention to suggest otherwise. N.A.M. Rodger’s, Th e

Wooden World: An Anatomy of the Georgian Navy (New York:

2 1 8

N O T E S T O P A G E S 1 5 – 1 6

W. W. Norton, 1996), makes a similar point about life in the Royal Navy. However, as I discuss here and in the next chapter, there was ample latitude for offi

cer mistreatment on merchant ships, which

more than a few offi

cers took advantage of. Compared to the

ability of captains on pirate ships to prey on their crew members, this was especially signifi cant and so constituted an important element of some sailors’ decision to go pirate. For an excellent and more in-depth discussion of sailor mistreatment aboard merchant ships, see Rediker, Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea.

15

unlimited power, bad views William

Betagh,

A Voyage Round

the World . . . (London: For T. Combes, J. Lacy, and J. Clake 1728), 41.

15

were att short allowance Babb v. Chalkley, HCA, 24/127, 1701; quoted in Rediker, Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea, 247.

15

Docked wages and paid in debased currency; voyages without consent Richard B. Morris, Government and Labor in Early America (New York: Harper and Row, 1965), 237; Adam Giff ord, Jr.,

“Th

e Economic Organization of 17th- through mid-19th Cen-

tury Whaling and Shipping,” Journal of Economic Behavior and

Organization 20(2) (1993): 137–50, quote at 144.

15

Hit sailors in head with hard objects Jones v. Newcomin, HCA, 24/138, 1735; quoted in Rediker, Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea, 216.

16

above a hundred Blows Information of Benjamin Bush, HCA, 1/55, fol. 92, 1724.

16

without any provocation Deposition of William Bennett , HCA, 1/55, 1729/1730.

16

seditious fellow . . . I gave him Nathaniel

Uring,

Th

e Voyages and

Travels of Captain Nathaniel Uring (London: Cassell and Company, 1928 [1726]), 176–77.

16

Interference with captain punishment mutinous Morris,

Govern-

ment and Labor in Early America, 264–65.

16

to fetch a Pail of Water Information of Richard Mandewell, HCA, 1/55, fol. 22, 1722.

2 1 9

N O T E S T O P A G E S 1 6 – 2 4

16

they had bett er be dead Th

e Tryals of Captain Jack Rackam, and

other Pirates . . . ( Jamaica, 1721), reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 3.

17

had Lawful provocation Broughton v. Atkins, Massachusett s Vice Admiralty Records, Box II, f. 25, 1727; quoted in Morris, Government and Labor in Early America, 264.

17

Sailor population in mid-18th century Giff ord, “Th

e Economic

Organization of 17th- through mid-19th Century Whaling and

Shipping,” 147.

18

it is fr equently the misfortune Quoted in Morris, Government and Labor in Early America, 271.

18

Th

e too great severity Piracy Destroy’d: or, A Short Discourse Shewing Rise, Growth and Causes of Piracy of Late; with a Sure Method how to put a Speedy Stop to that Growing Evil (London: John Nutt , 1701), 4, 12, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 3.

18

a Supercargo Son of a B—h A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle, 45.

18

I could wish that Masters Quoted in Johnson, GHP, 351.

18

Our Captain and his Mate Cott on Mather, A Vial Poured Out Upon the Sea . . . (Boston: T. Fleet, 1726), 21.

18

He would advise the Masters Ibid., 48. See also, Benjamin Colman, It is a Fearful Th

ing to Fall into the Hands of the Living God . . .

(Boston: John Phillips and Th

omas Hancock, 1726), 39, re-

printed in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 4; Boston News-Lett er, July 7–July 14, 1726.

19

Sailors att racted to piracy between 1716 and 1726 Rediker, Villains of All Nations, 30.

Chapter 2. Vote for Blackbeard

23

who by his Counsel Johnson,

GHP, 195.

24

War against the whole; Th

e Guns are then fi red See, for instance,

the postelection ceremonies of captains Davis and North. John-

son, GHP, 167–68, 525.

2 2 0

N O T E S T O P A G E S 2 4 – 2 7

24

Buccaneers’ pre-English Bill of Rights democratic checks See, for

instance, Philip Ayres, Th

e Voyages and Adventures of Capt. Barth.

Sharp and others, in the South Sea . . . (London: R.H. and S.T., 1684), 2, 17, 80, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

25

New England’s representative democracy George Brown Tindall and David Emory Shi, America: A Narrative History (New York: W.W. Norton, 1997), 34.

25

Puritan church organization and New England democracy See, for instance, James F. Cooper, Jr ., Tenacious of their Liberties: Th e

Congregationalists in Colonial Massachusett s (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999).

25

Restricted suff rage in New England and Athens On Athens, see Mogens Herman Hansen, Th

e Athenian Democracy in the Age of

Demosthenes (Oxford: Blackwell, 1991). On Massachusett s Bay Colony, see Robert Emmet Wall, Jr., “Th

e Massachusett s Bay

Colony Franchise in 1647,” William and Mary Quarterly 27

(1970): 136–44.

26

democracy that . . . bordered on anarchy Hugh F. Rankin, Th e

Golden Age of Piracy (Williamsburg: Colonial Williamsburg, 1969), 28.

26

they acknowledged no countrymen Copies of Extracts from Let-ters Received by the East India Company, CSPC, Item 115 i,

vol. 16 (1697–98), 68–71.

26

have no Country, but by the nature Tryals of Th

irty-Six Persons

for Piracy . . . (Boston: Samuel Kneeland, 1723), reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 3.

26

denied common humanity Trials of Eight Persons, 6.

26

that abominable Society Johnson,

GHP, 114.

27

how shatt er’d and weak Ibid.,

194.

27

But what is government itself Alexander Hamilton, James Madison, and John Jay, Th

e Federalist Papers, ed. Clinton Rossiter

(New York: Menton, 1961 [1788]), 322.

2 2 1

N O T E S T O P A G E S 2 8 – 3 0

28

Dysfunctional governments in Sub-Saharan Afr ica On the plight of underdeveloped countries and their failure to overcome

Madison’s paradox, see Christopher J. Coyne and Peter T. Lee-

son, “Th

e Plight of Underdeveloped Countries,” Cato Journal 24

(2004): 235–45; and Peter T. Leeson, “Escaping Poverty: For-

eign Aid, Private Property, and Economic Development,” Jour-

nal of Private Enterprise 23 (2008): 39–64.

28

Ruler predation shapes citizens’ incentive to cooperate See Martin

C. McGuire and Mancur Olson, Jr., “Th

e Economics of Autoc-

racy and Majority Rule: Th

e Invisible Hand and the Use of

Force,” Journal of Economic Literature 34 (1996): 72–96.

29

A dependence on the people is, no doubt Hamilton,

Madison,

and Jay, Federalist Papers, 322 (emphasis added).

29

Th

e Rank of Captain Johnson,

GHP, 214. Captain Spriggs,

given two votes by his crew, is the only exception I can fi nd to the “one pirate, one vote” rule. Even here, however, as one released prisoner described it, Spriggs was still “over-power’d by

Votes” from the remaining crew. See British Journal, August 22, 1724, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

Th

e only members of the pirate crew who might not be allowed

to vote were boys and forced men. See Th

e Arraignment, Tryal,

and Condemnation, of Capt. John Quelch . . . (London: Ben. Bragg, 1704), 18, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol.

2; Trials of Eight Persons, 24.

29

it was not of any great Signifi cation Johnson,

GHP, 194.

30

doing every Th

ing Ibid.,

525.

30

13 captains in a single voyage An Account of the Conduct and Proceedings of the Late John Gow . . . (New York: Burt Franklin,

[1725] 1970), xi–xii.

30

refused to take and plunder Trials of Eight Persons, 23.

30

falls on one superior for Knowledge Johnson,

GHP, 214.

30

Behaviour was obliged Ibid.,

139.

30

was turned out of Command Information of Richard Moore,

HCA, 1/55, fol. 96, 1724.

2 2 2

N O T E S T O P A G E S 3 0 – 3 3

30

at last forced him Snelgrave,

A New Account of Some Parts of

Guinea, 198.

30

a great diff erence falling out Boston News-Lett er, February 4–

February 11, 1725, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

32

they only permit[ed] him Johnson,

GHP, 213.

32

La Bouche deposed and fl ogged Jan

Rogozinski,

Honor among

Th

ieves: Captain Kidd, Henry Every, and the Pirate Democracy in the Indian Ocean (Mechanicsburg, PA: Stackpole Books, 2000), 177.

32

severall of his men have deserted Th

e President and Council of

the Leeward Islands to Secretary Vernon, May 18, 1699, CO,

152: 3, No. 21, reprinted in Jameson, Privateering and Piracy in the Colonial Period, 195–96.

32

should a Captain be so sawcy Johnson,

GHP, 194–95.

32

Th

e Captain is very severe Quoted in Rogozinski, Honor among Th

ieves, 139. See also, Deposition of Benjamin Franks October 20, 1697, CO, 323: 2, No. 124, reprinted in Jameson, Privateering and Piracy in the Colonial Period, 194. Th

e captain referred to

here is the privateer-turned-pirate, Captain Kidd, who was ulti-

mately executed for his crimes. Notably, Kidd’s privateer (like

others) was fi nanced by absentee owners.

33

Every man had as much say Quoted in Robert C. Ritchie, Captain Kidd and the War against the Pirates (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1986), 124.

33

Lodging, etc., similar for captains and crewmembers According to Johnson, on Captain Howell Davis’s pirate ship, however, several of the crew’s more senior pirates “had assumed the Title of

Lords, and as such took upon them to advise or counsel their

Captain upon any important Occasion; and likewise held cer-

tain Privileges, which the common Pyrates were debarr’d from,

as walking the Quarter-Deck, using the great Cabin, going ashore

at Pleasure, and treating with foreign Powers, that is, with the

Captains of Ships they made Prize of.” See GHP, 193. If the 2 2 3

N O T E S T O P A G E S 3 3 – 3 6

division between “Lords” and “Commoners” remained under

Davis’s successor, Bart Roberts, it couldn’t have meant much

since Roberts’s articles, discussed in chapter 3, guaranteed all

pirates voting rights, “equal Title” to food and drink, and made

no distinction between “Lords” and “Commoners” when it came

to pay.

33

every Man, as the Humour Johnson,

GHP, 213–14.

33

any body might come and eat A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle, 26.

33

the Captain himself not being allowed Snelgrave,

A New Account

of Some Parts of Guinea, 217.

33

even their Captain, or any other Offi cer Clement

Downing,

A Compendious History of the Indian Wars (London: Printed for T. Cooper, 1737), 108.

33

Th

e captain is allowed no bett er fare Exquemelin,

Buccaneers of

America, 70–71.

33

at Meals the Quarter-Master British Journal, August 22, 1724, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1. See also, Downing, A Compendious History of the Indian Wars, 108.

33

the People [pirates overtook] Snelgrave,

A New Account of Some

Parts of Guinea, 203.

34

but experience has taught mankind Hamilton, Madison, and Jay, Federalist Papers, 322.

34

Most of them having suff ered Arthur L. Hayward, ed., Lives of the Most Remarkable Criminals . . . , vol. 1 (London: Reeves and Turner, 1874 [1735]), 42.

35

For the Punishment of small Off ences Johnson,

GHP, 213.

35

went by that Name Tryals of Major Stede Bonnet, 38. See also, Snelgrave, A New Account of Some Parts of Guinea, 199–200; British Journal, August 22, 1724, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

36

the Captain can undertake nothing Johnson,

GHP, 423.

2 24

N O T E S T O P A G E S 3 6 – 3 8

36

by their own Laws; Th

e Captain’s Power is uncontroulable Ibid.,

139, 214.

36

Elected captains and quartermasters In one pirate crew, the crew aboard John Phillips’s Revenge, Phillips appointed the quartermaster rather than the crew electing him. Notably, this led to considerable confl ict and was eventually the undoing of the pirate company. Th

e crew’s carpenter, Fern, became miff ed when

Phillips didn’t appoint him quartermaster and tried to desert his crew on several occasions. Phillips shot him for the off ence.

Fern’s replacement was the conscripted carpenter Edward Chee-

seman, discussed in chapter 6, who delivered his crew to the

authorities.

36

Vane’s crew deposed him, elected quartermaster Tryals of Captain Jack Rackam. See also, Johnson, GHP, 479.

36

Ambition must be made Hamilton, Madison, and Jay, Federalist Papers, 322.

37

Th

e Pirate Captains having taken Snelgrave,

A New Account of

Some Parts of Guinea, 257.

37

Groups of merchants owned merchant ships Ownership

groups

were sizeable because of the need to diversify the risk of mer-

chant shipping. Each merchant purchased a small share in mul-

tiple ships rather than being the sole owner of one.

37

Merchant ship owners were absentee owners Because most merchant ships were owned by groups of investors, even in cases

when a merchant captained his vessel himself there remained

absentee owners, his coinvestors.

38

Merchant ship owners specialized in commercial activities Absentee ownership was further assured by the fact that the members

of merchant vessel ownership groups engaged in commercial

activities besides their concern in a particular merchant ship.

Th

ese other commercial activities oft en required merchants to

be on land to tend to their aff airs rather than at sea.

38

Merchant ships could be gone for months Although

merchant

ships engaged in coastal trade were at sea for shorter periods,

2 2 5

N O T E S T O P A G E S 3 8 – 3 9

merchant ships engaged in long-distance trade could be gone

for periods of nine months or more.

38

Merchant ship autocracy solution to principal-agent problem In addition to using autocratic captains to cope with this principal-agent problem, merchant ships also held back a portion (or

sometimes all) of sailors’ wages until a voyage was complete.

39

Like sailors, merchant ship captains earned fi xed wages A few

merchant ships engaged in part-time fi shing used a share system

of payment similar to the one privateers, whalers, and pirates

used. Th

e overwhelming majority of merchant ships used a fi xed

wage system. In vessels engaged in coastal shipping, sailors were paid lump-sum wages. In vessels engaged in long-distance shipping, sailors were paid monthly wages.

39

Merchant ship captains became stakeholders Th

e owner-sailor,

principal-agent problem couldn’t have been overcome by con-

verting every crew member’s fi xed wage to a profi t-sharing

scheme. Even under profi t sharing, sailors would still have an incentive to consume cargo, liberal provisions, etc., and then

blame the loss on the uncertainties of the sea, such as pirates or wreck. Although this opportunism would reduce each sailor’s

share of the voyage’s net proceeds, since the cost of such behav-

ior is borne partially by the absentee owners, sailors have an incentive to act opportunistically. Further, converting sailor wages to shares wouldn’t have deterred the crew from the most costly

kind of opportunism—absconding with the ship and its freight.

Because the benefi t of such theft would exceed the crew’s frac-

tion of a successful voyage’s proceeds, which are shared with the absentee owners under a profi t-sharing scheme, absent an authority to monitor and control their behavior, crews would still

have an incentive to steal the ships they sailed on. Th

is is why

both privateers and whaling ships, for instance, which used a

piratelike profi t-sharing system, but also had absentee owners,

still required and used autocratic captains. On the effi

ciency of

the fi xed wage system for the merchant marine and effi

ciency

of the share system for privateers and whalers, which also applies to pirates, see Giff ord, “Th

e Economic Organization of 17th-

through mid-19th Century Whaling and Shipping.”

2 2 6

N O T E S T O P A G E S 3 9 – 5 1

39

Owners appointed captains with familial connections Davis, Rise

of the English Shipping Industry, 128.

39

Familial connections reduced captain opportunism A third device owners used for this purpose, though of declining impor-

tance over time, was that of the supercargo—an agent hired by

the ship’s owners who sailed on the ship and managed commer-

cial aspects of the voyage, such as buying and selling cargo at

port, and sometimes deciding what ports the ship should stop

at, when the captain could not be trusted in these capacities. See Davis, Rise of the English Shipping Industry.

40

Merchant sailor opportunism rare For a discussion of how merchant sailors facilitated mutiny in the face of the collective action problems of rebellion, see Peter T. Leeson, “Rational

Choice, Round Robin, and Rebellion: An Institutional Solution

to the Problems of Revolution,” Unpublished paper, 2008.

41

Pirates stole their ships Th

ere is at least one eighteenth-century

pirate, however, Stede Bonnet, “who, it seems, at his own Cost

and Charges fi tt ed from thence a large Sloop called the Revenge with ten Guns, and about eighty Men.” See Tryals of Major Stede Bonnet, iii.

41

sea-going stock company Pringle,

Jolly Roger, 106.

Chapter 3. An-arrgh-chy

45

profess’d Enemys to all Order “General

Offi

cers of the Army”

Petition to the King on Behalf of Woodes Rogers, CO, 23/12,

1726.

46

Society . . . cannot subsist among Adam

Smith,

Th

e Th

eory of

Moral Sentiments, ed. D. D. Raphael and A. L. Macfi e (Indianapolis, IN: Liberty Fund, 1976 [1759]), 86.

46

devices . . . to control the abuses Hamilton, Madison, and Jay, Federalist Papers, 322.

47

If men were angels Ibid.,

322.

51

Anarchy doesn’t mean the absence of rules and order On

the

private emergence of institutions of social cooperation, see, for 2 27

N O T E S T O P A G E S 5 3 – 6 0

instance, Bruce L. Benson, “Th

e Spontaneous Evolution of

Commercial Law,” Southern Economic Journal 55: 644–61; David Friedman, “Private Creation and Enforcement of Law: A Historical Case,” Journal of Legal Studies 8 (1979): 399–415. Peter T. Leeson, “Trading with Bandits,” Journal of Law and Economics 50 (2007): 303–21; Peter T. Leeson, “Social Distance and Self-Enforcing Exchange,” Journal of Legal Studies 36 (2008): 161–

88; Peter T. Leeson, “Effi

cient Anarchy,” Public Choice 130

(2007): 41–53; Peter T. Leeson, “Bett er Off Stateless: Somalia

before and aft er Government Collapse,” Journal of Comparative Economics 35 (2007): 689–710; Peter T. Leeson, “Th

e Laws of

Lawlessness,” Journal of Legal Studies 38 (2009); David B. Skar-bek, “Putt ing the ‘Con’ into Constitutions: Th

e Economics of

Prison Gangs,” Journal of Law, Economics and Organization 26

(2010).

53

External costs fall on people who didn’t fully produce them As Nobel Prize-winning economist Ronald Coase pointed out, the

people who live near the factory did partly produce it, however.

Th

e external cost they bear is partly the result of the factory’s actions, but also partly the result of their own actions in living near the factory. In this sense all externalities are “jointly produced.”

See R. H. Coase, “Th

e Problem of Social Cost ,” Journal of Law

and Economics 3 (1960): 1–44.

58

Th

e buccaneers resolve by common vote Exquemelin,

Buccaneers

of America, 71–72.

60

for the bett er Conservation Johnson,

GHP, 210.

60

Constitutions similar across crews Rediker,

Between the Devil

and the Deep Blue Sea, 261.

60

the Laws of this Company Johnson,

GHP, 213.

60

Percentage of pirates traceable back to three captains Rediker, Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea, 267.

60

All [pirates] swore to ‘em Johnson,

GHP, 342.

60

When ever any enter Downing,

A Compendious History of the

Indian Wars, 107.

2 2 8

N O T E S T O P A G E S 6 1 – 6 4

61

to prevent Disputes and Ranglings Johnson,

GHP, 342.

61

Pirates fr ee to search for bett er terms Th

e status of forced men on

pirate ships varied. Some were compelled to sign the ship’s arti-

cles. Others weren’t compelled to do so but didn’t have a vote in the company’s aff airs until they signed. See Rediker, Villains of All Nations, 79–81.

61

off ering himself as an Ally Johnson,

GHP, 319.

61

a Spirit of Discord Ibid . , 175.

61

Tiebout competition See Charles M. Tiebout, “A Pure Th

eory

of Local Expenditures,” Journal of Political Economy 64 (1956): 416–24.

62

Pirates’ incentive to create favorable rules Th

is isn’t to say pirates

never coerced anyone to join them; they certainly did. However,

as discussed in depth in chapter 6, most pirates were volunteers.

Furthermore, at the stage at which pirate articles were forged—

before launching an expedition—the deciding pirates were vol-

unteers. Th

us, exit, and therefore Tiebout competition, was op-

erational at this stage.

62

wickedly united Johnson,

GHP, 253.

62

Every Man has a Vote Ibid.,

211–12.

64

to Strike or Abuse one another Boston News-Lett er, August 1–

August 8, 1723, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1. Captain George Lowther’s crew’s articles, as reported by Johnson ( GHP, 307–8), are nearly identical to those the Boston News-Lett er and the Tryals of Th

irty-Six Persons for Piracy at-

tribute to Edward Low’s company. Since Lowther and Low

sailed in consort for a time, it’s possible, especially in light of the similarities between pirate crews’ articles more generally, that

the closeness results from this. Alternatively, Johnson, the Boston News-Lett er, or the Tryals of Th

irty-Six Persons for Piracy may

have mistakenly att ributed the articles to Low when they be-

longed to Lowther or vice versa.

64

any Man . . . [to] steal any Th

ing Johnson,

GHP, 342–43.

64

Nature, we see, teaches Ibid.,

527.

2 2 9

N O T E S T O P A G E S 6 4 – 6 8

64

Punishment among them for something A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle, 48.

64

Coupled marooning with ostracism See, for instance, Exquemelin, Buccaneers of America, 72.

65

If the Robbery was only betwixt Johnson,

GHP, 211.

65

Random searches for holding back loot Exquemelin,

Buccaneers

of America, 205–6.

65

Th

eir Money was kept Trials of Eight Persons, 25. See also, Marx,

“Th

e Brethren of the Coast,” 44.

65

Moses’s Law; If at any Time we meet Johnson,

GHP, 342, 343.

See also, A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle, 19.

65

shall suff er what Punishment See, for instance, Low’s articles in the Boston News-Lett er, August 1–August 8, 1723.

65

all the Pyrates Aff airs A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle, 27.

66

If any one commits an Off ence British Journal, August 22, 1724, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

66

acts as a Sort of civil Magistrate Johnson,

GHP, 213.

66

Th

e Quarter-Master of the Ship Ibid., 212. See also, 339.

66

Th

ey had no discipline Pringle,

Jolly Roger, 272.

67

which kept Peace amongst Weekly Journal, May 23, 1724, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

67

Pack of Sea Banditt i Ibid., June 6, 1724, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

67

Sold or auctioned troublesome booty See, for instance, Rogozinski, Honor among Th

ieves, 169; Snelgrave, A New Account of Some

Parts of Guinea; A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle, 158.

68

Th

e Captain is to have two full shares Boston News-Lett er, August 1–August 8, 1723.

2 3 0

N O T E S T O P A G E S 6 8 – 7 9

68

the Captain shall have one full share Johnson,

GHP, 342.

68

Merchant ship pay scale steeper than pirates’ Davis,

Rise of the

English Shipping Industry, 138.

70

Th

at Man that shall not keep Johnson,

GHP, 342–43.

70

give a Check to their Debauches Ibid.,

211.

70

this being a good political Rule Snelgrave,

A New Account of

Some Parts of Guinea, 256–257. See also, Johnson, GHP, 212.

70

Th

at man that shall snap Johnson,

GHP, 342–43.

71

If . . . any Man should lose a Limb Ibid.,

211–12.

72

He that shall have the Misfortune Ibid.,

308.

72

Th

ose who behaved courageously Exquemelin,

Buccaneers of

America, 156.

72

He that sees a sail fi rst Boston News-Lett er, August 1–August 8, 1723. See also, A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle, 66.

72

It must be observed Johnson,

GHP, 191.

72

In Case any Doubt Ibid.,

213.

74

Buchanan and Tullock’s costs of creating governance James M.

Buchanan and Gordon Tullock, Th

e Calculus of Consent: Logical

Foundations of Constitutional Democracy (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1962).

78

If quartermaster abused power, entire crew may react On the coordinating role of constitutions for preventing ruler predation,

see Barry R. Weingast, “Th

e Economic Role of Political Institu-

tions: Market-Preserving Federalism and Economic Develop-

ment,” Journal of Law, Economics and Organization 11 (1995): 1–31.

78

Burgess marooned for predation Rogozinski, Honor among Th

ieves, 177.

79

loaded him with Irons An Account of the Conduct and Proceedings of the Late John Gow, 23.

2 3 1

N O T E S T O P A G E S 7 9 – 8 4

79

as great robbers Barnaby

Slush,

Th

e Royal Navy: Or a Sea Cook

Turn’d Projector (London: Bragg, 1709), viii; quoted in Rediker, Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea, 287.

80

Puritan church covenants On Puritan church government, see Cooper, Tenacious of their Liberties.

80

it was every one’s Interest Johnson,

GHP, 210.

80

As society cannot subsist unless the laws of justice Smith, Th

eory

of Moral Sentiments, 87.

81

their greatest Security lay Johnson,

GHP, 210.

81

Pirate ships more orderly than many legitimate vessels and colonies Rogozinski,

Honor among Th

ieves, 179. Chinese pirates,

who also relied on private governance mechanisms aboard their

ships, enjoyed similar order. Referring to these pirates, for ex-

ample, historian Philip Gosse notes that “the discipline of the

crew was litt le short of exemplary.” See Philip Gosse, Th

e History

of Piracy (New York: Tudor, 1932), 273.

81

At sea, they perform Jacobus de Bucquoy, Zestien Jarrige Reis naas de Inidien gedan door de Jacob de Bucquoy. (Harlem: Bosch, 1744), 116; translated and quoted in Rogozinski, Honor among

Th

ieves, viii.

Chapter 4 Skull & Bones

83

Going about like roaring Lions Johnson,

GHP, 118.

83

go on the Account Ibid., 487.

84

Description of navigation and pirate tactics My discussion of navigation and pirate tactics here is based largely on Angus Konstam, Blackbeard: America’s Most Notorious Pirate (Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley, 2006).

84

How the backstaff worked Other eighteenth-century maritime navigational tools, such as the “astrolabe,” worked in essentially the same way.

2 3 2

N O T E S T O P A G E S 8 4 – 9 2

84

Determining longitude and speed Konstam,

Blackbeard, 165.

See also, Kriss E. Lane, Pillaging the Empire: Piracy in the America’s 1500– 1750 (Armonk, NY: M.E. Sharpe, 1998), 59.

86

twenty-four guns, with two wooden ones Edward

Barlow,

Bar-

low’s Journal . . . , ed. Basil Lubbock (London: Hurst and Black-ett , 1934), 327; quoted in Davis, Rise of the English Shipping Industry, 346.

86

Pirates used chicken coops and cargo to disguise ship Konstam, Blackbeard, 174.

87

this wasn’t always practical Ibid.,

174.

87

Take of Powder 102 Quoted in Charles Grey, Pirates of the Eastern Seas (London: Kennikat Press, 197), 45.

88

Pirate armaments, their uses, and capabilities Konstam,

Black-

beard, 178–79.

90

Th

eir whole policy Pringle,

Jolly Roger, 113.

91

A Sable Flag Quoted in Grey, Pirates of the Eastern Seas, 17.

91

large black Flag Trials of Eight Persons, 24.

91

Black Flags and Deaths Heads Boston News-Lett er, June 9–June 16, 1718, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

See also, Tryals of Major Stede Bonnet, v, 16.

91

when they fi ght under Jolly Roger British Journal, August 22, 1724, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

91

let fl y her Jack; had the Figure of a Skeleton Johnson,

GHP, 68,

245.

92

Jolly Roger, for so they call British Journal, August 22, 1724, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1. See also, Boston Gazett e, March 21–March 28, 1726, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1; New England Courant, July 22, 1723, reprinted in George Francis Dow and John Henry

Edmonds, Th

e Pirates of the New England Coast, 1630– 1730

(New York: Dover, 1996), 308. Spriggs’s fl ag is similar to this

description of Captain John Phillips’s “own dark Flag, in the

2 3 3

N O T E S T O P A G E S 9 2 – 9 7

middle of which an Anatomy, and at one side of it a Dart in the

Heart, with drops of Blood proceeding from it; on the other

side an Hour-glass, the sight dismal.” See Boston News-Lett er, May 28–June 4, 1724.

92

a white Ensign with the fi gure Governor Hamilton to the Council of Trade and Plantations, CSPC, January 6, 1718, Item 298,

vol. 30 (1717–18), 146–53.

92

English Colours fl ying Boston News-Lett er, August 15–August 22, 1720, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

92

Th

e Colours they fought under A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle, 5.

92

Roberts was so enraged Johnson,

GHP, 221.

92

a black Silk Flag fl ying Ibid., 234. See also, 352.

93

to terrify Merchant-Men Snelgrave,

A New Account of Some

Parts of Guinea, 199.

93

Meaning of pirate fl ag symbols Konstam,

History of Pirates, 100.

94

Peacock signaling Amotz Zahavi, “Mate Selection—A Selec-

tion for a Handicap,” Journal of Th

eoretical Biology 53 (1975):

205–14.

96

that the Spaniards . . . man and his vessell Lt. Governor Spotswood to the Council of Trade and Plantations, CSPC, May 31,

1717, Item 595, vol. 29 (1716–17), 316–21.

97

Repeated complaints against coast guards See, for instance, Boston Gazett e, July 6–July 13, 1724, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1; Governor Sir N. Lawes to the Council of Trade and Plantations, CSPC, June 12, 1721, Item

523, vol. 32 (1720–21), 334–35; Governor Sir N. Lawes to the

Council of Trade and Plantations, CSPC, May 18, 1722, Item

142, vol. 33 (1722–23), 69–70; Captain Beverley, of Virginia,

to the Governor of Jamaica, CSPC, Item 10 ii, vol. 30 (1717–

18), 6–7; Captain Brathwaite to Governor Hart, CSPC, Febru-

ary 14, 1723, Item 496 i, vol. 33 (1722–23), 240; Deposition of

John Jones, CSPC, September 15, 1724, Item 258 iv, vol. 34

2 3 4

N O T E S T O P A G E 9 7

(1724–25), 142–43; Governor Hart to the Council of Trade

and Plantations, CSPC, July 12, 1724, Item 260, vol. 34 (1724–

25), 143–57; Anonymous Paper on the Sugar Trade, CSPC,

July 22, 1724, Item 276, vol. 34 (1724–25), 168–70; Deposi-

tion of John Kenney, CSPC, December 10, 1716, Item 425 i,

vol. 29 (1716–17), 230–31; Governor Sir N. Lawes to the

Council of Trade and Plantations, CSPC, January 31, 1719,

Item 34, vol. 31 (1719–20), 12–21; Governor Sir N. Lawes to

the Council of Trade and Plantations, CSPC, November 13,

1720, Item 288, vol. 32 (1720–21), 193–95; Lt. Governor

Spotswood to the Council of Trade and Plantations, CSPC,

May 31, 1721, Item 513, vol. 32 (1720–21), 326–29; Lt. Gov-

ernor Hope to the Council of Trade and Plantations, CSPC,

August 21, 1724, Item 338, vol. 34 (1724–25), 207–8; Deposi-

tion of Richard Th

ompson, CSPC, April 22, 1725, Item 574 v,

vol. 34 (1724–25), 359–60; Governor Phenney to the Duke of

Newcastle, CSPC, April 16, 1725, Item 574, vol. 34 (1724–25),

359–61; Lt. Governor Pulleine to the Council of Trade and

Plantations, CSPC, April 22, 1714, Item 651, vol. 27 (1712–14),

332–34; Sir N. Lawes to the Council of Trade and Plantations,

CSPC, August 29, 1717, Item 54, vol. 30 (1717–18), 17–18;

Governor Hart to the Council of Trade and Plantations, CSPC,

April 9, 1723, Item 496, vol. 33 (1722–23), 238–41; Council of

Trade and Plantations to the Duke of Newcastle, CSPC, July 24,

1724, Item 291, vol. 34 (1724–25), 172–85; Governor Sir

N. Lawes to the Council of Trade and Plantations, CSPC, July 9,

1722, Item 215, vol. 33 (1722–23), 106–8; Petition of the Mer-

chants of London, CSPC, May 20, 1726, Item 152, vol. 35

(1726–27), 74–75.

97

Government-sanctioned cruisers limited in viciousness English privateers, for example, were instructed “that no Person or Persons taken or surprised by you in any Ship or Vessel as aforesaid, though known to be of the Enemies side, be in cold Blood killed,

maimed, or by Torture or Cruelty in humanly treated contrary

to the Common Usage or Just Permission of War.” See Arraign-

ment, Tryal, and Condemnation, of Capt. John Quelch, 21. Similar instructions were most likely also issued to Spanish and French

privateers and coast guard vessels.

2 3 5

N O T E S T O P A G E S 9 7 – 1 0 0

97 Government-sanctioned cruisers couldn’t slaughter crew aft er quarter requested If they did and their victims’ government captured them, they could be tried and hanged as pirates. See, for

instance, Captain Th

omas Southey, Chronological History of the

West Indies, 3 vols. (London: Printed for Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown, and Greene, 1827), 2: 225. Alternatively, in principle at

least, their own government might punish them.

98 No Quarter should be given Snelgrave,

A New Account of Some

Parts of Guinea, 206.

98 asking them if they would stand Boston News-Lett er, June 9–June 16, 1718.

98 black Flag with a Death’s Head White-hall Evening Post, October 18–October 21, 1718, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

99 to surrender on penalty Quoted in Pringle, Jolly Roger, 124.

99 Everybody knew what these images Konstam,

History of Pirates,

100.

99 had [a victim’s] Ears cut off Johnson,

GHP, 335.

99 and because at fi rst they shewed Ibid.,

324.

99 mentaining an obstinate defence News from Barbadoes, Antigua and Jamaica–Sent April 25, 1721 from Governor Bennett to the

Council of Trade and Plantations, CSPC, February 18, 1721,

Item 463 iii, vol. 32 (1720–21), 294–96.

99 aft er a desperate resistance Johnson,

GHP, 118.

99 England was inclined to favour Ibid.,

121.

100 Captain England having sided Ibid., 122. For other examples of pirates’ policy of harsh punishment for resistance, see, for instance, Extracts from Lett ers Received by the East India Com-

pany, February 17, 1698, Item 235, vol. 16 (1697–98), 112–14.

100 observe strictly that Maxim Snelgrave,

A New Account of Some

Parts of Guinea, 219.

100 Good Quarters to be given Boston News-Lett er, August 1–August 8, 1723.

2 3 6

N O T E S T O P A G E S 1 0 0 – 1 0 8

100 that have made Resistance Ibid., June 16–June 23, 1718. See also Cordingly who notes that “in the great majority of cases

merchant ships surrendered without a fi ght when att acked by

pirates.” Under the Black Flag, 121.

100 deliberately publicized Pringle,

Jolly Roger, 113.

100 Supposing him to be one Johnson,

GHP, 226.

101 Fearing the Consequence Ibid.,

312.

101 He threaten’d all with present Death Ibid.,

323.

101 sail’d away down the Coast Ibid.,

371.

102 under a Black Flag, fl agrantly A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle, 5.

102 who is now cruising among Governor Hart to Mr. Popple, CSPC, November 30, 1726, Item 360, vol. 35 (1726–27), 179–80.

103 When he fi nds any vessel Ibid.

103 To intimidate . . . fr equently hoisted Petition of the Merchants of London, CSPC, May 20, 1726, Item 152, vol. 35 (1726–27),

74–75.

104 as dangerous as it now is Anonymous Paper on the Sugar Trade, CSPC, July 22, 1724, Item 276, vol. 34 (1724–25), 168–70.

Chapter 5. Walk the Plank

107 No record of 17th- or 18th-century pirates making captives walk the plank Th

ere is, however, one nineteenth-century case of pi-

rates forcing an individual to “walk the plank.” See Cordingly,

Under the Black Flag, 131.

107 to whom it was a sport John

Barnard, Ashton’s Memorial: An

History of the Strange Adventures, and Signal Deliverances of, Philip Ashton . . . (Boston: Printed for Samuel Gerrish, 1715), 7.

107 It is impossible to particularly recount Johnson,

GHP, 216.

108 Like their Patron Ibid.,

334.

108 I scorn to do any one a Mischief Ibid.,

587.

2 37

N O T E S T O P A G E S 1 0 9 – 1 1 3

109 Crewmembers hid valuables fr om pirates Such valuables included, for instance, the “Rings and Buckles” the cook on one of

Roberts’s prizes stashed away. See A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle, 14. Hiding places varied. When merchant ship captain Radford tried to

hide “350 Ounces of Silver” from pirate Paul Williams, for in-

stance, he “buried [it] in his [ship’s] Ballast.” See Boston News-Lett er, June 24–July 1, 1717.

109 hung eleven thousand moydores Governor Hart to the Council of Trade and Plantations, CSPC, March 25, 1724, Item 102, vol.

34 (1724–25), 71–73.

110 all their Papers were perused Johnson,

GHP, 88.

110 Barbarous and Inhumane Wretches An Account of the Behaviour, Dying Speeches, and Execution of Mr. John Murphey . . . (London: Printed for T. Crownfi eld, 1696), reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 4.

112 making their Hellish Inventions Th

e Tryals of Sixteen Persons for

Piracy, &c . . . (Boston: Joseph Edwards, 1726), 14, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 3.

112 Lowe cutt off Governor Hart to the Council of Trade and Plantations, CSPC, March 25, 1724, Item 102, vol. 34 (1724–25),

71–73.

112 Th

ey cut and whiped American Weekly Mercury June 13, 1723, quoted in Dow and Edmonds, Pirates of the New England Coast, 206.

112 bound [one captive’s] hands Deposition of Edward North, CSPC, May 22, 1718, Item 551 ii, vol. 30 (1717–18), 263.

113 threatened to sink Deposition of Robert Leonard, CSPC, February 24, 1718/19, Item 797 vi, vol. 30 (1717–18), 412.

113 placing lighted matches Deposition of John Wickstead, CSPC, Item 754 iv, vol. 33 (1722–23), 365.

113 threatened to shoot Information of John Stephenson, HCA, 1/55, fol. 6, 1721.

2 3 8

N O T E S T O P A G E S 1 1 3 – 1 7

113 barbarously used . . . Mac Clenan Boston News-Lett er, August 11–

August 18, 1718.

113 they strappado’d him Exquemelin,

Buccaneers of America, 200.

See also, John Style to ‘the Principal Secretary of State, White-

hall,’ CSPC, January 4, 1670, Item 138, vol. 7 (1669–74), 49–51.

113 they tied long cords Exquemelin,

Buccaneers of America, 150.

114 being possessed of a devil’s fury Ibid.,

107.

114 squeezed their [prisoners’] joints Quoted in Grey, Pirates of the Eastern Seas, 318.

114 Th

e Manner of a Sweat British Journal, August 8, 1724, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

114 was by some set bare John Style to ‘the Principal Secretary of State, Whitehall,’ CSPC, January 4, 1670, Item 138, vol. 7

(1669–74), 49–51.

115 learned fr om some Barnard, Ashton’s Memorial, 7.

115 the Quarter-master came forward A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle, 14.

116 In the Commonwealth of Pyrates Johnson,

GHP, 85. See also,

121.

116 good Policy . . . to prevent her Ibid.,

298.

116 bloody, merciless ruffi an; diabolical disposition; dread to fall into Increase

Moseley,

A Narration of the Captivity of John Fill-

more and His Escape fr om the Pirates (Bennington, VT: Haswell and Russell, 1790), reprinted in John Richard Stephens, ed.,

Captured by Pirates: 22 Firsthand Accounts of Murder and May-

hem on the High Seas (Cambria, CA: Fern Canyon, 1996), 355, 358, 354.

117 Something about [the pirates’] temper Baer,

British Piracy in the

Golden Age, vol. 1, 282.

117 Th

e Pyrates gave us an account American Weekly Mercury, June 13, 1723, quoted in Dow and Edmonds, Pirates of the New England Coast, 206.

2 3 9

N O T E S T O P A G E S 1 1 8 – 2 0

118 Th

ey have no Th

oughts of ever British Journal, August 22, 1724, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

118 oft en saying they would not go Boston News-Lett er, August 15–

August 22, 1720, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

118 a merry Life and a short one Johnson,

GHP, 244.

118 as to his part, he hoped he should Snelgrave,

A New Account of

Some Parts of Guinea, 210.

119 Teach called for a Glass Boston News-Lett er, February 23–

March 2, 1719, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

119 with madness and rage Ibid., August 15–August 22, 1720, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1. See also, Tryals of Th

irty-Six Persons for Piracy.

119 every Th

ing that please them not British Journal, August 8, 1724, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

120 in Possession of the Devil; laughing at the very An Account of the Behaviour and Last Dying Speeches of the Six Pirates . . . (Boston: Printed for Nicholas Boone, 1704), reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 4; Colman, It is a Fearful Th ing to Fall

into the Hands of the Living God, 22.

120 In ravaging the Vessel Boston News-Lett er, August 4–August 11, 1718; reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

120 sometimes to prevent giving Intelligence Johnson,

GHP, 134.

120 answer’d, it was for fun A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle, 71.

120 declared themselves to live Trials of Eight Persons, 6.

120 notorious pyrate bett er known Petition of the Council and Assembly of the Sett lements in South Carolina to the King, CSPC,

February 3, 1720, Item 541, vol. 31 (1719–20), 332–43.

120 his Beard . . . did not litt le Johnson,

GHP, 84.

24 0

N O T E S T O P A G E S 1 2 1 – 2 5

121 Captain Teach, assumed the Cognomen Ibid.,

84–85.

121 Th

ere is no doubt that Blackbeard Robert E. Lee, Blackbeard the Pirate: A Reappraisal of His Life and Times (Winston-Salem: John F. Blair, 1974), 22.

121 He is a middle-sized man CSPC, May 9, 1700, Item 400 ii, vol. 18 (1700), 236.

123 Blackbeard never had to kill anyone Konstam,

Blackbeard, 157.

123 murther’d the French Governor Weekly Journal, July 29, 1721, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

123 irreconcilable Aversion; let none of that Country Johnson, GHP,

326, 328.

124 taking out his Heart Boston News-Lett er, June 20–June 27, 1723, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

124 Spriggs’s reason for revenge same as Low’s Dow and Edmonds, Pirates of the New England Coast, 282.

124 burn his Ship because she belonged Boston News-Lett er, June 9–

June 16, 1718, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1. See also, Tryals of Major Stede Bonnet, 45.

124 if the Prisoners [in Boston] suff ered Suff olk Court Files, fragment 99, Trial of Th

omas Davis, October 28, 1717, contained in

Jameson, Privateering and Piracy in the Colonial Period, 308.

124 manned partly with English Johnson,

GHP, 335.

125 Th

e Pirates seem much enraged Boston News-Lett er, August 15–

August 22, 1720, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

125 Th

ey us’d . . . barbarously, because Johnson,

GHP, 217.

125 when any Ship belonging Ibid.,

215.

125 Th

ey beat the Bermudians Deposition of Samuel Cooper, CSPC, May 24, 1718, Item 551 i, vol. 30 (1717–18), 263. See also, Deposition of Nathaniel Catling, CSPC, May 17, 1718, Item 551 v,

vol. 30 (1717–18), 263–64.

241

N O T E S T O P A G E S 1 2 5 – 2 9

125 expected to be joined Lt. Governor Spotswood to the Council of Trade and Plantations, CSPC, May 31, 1721, Item 513,

vol. 32 (1720–21), 326–29.

125 barbarous wretches can be moved Col. Spotswood to the Council of Trade and Plantations, CSPC, June 16, 1724, Item 210,

vol. 34 (1724–25), 112–20.

126 endeavour’d my destruction Lt. Governor Hope to the Duke of Newcastle, CSPC, February 2, 1725, Item 491, vol. 34 (1724–

25), 320–21.

126 fear’d that this very execution Lt. Governor Hope to the Council of Trade and Plantations, CSPC, January 14, 1724, Item 13,

vol. 34 (1724–25), 9–17. See also, Rediker, Villains of all Nations, 96.

126 they pretend one reason William Snelgrave to Humphrey Morice, August 1, 1719, Humphrey Morice Papers from the

Bank of England, Slave Trade Papers and Journals (Marlboro,

Wiltshire, England: Adam Mathew Publications), quoted in Re-

diker, Villains of All Nations, 89.

128 examin[e] the Men concerning Johnson,

GHP, 338.

128 whole Salt Fleet Ibid.,

582.

128 Ah, Captain Skinner! Ibid., 115. See also, Boston News-Lett er, June 20–June 27, 1723; reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

129 could not spare using A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle, 44.

129 endeavoured to beat; Safe provided none Snelgrave,

A New Ac-

count of Some Parts of Guinea, 207, 208.

129 did intreat earnestly British Journal, August 8, 1724, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

129 he was an honest Fellow Boston News-Lett er, November 14–

November 21, 1720, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the

Golden Age, vol. 1.

24 2

N O T E S T O P A G E S 1 2 9 – 3 5

129 belonging to Carolina Johnson,

GHP, 597.

130 Th

ey gave the ship taken Trials of Eight Persons, 23.

130 it is a common practice Alexander

Spotswood,

Th

e Offi cial Let-

ters of Alexander Spotswood, 2 vols. (Richmond: Virginia Historical Society, 1882–85) (May 20, 1720), vol. 2, 340.

130 took what they wanted CSPC, May 31, 1720, Item 33 i, vol. 32

(1720–21), 18–19.

130 ma[k]e a Reparation An Account of the Conduct and Proceedings of the Late John Gow, 23.

130 Th

e far greater hazard Morris,

Government and Labor in Early

America, 271.

131 Fury of unreasonable; gave you the Liveliest Barnard, Ashton’s Memorial, 64, 62.

132 Instigated by the Devil; the Folly and Madness Tryals of Five Persons for Piracy and Robbery (Boston: S. Gerrish, 1726), 5, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 3; Johnson, GHP, 219.

132 a Dish of Candles British Journal, August 8, 1724. See also, Boston News-Lett er, February 4–February 11, 1725, both reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

133 being a greazy Fellow Johnson,

GHP, 323. See also, Weekly

Journal, August 31, 1723, and Boston News-Lett er, February 4–

February 11, 1725, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1; Tryals of Th

irty-Six Persons.

133 threaten’d to hang Johnson,

GHP, 324.

Chapter 6. Pressing Pegleg

135 pirates had no diffi culty Cordingly,

Under the Black Flag, 122.

See also, Rankin, Th

e Golden Age of Piracy, 34.

135 the People were generally glad Snelgrave,

A New Account of Some

Parts of Guinea, 203.

24 3

N O T E S T O P A G E S 1 3 6 – 3 8

136 might hazard, and, in Time Johnson,

GHP, 248.

136 to over-throw the pyratical Ibid., 346. See also, American Weekly Mercury, July 7–July 14, 1725, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

136 Forced men overwhelmed William Fly See

Boston News-Lett er,

June 30–July 7, 1726.

136 a Man and a Woman Daily Courant, August 31, 1720, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

137 on the Grand Comanos Boston News-Lett er, April 4–April 11, 1723.

137 surrender’d himself to the Government An Account of the Conduct and Proceedings of the Late John Gow, 32.

137 Forced men less willing to give their all In some cases it appears pirates allowed forced men to receive shares like everyone else.

However, even if a coerced sailor received a share of the plunder, this payment was obviously less than he was willing to take the

job for. If it weren’t, he wouldn’t need to be compelled. So, any forced sailor was always earning less than he was willing to pirate for and therefore had less incentive to “give his all” as a pirate.

137 was for giving Chase Johnson,

GHP, 601.

137 as a Reason against An Account of the Conduct and Proceedings of the Late John Gow, 24.

137 Low tried persuasion to recruit Ashton Pirate captain John Phillips similarly att empted persuasion before force to recruit a captive he desired. As the captive put it, “To induce me to join them they used more arguments of a persuasive than a compulsory

nature.” See Moseley, A Narration of the Captivity of John

Fillmore.

137 according to the Pirates usual custom; asked the Old Question Barnard, Ashton’s Memorial, 2, 3–4.

138 I fear they will soon multiply Lt. Governor Bennett to the Council of Trade and Plantations, CSPC, May 31, 1718, Item

551, vol. 30 (1717–18), 260–64.

24 4

N O T E S T O P A G E S 1 3 8 – 4 2

138 strength increases daily Spotswood,

Offi cial Lett ers, May 30,

1717, vol. 2, 249.

139 Th

is was dun . . . without Deposition of Jeremiah Tay, July 6, 1694, Suff olk Court Files, No. 3033, Paper 6, reprinted in

Jameson, Privateering and Piracy in the Colonial Period, 150.

139 it was the Custome among Trial Records of Th

omas Davis, Oc-

tober 28, 1717, Suff olk Court Files, fragment 99, reprinted in

Jameson, Privateering and Piracy in the Colonial Period, 308. See also, Trial Records of Simon van Vorst October 1717, Suff olk

Court Files, No. 10923, reprinted in Jameson, Privateering and Piracy in the Colonial Period, 304; Johnson, GHP, 170.

139 more would have enter’d; the Pyrates despised A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle, 50, 51.

139 that he might have none Barnard, Ashton’s Memorial, 3.

139 none but Sailors A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle, 13.

139 which Country Folks Ibid.,

37.

140 forced on board all Carpenters Johnson,

GHP, 489.

140 a Light Pair of Heels Ibid.,

168.

141 because he could play Tryals of Th

irty-Six Persons.

141 Doubtless ‘tis possible An Account of the Conduct and Proceedings of the Late John Gow, 14.

141 were at fi rst forc’d British Journal, August 22, 1724, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

141 forced at fi rst . . . since had done A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle, 40.

141 drubb’d . . . Williams that he might Johnson,

GHP, 601.

142 In the Beginning Ibid.,

194.

142 begg’d of Roberts A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle, 28.

24 5

N O T E S T O P A G E S 1 4 2 – 4 7

142 that they were forc’d men Johnson,

GHP, 260.

142 would, have shot them Ibid.,

260.

143 Anti-piracy legislation My discussion of antipiracy law is based largely on Joel Baer’s excellent account of antipiracy legislation in British Piracy in the Golden Age and Pirates of the British Isles (Stroud, UK: Tempus, 2005).

143 Off enses at Sea Act “Off enses at Sea Act,” 28 Hen. VI, c. 15.

143 1684 ruling on colonial jurisdiction Baer,

Pirates of the British

Isles, 25.

144 An Act for the More Eff ectual Suppression of Piracy “An Act for the More Eff ectual Suppression of Piracy,” 11–12 Will. III, c.7.

145 1700 Act made permanent in 1719 “Perpetuation of Acts, etc.,”

6 Geo. I, c.19.

145 Quotations fr om An Act for the More Eff ectual Suppression of Piracy “An ACT made at Westminster in the Kingdom of Great Britain in the Eleventh and Twelft h Years of the Reign of King William III,” reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 3.

146 for every Commander Boston News-Lett er, December 2–December 9, 1717. See also, Boston News-Lett er, February 9–February 16, 1719, both reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

146 like Dogs to their Vomits Tryals of Major Stede Bonnet, 11.

146 reduc’d above a thousand Woodes Rogers’s Petition to the King, CO, 23/12, 1727.

147 submitt ed to His Majesty’s Act “General

Offi

cers of the Army”

Petition to the King on Behalf of Woodes Rogers, CO, 23/12,

1726.

147 Rogers’s estimate of pirates who return to trade Cyrus H.

Kar-

raker, Piracy Was a Business (Rindge, NH: Richard R. Smith, 1953), 181.

24 6

N O T E S T O P A G E S 1 4 7 – 5 0

147 any wise trade with any pirate “An Act for the More Eff ectual Suppressing of Piracy,” 8 Geo. I, c. 24.

147 the neglect of the Commanders Governor Sir. N. Lawes to the Council of Trade and Plantations, CSPC, June 21, 1718, Item

566, vol. 30 (1717–18), 270–72.

148 People are easily led Spotswood,

Offi cial Lett ers, May 26, 1719,

vol. 2, 319. See also, Governor the Earl of Bellomont to the

Council of Trade and Plantations, CSPC, Oct 24, 1699, Item

890, vol. 17 (1699), 486–494; Governor the Earl of Bellomont

to Council of Trade and Plantations, CSCP, May 18, 1698, Item

473, vol. 16 (1697–98), 224–29; Information of Henry Watson,

CSPC, Aug 25, 1698, Item 770, vol. 16 (1697–98), 403.

148 willing to be forced Johnson,

GHP, 65.

148 given to Reading A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle, 61. Th

ough, in fairness to

this fellow, this character evidence was presented to support the claim he was forced.

149 the plea of Force Johnson,

GHP, 248.

149 Th

e court acquitt ed Cordingly,

Under the Black Flag, 233.

149 Th

e three Circumstances Johnson,

GHP, 249–50.

149 there must go an Intention Ibid.,

449.

150 forced on Board . . . desired one A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle, 14.

150 Sailors willing to place ads for fellow seamen See,

for

example,

Boston News-Lett er, April 7–April 14, 1718; Boston News-Lett er, August 22–August 29, 1720; Boston News-Lett er, August 7–

August 14, 1721; New-England Courant, May 13–May 20, 1723; Boston Gazett e, September 30–October 7, 1723; Boston Gazett e, May 10–May 17, 1725; Boston News-Lett er, November 25–

December 2, 1725; Boston Gazett e, December [?], 1725; Boston News-Lett er, August 1–August 8, 1723, all reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

247

N O T E S T O P A G E S 1 5 0 – 5 6

150 gave all his Wages A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle, 21.

150 the Quarter-Master of the Pirate Boston News-Lett er, July 2–July 9, 1722, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

150 ordered . . . to declare upon Ibid., October 10–October 18, 1723.

151 Th

eir request was granted Pringle,

Jolly Roger, 115.

151 whether they were willing A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle, 50.

151 the pretended constraint Johnson,

GHP, 248.

152 this ruse oft en worked Pringle,

Jolly Roger, 115.

152 was a forced Man . . . lamented his Wife A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle, 27.

152 I was a Prisoner, Sir Johnson,

GHP, 261. See also, 271, 274,

652–53.

152 several times [he] wished A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle, 12.

153 Plea of constraint Tryals of Th

irty-Six Persons.

153 Th

at the said Bellamy’s; at that time [Bellamy’s crew]; be hanged up Trials of Eight Persons, 12, 11, 14.

153 that Hackney Defense Tryals of Sixteen Persons, 14.

153 said he was a forced Man Tryals of Th

irty-Six Persons.

153 Swetser’s defense was an ad of force For Swetser’s ad, see Boston News-Lett er, June 11–June 18, 1722.

Chapter 7. Equal Pay for Equal Prey

156 Blacks without political and other rights until even later While, offi

cially, the Fift eenth Amendment (1870) granted blacks the

right to vote, various state practices, particularly in the South, ef-fectively denied black citizens voting rights until the 1965 Voting 24 8

N O T E S T O P A G E S 1 5 7 – 6 3

Rights Act, which empowered the Justice Department to moni-

tor the treatment of black voters.

157 the impression is that W. Jeff rey Bolster, Black Jacks: Afr ican American Seamen in the Age of Sail (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1997), 13.

157 a resolute Fellow Johnson,

GHP, 82.

157 Percentage of blacks in pirate crews Kinkor, “Black Men under the Black Flag,” 200.

159 Th

e pirates shared the same prejudices Cordingly,

Under the

Black Flag, 16.

161 Some black pirates carried arms and fought Kinkor, “Black Men under the Black Flag,” 201.

161 Black pirates fought alongside Blackbeard Boston News-Lett er, February 23–March 2, 1719, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1. See also, Arraignment, Tryal, and Condemnation, of Capt. John Quelch, 8.

161 Negro, who had his Leg Ayres,

Voyages and Adventures of Capt.

Barth. Sharp, 70. Consistent with pirates’ opportunistic racial tolerance discussed above, however, this same crew, one of its

members remarked, “ke[pt] . . . Negroes to do our drudgery,” 79.

161 Th

is fellow . . . had been a Slave Ibid.,

71.

162 a Negro Man Boston News-Lett er, September 5–September 12, 1728.

162 Black crewmen made up Rediker,

Villains of All Nations, 54.

162 the fi rst integrated national David

Hackett Fischer, Washington’s

Crossing (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004), 21–22.

162 Negroe . . . I was abaft Tryals of Major Stede Bonnet, 29.

163 one of the [pirate] Men Ibid.,

30.

163 as for the negro men they are grown Lt. Governor Bennett to the Council of Trade and Plantations, CSPC, May 31, 1718, Item

551, vol. 30 (1717–18), 260–64.

24 9

N O T E S T O P A G E S 1 6 3 – 7 1

163 the said Negroes . . . being taken Quoted in Kinkor, “Black Men under the Black Flag,” 203.

164 a hundred & twelve white men Information of Richard Moore, HCA, 1/55, fol. 96, 1724.

164 Rewards and incentives therefore appear Kinkor, “Black Men under the Black Flag,” 200.

165 Dispersed costs of pirate conscripts One of these costs, recall from chapter 6, was pirate conscripts or slaves deliberately “giving litt le” in batt le. Th

is cost of slave labor encouraged pirates to

rely on voluntary, free labor instead. In a similar vein, warships in classical antiquity were typically rowed by free men although

slaves were available for this purpose. Disgruntled and disarmed

galley slaves would have been liabilities to those relying on their labor. For a discussion of galley slavery and its introduction by Mediterranean states at the end of the fi ft eenth century, see

David Friedman, “Making Sense of English Law Enforcement in

the Eighteenth Century,” University of Chicago Law School

Roundtable (spring/summer 1995).

167 Indian prisoner helped overtake Phillips’s crew Boston Gazett e, April 27–May 4, 1724, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

167 it not have been for him our plot Moseley,

A Narration of the

Captivity of John Fillmore, 365.

167 Black prisoners helped overtake Grinnaway’s crew Boston News-Lett er, August 4–August 11, 1718, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1. For an example of black and white prisoners att empting to escape their pirate captors together, see A Full and Exact Account, of the Tryal of all the Pyrates, Lately Taken by Captain Ogle, 56.

171 Scholars suggested pirates community of homosexuals In addition to those mentioned below, see also, for instance, Nigel

Cawthorne, A History of Pirates: Blood and Th

under on the High

Seas (London: Arcturus, 2003); Clinton V. Black, Pirates of the West Indies (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989); David Mitchell, Pirates (New York: Dial Press, 1976).

2 5 0

N O T E S T O P A G E S 1 7 1 – 7 9

171 Burg’s argument about pirate sexuality For additional discussion of pirates and homosexuality, see also, Hans Turley, Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash: Pirate Sexuality, and Masculine Identity (New York: New York University Press, 1999).

171 Homosexuality not confi ned to landlubbers On the extremely low incidence of homosexual activity in the Royal Navy, for instance, see David Cordingly, Seafaring Women: Adventures of Pirate Queens, Female Stowaways, and Sailors’ Wives (New York: Random House, 2007), 145.

172 to spend their Money Boston News-Lett er, August 15–August 22, 1720, reprinted in Baer, British Piracy in the Golden Age, vol. 1.

172 Bonny and Read two of only four female pirates Th

e other two

female pirates of the golden age, not discussed here, are Mary

Harley and Mary Crickett .

172 the Two Women, Prisoners Tryals of Captain Jack Rackam.

173 Th

e women, Spinsters Governor Sir N. Lawes to the Council of Trade and Plantations, CSPC, June 12, 1721, Item 523 i, vol. 32

(1720–21), 334–35.

174 Bonny and Read disguised because of rules prohibiting women Th

ough, it seems both women dropped the charade and dressed

as women aft er some point when they were among their fellow

crew members. Only when actively pirating did they revert to

men’s dress.

174 When a man has fi nished Exquemelin,

Buccaneers of America, 55.

Chapter 8. The Secrets of Pirate Management

178 It is not fr om the benevolence Smith,

Wealth of Nations, 26–27.

179 had a litt le Captain I owe this turn of phrase to Th e Atlantic,

which fi rst wrote that my research on pirates “suggests that the American system of checks and balances appears to have a litt le

Captain Morgan in it.” See Th

e Atlantic, “Democrats of the Ca-

ribbean,” October 2007, 39.

179 Greed . . . is right. Michael Douglas as Gordon Gekko, Wall Street, 1987.

2 5 1

N O T E S T O P A G E S 1 8 2 – 9 2

182 Kingsley considered pirate ship shining example of a workers’ cooperative Mitchell,

Pirates, 9. On the ostensible socialism of pi-

rate society, see also, Karraker, Piracy Was a Business, 55.

184 Privateers required diff erent managerial organization For a discussion of how particular similarities and diff erences in the

economic contexts privateers and pirates faced resulted in cor-

responding similarities and diff erences in their internal organization, see Peter T. Leeson, “An- arrgh-chy: Th

e Law and Eco-

nomic of Pirate Organization,” Journal of Political Economy 115

(2007): 1049–94.

186 Pirates had local knowledge On the importance of local knowledge for economic decision making and government’s dearth of

such knowledge, see F. A. Hayek, “Th

e Use of Knowledge in So-

ciety,” American Economic Review 35 (1945): 519–30.

187 Study of ADA’s eff ect on employment Daron Acemoglu and Joshua D. Angrist, “Consequences of Employment Protection?

Th

e Case of the Americans with Disabilities Act,” Journal of Political Economy 109 (2001): 915–57.

190 Firms invest to capture legislative process On rent seeking and its destructive consequences, see Gordon Tullock, Government

Failure: A Primer in Public Choice (Washington, D.C.: Cato Institute, 2002).

191 Study of spending on political capture in 1985 David N. Laband and John P. Sophocleus, “An Estimate of Resource Expenditure on Transfer Activity in the United States,” Quarterly Journal of Economics 107 (1992): 959–83. According to Laband and

Sophocleus, these expenditures constitute “estimated invest-

ments (in 1985) by private parties to infl uence direct and indi-

rect public sector transfers” and include spending on lobbyists,

on political action committ ees, and individual contributions to

political campaigns (966).

191 Sum spent on lobbying in 2007 OpenSecrets. org.

htt p://www

.opensecrets.org/lobby/index.php. Accessed June 10, 2008.

192 once word leads out Cary Elwes as Dread Pirate Roberts, Th e

Princess Bride, 1987.

2 5 2

N O T E S T O P A G E S 1 9 4 – 2 0 3

Epilogue. Omnipresent Economics

194 All human behavior susceptible to economic analysis One of the fi rst economists to point to the universal applicability of economics was the great Austrian economist, Ludwig von Mises.

See Ludwig von Mises, Human Action: A Treatise on Economics

(New Haven: Yale University Press, 1949).

Postscript. You Can’t Keep a Sea Dog Down

197 Rogers’s eff ect on pirate base at New Providence Colin Woodard,

Th

e Republic of Pirates (New York: Harcourt, 2007).

198 Ineff ective naval commanders replaced in 1721 Pringle, Jolly

Roger, 263.

198 Regulations inhibit pirate-hunting navy ships Peter

Earle , Th

e Pi-

rate Wars (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2003), 185–86.

199 Jacobite threat and government response N.A.M

Rodger,

Th

e

Command of the Ocean: A Naval History of Britain, 1649– 1815

(New York: W.W. Norton, 2004), 226–29.

200 Government repeals inhibiting regulations Earle , Pirate Wars, 187–88.

201 Lowther’s suicide Johnson,

GHP, 317.

201 French government takes Low in 1725 Rediker,

Villains of All

Nations, 172.

201 within the Flux Tryals of Th

irty-Six Persons for Piracy.

201 Declining pirate population, 1720, 1723, 1726 Cordingly, Under

the Black Flag, 203.

202 Number of pirates hanged, 1716–1726 and 1723 Ibid.,

227.

202 Batt le between Ogle and Roberts in thunderstorm Ibid., 215.

202 not with a bang T. S. Eliot, Poems: 1909– 1925 (London: Faber and Gwyer, 1925).

203 South China Sea pirate population See Dian H. Murray, “Chinese Pirates,” in Pirates: Terror on the High Seas, 222; Konstam, History of Pirates, 174.

2 5 3

N O T E S T O P A G E S 2 0 3 – 7

203 Recent resurgence of piracy For discussions of modern piracy, on which this account is largely based, see John S. Burnett , Dangerous Waters: Modern Piracy and Terror on the High Seas (New York: Plume, 2002); Jack A. Gott schalk and Brian P. Flanagan,

Jolly Roger with an Uzi: Th

e Rise and Th

reat of Modern Piracy

(Annapolis, MD: U.S. Naval Institute Press, 2000); William

Langewiesche, Th

e Outlaw Sea: A World of Freedom, Chaos, and

Crime (New York: North Point, 2004). See also, Roger Middle-ton, Piracy in Somalia (London: Chatham House/Royal Institute of International Aff airs, 2008).

204 Ransom for ship hijacked in Gulf of Aden Abdiqani

Hassan,

“Somali Pirates Free German Ship aft er Ransom,” Th

omson Re-

uters, July 9, 2008.

204 A few modern pirate crews closer to societies On the larger size of some modern pirate crews, see, for instance, Mary Harper, “Life

in Somalia’s Pirate Town,” BBC News, September 18, 2008.

204 Somali pirates’ booty division and social insurance “Somalie–Pas de répit chez les pirates,” Le Devoir.com, September 20–21,

2008. See also, Jonathon Gatehouse, “Blackbeard Lives,” Ma-

clean’s Magazine, October 8, 2008.

205 Modern pirate code Th

ierry Leveque, “Somali Pirates Tell

French Police of ‘Sea Militia,’” Th

omson Reuters, April 17, 2008.

Some Somali pirates have even taken to describing themselves

as “gentlemen who work in the ocean,” echoing eighteenth-cen-

tury sea dogs who sometimes called themselves “gentlemen of

fortune.” See Paul Salopek, “Off the Lawless Coast of Somalia,

Questions of Who is Pirating Who,” Chicago Tribune, October 10, 2008.

Where This Book Found Its Buried Treasure:

A Note on Sources

207 diffi dence . . . in recording Gosse,

History of Piracy, foreword.

207 Proportion of foremastmen who could sign name Earle, Sailors, 20.

207 Description of Exquemelin’s life See Jack Beeching’s introduction to Exquemelin’s, Buccaneers of America, 18–19.

2 5 4

N O T E S T O P A G E S 2 0 8 – 2 1 0

208 the principle source Beeching,

Buccaneers of America, 20.

208 in 1934, M. Vriejman Ibid.,

19.

209 What is certain; Johnson’s book consistent with other records Cordingly, Seafaring Women, 80; Cordingly, Under the Black Flag, xix.

209 two academics, P.N. Furbank Cordingly,

Under the Black Flag, xx.

209 Many, but not all, historians agree with Cordingly on authorship of GHP See, for instance, Cordingly, Under the Black Flag; Rediker, Villains of All Nations; Woodard, Republic of Pirates; Dow and Edmonds, Pirates of the New England Coast. For the opposing view, see Rogozinski, Honor among Th

ieves.

210 had extensive fi rst-hand knowledge Angus

Konstam,

Scourge of

the Seas: Buccaneers, Pirates, and Privateers (New York: Osprey, 2007), 12.

210 Johnson is widely regarded Rediker,

Villains of All Nations, 180.

210 the prime source Cordingly,

Under the Black Flag, xx.

210 Baer’s superb four-volume collection Baer,

British Piracy in the

Golden Age.

210 Contemporary newspaper accounts In addition to the newspaper accounts Baer reprints, I draw on newspaper accounts I’ve

collected as well.

210 Jameson’s collection Jameson,

Privateering and Piracy in the Co-

lonial Period.

2 5 5

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I N D E X

Acemoglu, Daron, 187, 252n187/16

Ashton, Philip, 115, 137–38, 210,

Act for the More Eff ectual Suppression

244n137/31

of Piracy, 144–46, 170, 197

Atlantic Ocean, 9, 97

Act of Grace, 146–47

auctions, 67, 230n67/29

Admiralty law, 16, 143–45

authority, 11; autocracy and, 39–41;

ads of force, 149–54, 190, 195,

constitutions and, 58–70, 81; dis-

247n150/6

pute resolution and, 66; dysfunc-

Africa, 7, 28, 97, 198, 203

tional societies and, 28; governance

Allein, Richard, 6–7

and, 48–52 ( see also governance);

American Civil Liberties Union

government abuse and, 46–47;

(ACLU), 156

maintaining order and, 27; negative

American Economic Review, 180

externalities and, 20, 53–56, 70–71;

Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA),

paradox of power and, 27–34,

187–88

40–41; pirate code and, 45–81 ( see

American Weekly Mercury, 117

also pirate code); pirate democracy

Americas, 7–9, 96

and, 23–44; predatory captains and,

ammunition, 88

15–21, 40–41; principal-agent

amputations, 112–13, 117, 124, 151,

problem and, 38–44; quartermas-

196

ters and, 35–36; Roman Senate

anarchy, 26, 51

and, 25; ship safety and, 53, 55–56,

Angrist, Joshua, 187, 252n187/16

70–71; spurning of, 26; Tiebout

Anne, Queen of England, 199

competition and, 61–62; torturing

Archer, John, 18

offi

cials of, 123–26; Venetian Re-

articles of agreement, 20; compensation

public and, 25

and, 67–68; confl ict prevention

autocracy, 39–41

and, 63–70, 81, 229n64/4; con-

scription and, 136; dispute resolu-

backstaff , 84, 232n84/11

tion and, 66; dividing booty and,

Baer, Joel, 117, 210–11, 246n143/7

67–68; negative externalities

Bahamas, 9, 197–98, 201

and, 70–71; pirate constitutions

Barbados, 92, 123, 125

and, 58–70, 81; public good provi-

Barbary corsairs, 7

sion and, 71–74; unanimity and,

Barlow, Edward, 86

60–61, 74–79

Becker, Gary S., 188

I N D E X

Beeching, Jack, 208

157, 161, 163–64; bloody fl ags of,

behavior: ads of force and, 149–54, 190,

91; calculated appearance of, 120–

195, 247n150/6; common knowl-

23; crew size of, 10; lack of murder

edge and, 78; confl ict prevention

by, 123; last stand of, 119, 123, 196,

and, 52–53, 57, 63–70, 79, 81;

202; management techniques of,

decision-making costs and, 74–79;

176–93; reputation of, 98; trade-

“devil-may-care” att itude and, 117–

mark practices and, 120–23; valu-

19; dispute resolution and, 66; egal-

able papers and, 110; wives of, 172

itarianism and, 68–70; free riding

Black Jacks (Bolster), 157

and, 1, 56–57, 72, 104, 116–17,

black pirates, 21, 156, 175, 189,

181; greed and, 177–79; invisible

248n156/11; Act for the More

hand and, 1–6, 177–79; lobbying

Eff ectual Suppression of Piracy and,

and, 191; madness and, 119–21,

170; Blackbeard and, 157, 161,

132, 240n119/17; negative exter-

163–64; courts and, 170; crew de-

nalities and, 20, 53–56, 70–71; par-

mographics of, 157–59, 170–71;

adox of power and, 27–33; pirate

fi ghting by, 161–62, 249n161/23;

code and, 45–81 ( see also pirate

greed and, 179; hiring of, 156; lack

code); predatory captains and, 15–

of voice for, 157; menial labor and,

19, 29, 40–41, 77, 108–9, 126–31;

159; mulatt oes and, 162–63; posi-

principal-agent problem and, 38–

tions of importance by, 162; Royal

44; Prize Act and, 11–12; rational

British Navy and, 156; as skilled

choice theory and, 5–6; regulation

labor, 169; slavery and, 162–71,

dangers and, 186–88; reputation

189; tolerance and, 156–71; voting

building and, 21, 98–101, 110–12,

rights of, 164

115–26; revenge and, 123–31; self-

black soldiers, 162

interest and, 2, 4–6 ( see also self-

Bland, Robert, 141–42

interest); ship safety and, 53, 55–56,

bleeding hearts, 91, 105

70–71; signaling and, 94–106;

Bolster, W. Jeff rey, 157

Tiebout competition and, 61–62,

Bonnet, Stede, 35–36, 113, 162, 172,

229n62/3; tolerance and, 156–75;

214n8/29, 227n41/11

torture and, 107–133; treasure and,

Bonny, Anne, 172–74

11–14; unemployment and, 12–13;

booty. See treasure

violence and, 107–8 ( see also vio-

Bostock, Henry, 164

lence); workers’ democracy and,

Boston News-Lett er, 100, 113, 118–19,

182–85

124, 215n9/9

Bellamy, Samuel, 9, 91, 108, 124, 130,

Bowen, John, 13

153

brand names, 111, 116–17, 192–93. See

benefi ts of vice, 187

also trademark practices

Bennett , Governor of Bermuda, 138

Brennan, Geoff rey, 186

Bermuda, 125–26, 138

Brie, John, 201

Betagh, William, 15

Bristol men, 124–25

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

British ensign, 82, 91–92

(Rediker), 11

British Journal, 118

Bible, 59–60, 80

British Royal Navy, 9, 127; black pirates

Blackbeard, 8, 66, 117, 124, 204–5; be-

and, 156; code of conduct and, 81;

heading of, 196; black pirates and,

demand on resources of, 199–200;

2 5 8

I N D E X

democracy and, 33; High Court of

incentive-alignment problems and,

Admiralty Papers and, 210; im-

180–85; Jolly Roger and, 100–2;

provements in, 198–99; ineff ective

limitations of, 30, 32–33; maintain-

commanders in, 198; inhibiting pol-

ing order and, 27; merchant ship

icies of, 198–99; Jacobites and,

hierarchy and, 15; negative external-

199–200; predatory captains and,

ities and, 70–71; paradox of power

16; provisioning and, 198–99; trade

and, 27–34, 40–41; pay scales and,

by, 147–48; wages of, 12; working

68; pirate democracy and, 23–44;

conditions in, 16, 218n14/28

pirate justice on, 126–31; post-

Brown, Th

omas, 125

election ceremonies and, 29–30;

buccaneers, 6; as blend of piracy and

predatory, 15–19, 29, 40–41, 77,

privateering, 8 ( see also pirates);

108–9, 126–31; principal-agent

constitutions and, 58–63; goals of,

problem and, 38–44; punishments

8; homosexuality and, 171–75;

and, 15–16 ( see also punishments);

journals of, 207–8; origins of, 7;

quartermasters and, 35–37; reputa-

as outlaws, 7; pirate democracy

tion and, 17–18 ( see also trademark

and, 23–44; red fl ags and, 91; sepa-

practices); Tiebout competition

ration of powers and, 24; Spanish

and, 61–62; torture of, 108–9,

ships and, 7–8; torture and,

126–31. See also specifi c captain

107–133

Captain Sturmey’s Magazine, or the

Buccaneers of America, Th

e (Exqueme-

Whole Art of Gunnery for Seamen

lin), 208–9, 217n10/11

1669, 87

Buchanan, James, 74, 186, 189

careening, 89–90, 140, 199, 201

Bulls Point, 201

Caribbean, xiii, 8–9, 96

Bulska, Ania, xiv–xv

Carolina (ship), 129–30

Burg, B. R., 171

carpenters, 59, 68, 89, 136, 140, 146

Burgess, Samuel, 78

caulkers, 140–41

burning, 112–13, 124, 132–33

chainshot, 88

Burrell, John, 150–51

Charybdis, 1

Checkley, Th

omas, 153

Caesar (black pirate), 157, 162

checks and balances, 24, 34–37

Calendar of States Papers, Colonial North

Cheeseman, Edward, 136

America and West Indies, 210

chicken coops, 86–87, 233n86/31

Cane, Constantine, 17–18

Chinese pirates, 203, 232n81/11,

cannon. See guns

253n203/1

Canonisation of Daniel Defoe, Th

e

chip log, 84

(Furbank and Owens), 209

Civil Rights, 1

Cape Coast Castle, 200–1

Clarke, Jonathan, 162

capitalism, 11, 182

Coase, Ronald, 228n53/21

Captain Morgan Rum, 193

coast guards, 96–98, 102, 104

captains: autocratic, 39–41; company

Cocklyn, Th

omas, 129

shares and, 39, 226n39/18; con-

Colonial Offi

ce Papers, 210

stitutions and, 58–63; crew opin-

common knowledge, 78–79

ion over, 32–33; deposition of,

Condent, Christopher, 13–14, 128

30–32; English law and, 17; equal

Condent, Edward, 162

footing and, 33; gift s to, 129–30;

condominium associations, 49, 51

2 5 9

I N D E X

conscription, 21; Act for the More Ef-

247n150/6; black pirates and, 163,

fectual Suppression of Piracy and,

170; conscription evidence and,

144–46; ads of force and, 149–54,

149–52; constitutions and, 62; con-

190, 195, 247n150/6; constitutions

tradicting testimony and, 153;

and, 136; cost-benefi t approach to,

dying speeches and, 210; eyewit-

134–42, 154–55; crew motivation

ness testimony and, 12, 152; forced

and, 137; democracy and, 141; de-

men and, 142, 149–54; pirate press

sertion and, 137; forced men and,

and, 153; predatory captains and,

142–55, 190; gett ing used to, 141–

17, 131; pregnancy and, 173;

42; as legal circumvention, 148–55;

Roberts’s crew and, 102, 200–201;

merchant ship conditions and, 135;

Solgard’s crew and, 201; women

moral dilemma of, 135; new antipi-

and, 173

racy laws and, 143–49; pirate press

covenants, 80, 232n80/15

and, 134; pressers and, 137, 142;

Cox, John, 207

reputation building and, 134; re-

crews: black pirates and, 156–71; com-

venge for, 136; revolt and, 136, 139;

mon law and, 143, 145; conscrip-

Roberts and, 142; shows of force

tion and, 134–55; forced men and,

and, 151–52; skilled labor and,

142–55 ( see also forced men);

139–41; slavery and, 162–71; threat

homosexuality and, 171–75,

to crew harmony and, 136; unanim-

250n171/17, 251n171/18,32;

ity and, 136; volunteers and, 134–

incentive-alignment problems and,

35, 139–42, 149–55

180–85; modern, 203–5; predatory

Constitution of Liberty (Hayek), 189

captains and, 15–19, 29, 40–41, 77,

constitutions: compensation and, 67–

108–9, 126–31; prohibition of

68; confl ict prevention and, 63–70,

women and, 174; racial composi-

81; conscription and, 136; dispute

tion of, 157–59, 170–71; skilled

resolution and, 66; distribution of

members and, 139–41, 169; slavery

booty and, 67–68, 77–78; gover-

and, 164–71; tolerance and, 156–

nance methodology and, 58–63;

75; trial of Roberts’s, 200–201; trial

negative externalities and, 70–71;

of Solgard’s, 201. See also behavior

public good provision and, 71–74;

criminality: invisible hand and, 2, 4–6;

unanimity and, 60–61, 74–79

pirate democracy and, 37–43;

Consuls, 25

wages and, 37

Continental Army, 162

cross-dressers, 172–73

Continental Congress, 24

Crow, Robert, 141

cooking alive, 112

currents, 84–85

Cooper, Samuel, 125

Custom of the Coast, 60

coopers, 141

Cordingly, David, 159, 202, 209, 211,

Dampier, William, 10

255n209/32

dancing, 114, 141

Cornelius, Captain, 137

Davis, Howell, 142, 223n33/8

corsairs, 6–7

Davis, John, 84

Council of Trade and Plantations, 9, 96,

Davis quadrant, 84

125, 138, 147

Dawson, Henry, 152

courts, 112, 132, 148; Admiralty, 143–

“dead men tell no tales,” 116

45; ads of force and, 149–54,

death’s heads, 91–92

2 6 0

I N D E X

decision-making costs, 74–79

Dutch Pendant, 92

Declaration of Independence, 22, 24

Dutch Surgeon’s Guild, 208

Defoe, Daniel, 209

dying speeches, 210, 238n110/26

democracy, 20, 100, 195; Athens and,

25; autocracy and, 39–41; black pi-

Eagle (ship), 90

rates and, 164; checks and balances

Earle, Peter, 198, 207

and, 24, 34–37, 221n24/32; citizen-

ears, 112, 117, 124, 151

ship and, 26; collective decision

East India, 9

making and, 26; common knowl-

economics, xiii–xiv; British Royal Navy edge and, 78; conscription and,

and, 12; capitalism and, 11, 182;

141; context and, 185; Continental

common knowledge and, 78; com-

Congress and, 24; criminality and,

pensation packages and, 14–15;

37–43; decision-making costs and,

conscription and, 134–42, 154–55;

74–79; Declaration of Indepen-

damaged ships and, 89–90; decision-

dence and, 22, 24; early experi-

making costs and, 74–79; dispersed

ments in, 25, 221n25/4; forced men

benefi ts approach and, 164–71;

and, 222n29/24; Glorious Revolu-

external costs and, 20, 75–79; free

tion and, 24; greed and, 179; main-

riders and, 1, 56–57, 72, 104–5,

taining order and, 27; majority rule

116–17, 181; growth of government

and, 29; offi

ce campaigns and, 23–

and, 191; historical source material

24; paradox of power and, 27–34,

and, 207–211; incentive-alignment

40–41; pirate code and, 60–61,

problem and, 5, 180–85; invisible

74–79 ( see also pirate code); pirate

hand and, 1–6, 177–78; Jolly Roger

constitutions and, 58–70, 81;

and, 90–91, 99–101; local knowl-

principal-agent problem and,

edge and, 186–87, 252n186/16;

38–44; quartermasters and, 33–37,

loss of commissions and, 12; man-

225n36/16; Second Reform Act

agement and, 176–93; matelotage

and, 24; self-interest and, 46–47;

and, 174–75; monitoring legal

separation of powers and, 24–26,

changes and, 189–91; monopolies

34–37; Tiebout competition and,

and, 48–49, 96; motivations for pi-

61–62; Tortuga and, 25; unanimity

racy, 11–14; negative externalities

and, 60–61, 74–79; United States

and, 20, 53–57, 70–71; pay scales

and, 22, 24, 27, 34; workers’, 182–85

and, 68–69 ( see also wages); pirate

Dennis, “Lord,” 23

conscription and, 134–55; pirate

Devil, 108, 120, 240n120/1

democracy and, 23–44; political

“devil-may-care” att itude, 117–19

capturing activities and, 191; pool-

Dick, William, 207

ing equilibrium and, 95; power of,

disabilities, 187–88

194–95, 253n194/4; principal-

discipline. See punishments

agent problem and, 38–44,

dispersed benefi ts, 164–71

226n38/28; private property rights

dispute resolution, 66

and, 53–55; Prize Act and, 11–12;

Dragon (ship), 162

production costs and, 89; public

duels, 11, 66, 141

goods and, 56–57; rational choice

Dummer, Jeremiah, 9

theory and, 5–6; ration cutt ing and,

Dutch, 7, 9, 81, 92, 208

15; rent-seeking and, 191; reputa-

Dutch East India Company, 81

tion building and, 21, 110–12,

2 61

I N D E X

economics ( cont. )

English law, 17, 24

115–16, 125–26, 134; retirement

Equal Opportunity Act, 156

and, 14; self-interest and, 2, 4–6;

Evans, John, 14

signaling and, 94–96; slavery and,

Every, Henry, 13

164–71, 189, 250n165/20; tariff s

Exquemelin, Alexander, 10, 207; Cap-

and, 190; Tiebout competition and,

tain Morgan and, 10, 217n10/11;

61–62, 229n62/3; time of war and,

identity of, 208–9; matelotage and,

12; tolerance and, 159–61; torture

174; pirate constitutions and,

and, 108–123; trademark practices

58–59; woolding and, 113

and, 192–93; transaction costs and,

external costs, 53, 75–79, 228n53/21

54–55, 71; treasure and, 11–14,

19 ( see also treasure); Treaty of

Fable of the Bees, Th

e (Mandeville), 177

Tordesillas and, 8; unemployment

Fame’s Revenge (ship), 136

and, 12–13; violence costs and, 89–

Federalist Papers (Hamilton, Madison,

94, 105–6; working conditions and,

and Jay), 27–28, 34, 46, 221n26/32

14–15

Fillmore, John, 116

Economics of Discrimination, Th

e

Finn, John, 137

(Becker), 188

fi rst blood, 66

Edwards, Benjamin, 101

Fischer, David, 162

egalitarianism, 68–70

fl ags, 233n92/10; black, 90–106, 155,

Eliot, T. S., 202

192; bloody, 91; customized, 104–

Enemies of Mankind, 1

5; Jolly Roger and, 20, 82, 90–106;

England, 7–8, 26, 127; Act for the More

legitimate, 82, 86; “no quarter” and,

Eff ectual Suppression of Piracy and,

91; red, 91; ruses to gain close prox-

144–46, 170, 197; ads of force and,

imity to prey, 86; symbols of,

149–54; antipiracy successes of,

91–93, 233n92/10

197–203; Bill of Rights and, 24;

Fletcher, Samuel, 152

changing laws and, 143; coast guard

fl exing arms, 91

and, 96–98; French att acks and, 96–

fl oating societies, 203

97; Glorious Revolution and, 24;

fl ogging, 32, 35, 39, 112–13, 128,

Jacobite rebellion and, 199–200;

223n32/7

Jamaica and, 7; Off enses at Sea Act

Fly, William, 18, 136, 201–2, 204

and, 143–44; pardons and, 146–47;

food, 15, 33, 78, 141, 198

Prize Act and, 11–12; reclamation

forced men, 155, 222n29/24; Act for

of Sicily and, 200; Royal Navy and,

the More Eff ectual Suppression

9 ( see also British Royal Navy); sea-

of Piracy and, 144–46; ads of

men and, 10–11; Second Reform

force and, 149–54, 190, 195,

Act and, 24; slavery and, 156; Span-

247n150/6; conscription and, 142–

ish att acks and, 96, 103; Treaty of

55; court trials and, 142, 149–54;

Tordesillas and, 8; Treaty of Utrecht

government’s changing att itude

and, 96; War of the Quadruple Alli-

toward, 143; legal circumvention

ance and, 13, 97, 200; War of the

by, 148–55; less eff ort of, 137,

Spanish Succession and, 11, 97,

244n137/17; new antipiracy laws

145, 197, 199–200

and, 143–49; Off enses at Sea Act

England, Edward, 99–100, 113, 128,

and, 143–44; pardons and, 146–47;

157

shows of force and, 151–52, 190,

2 6 2

I N D E X

195; status of, 229n61/5; suspicion

52–58; Tiebout competition and,

of claim, 153–54

61–62; unanimity and, 60–61,

Fortune 500 companies, 6

74–79. See also authority

Fourteenth Massachusett s Continental,

government: Act for the More Eff ectual

162

Suppression of Piracy and, 144–46,

Fowle, Henry, 129

197; anarchy and, 51; coast guards

Fox, Th

omas, 124

and, 96–98, 102, 104; context and,

free riders, 1, 56–57, 72, 104–5, 116–

185; decline of pirates and, 197–

17, 181

203; force base of, 47–52; growth

French, 7, 9; coast guard and, 96–97;

of, 191; legal changes and, 189–91;

jolie rouge and, 91; Low and, 201;

lobbying and, 191; paradox of

Somali pirates and, 204; West In-

power and, 27–33; political captur-

dian Company and, 208

ing activities and, 191; Prize Act

Furbank, P. N., 209

and, 11–12; torturing offi

cials of,

Furber, Jethro, 150–51

123–26; voluntary choice and,

49–52

Gazett e, 150

Gow, John, 78, 130, 137

Gekko, Gordon, 177, 179

grapeshot, 88

General History of the Pyrates ( Johnson),

grappling hooks, 88

xiii, 208–9

Greece, 9

George I, King of England, 45

greed, 177–79

George II, King of England, 199–200

grenadoes, 87

Gerrard, Th

omas, 162–63

Grinnaway, Captain, 167

Ghana, 201

Guarda Costa, 96–98, 102, 104

Glasby, Harry, 141, 152

Gulf of Aden, 204, 254n204/12

Glorious Revolution, 24

guns, 85; camoufl aging of, 86; dummy,

Golden Age of Piracy, 96, 197–203, 210

86, 105; minions, 88; range of,

Golding, William, 6, 195

88; reoutfi tt ed ships and, 82–83;

good quarters, 100

sakers, 88

Gosse, Philip, 207, 211

governance, 48–51; confl ict prevention

Halladay, William, 17–18

and, 52–53, 57, 63–70, 79, 81; con-

Harris, Charles, 124, 201

scription and, 134–55; constitu-

Hart, Governor, 102

tions and, 58–81; cooperation and,

Hawkins, Richard, 33, 66, 91, 129

52–53, 63–70, 81; decision-making

Hayek, F. A., 180, 189

costs and, 74–79; external costs

heart removal, 114, 124

and, 53, 75–79, 228n53/21;

High Court of Admiralty Papers, 210

incentive-alignment problem and,

hijackings, 203–4, 254n204/12

180–85; local knowledge and, 186–

Hispaniola, 7

87; management techniques and,

HMS Greyhound, 123–24, 201

176–93; negative externalities and,

HMS Pearl, 123

20, 53–57, 70–71; private property

HMS Swallow, 200

rights and, 53–55; public good pro-

Hobbes, Th

omas, 46–47, 51

vision and, 71–74; regulation dan-

Hollow Men (Eliot), 202

gers and, 186–88; ship safety and,

homosexuality, 16, 171–75,

53, 55–56; three keys to success of,

250n171/17,18,32

2 6 3

I N D E X

Honda, 111

99–100, 102; jolie rouge and, 91; ori-

Hooff , Peter, 65, 153

gin of name, 90–91; pooling equi-

Hope, Governor, 125–26

librium and, 95, 102–5; purpose of,

Hornigold, Benjamin, 30, 60

83, 93–94, 98–99; reverse color, 92;

hostages, 133, 204

separating equilibrium and, 103–4;

hourglass symbol, 91–93, 105,

signaling and, 94–106; success of,

233–34n92/10

101; taking no quarter and, 91, 97–

Howard, Th

omas, 140

98; trademark practices and, 192;

variety of, 91–93, 105

incentive-alignment problem, 5, 180–85

Journal of Political Economy, xv

Indian Ocean, 8–9, 197

Indians, 167

keel-hauling, 64

Indonesia, 203

Kennedy, Walter, 34–35, 66

Industrial Revolution, 11

Kidd, William, 32, 149, 223n32/29

Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the

King’s Jack, 92

Wealth of Nations, An (Smith), 2,

Kingsley, Charles, 182, 252n189/9

177, 214n2/3

Kinkor, Kenneth, 157–58, 211

insiders, 204

Knights of Malta, 7

insurance, 71–72, 89, 174–75, 179, 205

Knott , Captain, 130

interlopers, 96, 99

Konstam, Angus, 87, 123, 211

invisible hook, 1; markets and, 4; ratio-

nal choice theory and, 5–6; Smith’s

Laband, David N., 191, 252n191/9

invisible hand and, 2–6, 177–78

La Bouche, Oliver, 14, 32, 198, 201

landlubbers, 37, 132, 139, 171

Jacobites, 199–200

“Last Buccaneer, Th

e” (Kingsley), 182

Jamaica, 7–8, 13, 147, 162, 173

latitude, 84

Jamaica Discipline, 60

Lauren, Ralph, 193

Jameson, J. Franklin, 210

Lawes, Nicholas, 8, 13, 173

jigs, 114, 141

Lazenby, Richard, 114

Johnson, Charles, 9, 12, 26, 64; Black-

leeward disadvantage, 85

beard and, 120–21; democracy and,

legal issues, 13–14, 20; Act for the More

29, 33; forced men and, 149; histor-

Eff ectual Suppression of Piracy and,

ical account of, xiii, 208–10; iden-

144–46, 170, 197; Admiralty law

tity of, 209–10; Jolly Roger and, 83,

and, 16, 143–45 ( see also courts);

91–92, 100–101; pirate constitu-

ads of force and, 149–54, 190, 195,

tions and, 60–63; ship burning and,

247n150/6; aiding and abett ing,

120; shows of force and, 151; tor-

147–48; articles of agreement and,

ture and, 116; violence and, 107–8

58–63; British law and, 17, 24, 26;

jolie rouge, 91

common law procedure and, 145;

Jolly Roger, 20, 82, 109, 195; as cost-

constitutions and, 58–81; Declara-

cutt ing device, 90–91, 99–102; with

tion of Independence and, 22, 24;

country fl ags, 92; customized, 92,

English Bill of Rights and, 24; fi nes

104–5; free riding and, 1, 104,

for not fi ghting, 147; government’s

116–17; good quarter given and,

changing att itude and, 143; moni-

100; Guarda Costa and, 97–98; le-

toring changes in, 189–91; new an-

gitimacy and, 102–6; meaning of,

tipiracy laws and, 143–49; Off enses

2 6 4

I N D E X

at Sea Act, 143–44; pardons and,

180–81; free riding and, 181;

146–47; pirate code and, 52–81 ( see

government regulation dangers

also pirate code); pirate justice and,

and, 186–88; greed and, 177–79;

126–32; predatory captains and,

incentive-alignment problems and,

16–17; property forfeiture and,

180–85; large fi rms, 184; legal

145; Second Reform Act and, 24;

changes and, 189–91; local knowl-

separation of powers and, 24–26,

edge and, 186–87, 252n186/16;

34–37; trial by jury and, 145; una-

open-mindedness and, 188–89; or-

nimity and, 60–61, 74–79

ganizational motivations and, 180–

legitimacy: Jolly Roger and, 102–6; tor-

85; prejudicial barriers and, 188–

ture and, 117–18, 131; trademark

89; profi tability factors and,

practices and, 192–93

183–85; small fi rms, 184–85; trade-

lesbians, 172–74

mark practices and, 192–93; work-

Leviathan (Hobbes), 46

ers’ democracy and, 182–85

Lewis, William, 129–30

Mandeville, Bernard, 177

Libbey, Joseph, 153

man-o’-wars, 11, 82, 102, 123–24

lips, 112

markets: Council of Trade and Planta-

literacy, 207

tions and, 9, 125, 147; interlopers

lobbying, 191, 252n191/9

and, 96, 99; invisible hook and, 1–6;

local knowledge, 186–87, 252n186/16

Treaty of Tordesillas and, 8; Treaty

L’Ollonais, François, 113–14

of Utrecht and, 96

longitude, 84, 233n84/21

marooning, 62–65, 78, 100

Lord of the Flies (Golding), 6, 195

Martinique, 92, 123

Low, Edward, 201; articles of agreement

Massachusett s, 162

of, 100; conscription and, 137–39,

Massachusett s Bay Colony, 25

141, 153, 244n137n31; cruelty of,

massacres, 98–99

99; democracy and, 30; hatred of

matelotage, 174–75

New England, 123–24; Jolly Roger

Mather, Cott on, 12, 211

and, 100–101; pay scales and, 68;

Mathews, Th

omas, 198

pirate code and, 60–61, 64, 72,

Mauritius, 33

229n64/4; torture and, 109, 112,

Maynard, Robert, 119, 123, 196

123–25, 132–33

media: ads of force and, 149–54, 190,

Lowther, George, 60–61, 90, 113, 201,

195, 247n150/6; pirate press and,

229n64/4

21, 134, 153; torture and, 113, 117–

Lyne, Philip, 201

20, 124. See also specifi c newspaper

Mercedes-Benz, 111

Macrae, James, 99–100

merchant ships, 12, 202, 207; autocracy

Madagascar, 8, 13, 198

and, 39–41; democracy and, 33;

Madeira, 133

fi nes for not fi ghting, 147; Guarda

Madison, James, 3, 27–28, 34, 46, 47,

Costa and, 96–98, 102, 104; organi-

179, 221n25/32, 222n28/20

zation of, 15; pirate democracy and,

madness, 119–21, 132, 240n119/17

37–38, 225n37/21,33,

management: Americans with Disabili-

225n38/2,20; pirate justice and,

ties Act (ADA) and, 187–88; Black-

126–31; predatory captains and,

beard approach to, 176–93; CEO is-

15–21, 40–41; principal-agent

sues and, 180, 182; dishonesty and,

problem and, 38–44; punishments

2 6 5

I N D E X

merchant ships ( cont. )

Pell, Ignatius, 36

aboard, 15–16; torture and, 126–

phantom ships, 203

31; tricking, 86–87; War of the

Phillips, John, 18, 225n36/16,

Quadruple Alliance and, 97; work-

244n137n31; ads of force and, 150;

ing conditions aboard, 214–15,

conscription and, 136; pirate code

218n14/28

and, 64–65, 68, 70; tolerance and,

minions, 88

167; torture and, 116–17, 120

modern pirates, 203–5, 254n203/5

pirate code, 6, 205; common knowledge

monopolies, 48–49, 96

and, 78; confl ict prevention and,

Moore, John Robert, 209

52–53, 57, 63–70, 79, 81; constitu-

Moore, Richard, 14

tions and, 58–81; as Custom of the

Moore, Walter, 90, 201

Coast, 60; decision-making costs

Morgan, Captain, 10, 217n10/11

and, 74–79; dispute resolution and,

Morning Star (ship), 137

66; distribution of booty and, 77–

Moses’s Law, 65

78; external costs and, 75–79; free

mulatt oes, 162–63

riding and, 56–57, 72; governance

musicians, 63, 140–41

and, 48–49, 52–58, 79–81; as Ja-

maica Discipline, 60; modern, 205,

navigation, 84–86, 232n84/21

254n205/4; negative externalities

negative externalities, 20, 53–57, 70–71

and, 20, 53–57, 70–71; order and,

New England, 25, 117, 201; ads of force

45–46; pay scales and, 68–70; pub-

and, 149–54; black soldiers and,

lic goods and, 56–57, 71–74; pun-

162; Low’s hatred of, 123–24

ishments and, 63–70; self-discipline

Newport, Rhode Island, 201

and, 66; ship safety and, 53, 55–56,

New Providence, Bahamas, 9, 198, 201

70–71; success of, 79–80; taking no

New World, 7–8

quarter and, 91, 98; tendency to

New York University Journal of Law and

comply with, 66–67; three keys of

Liberty, xv

success for, 52–58; Tiebout compe-

Norman, Samuel, 16, 40

tition and, 61–62; treasure and,

North Africa, 7

58–59, 63; unanimous consent and,

Northern War, 200

60–61, 74–79; violence and, 64

Nutt er, G. Warren, 186

pirate justice, 132; gift s and, 129–30;

reparation and, 139–40; torture

Off enses at Sea Act, 143–44

and, 126–31

Ogle, Chaloner, 200–2

pirate memoirs, 207

Old Roger, 91

pirate press. See media

Onslow (ship), 139

Pirate Round, 97

open-mindedness, 188–89

pirates, xiii–xiv; ads of force and, 149–

Owens, W. R., 209

54, 150, 190, 195, 247n150/6; age

of, 10; ammunition and, 88; author

paper booty, 109–110

sources for, 207–211; black, 156–

paradox of power, 27–34, 40–41

71, 175; Chinese, 203, 232n81/11,

pardons, 146–47

253n203/1; cooperation and, 4–5;

pay scales. See wages

crew size and, 9–10; decline of, 176,

peacocks, 95–96

197–203; “devil-may-care” att itude

pegboard, 84

and, 117–19; dying speeches and,

2 6 6

I N D E X

210, 238n210/26; economic moti-

reputation of, 45–46; romantic por-

vations for, 11–14 ( see also econom-

trayal of, 11; state capitalism and,

ics); ethnic demographics of, 8–9;

11; tolerance and, 21–22; unanim-

fl eets of, 10; Golden Age of, 96,

ity and, 60–61, 74–79; violence

197–203, 210; to go on the account

of, 45

and, 83; historical paradoxes of,

Pirates of the Caribbean (Disney fi lm se-

194–96; homosexuality and, 171–

ries), xiii, 193. See also Sparrow, 75; increased costs of, 202; invisible

Captain Jack

hook and, 1–6, 177–78; Jolly Roger

Plato, 67

and, 82–106; journals of, 207–8;

Political Economy and Freedom, 186

land-based colleagues of, 203–4;

polity: confl ict prevention and, 52–53,

land bases of, 9–10; legal issues

57, 63–70, 81; crew size and, 9–10;

and, 13–14 ( see also legal issues);

democracy and, 23–44. See also pi-

literacy of, 207; “Lord” title and, 23,

rate code

223n33/8; madness and, 119–21,

Ponant, Le (ship), 204

132, 240n119/17; management

pooling equilibrium, 95, 102–5

techniques of, 176–93; maritime

Portuguese, 9, 124

backgrounds of, 10–11; modern,

Prince, Lawrence, 130

203–5, 254n203/5; as outlaws, 6–8;

Princess Bride (fi lm), 192

pardons and, 146–47; pay scales

principal-agent problem, 38–44,

and, 68–69 ( see also wages); peace-

226n38/28

ful nature of, 88–94; popular image

Pringle, Patrick, 41, 66, 152, 211

of, 11, 107; population demograph-

privateers, 6; government backing of, 7;

ics of, 9, 127, 201–2; Prize Act and,

loss of commissions and, 12; Prize

11–12; rational choice theory and,

Act and, 11–12; time of war and,

5–6; retirement and, 14; ruses to

12; unemployment and, 12–13;

gain close proximity to prey, 86–87;

wages and, 12–13; War of the Span-

self-interest of, 2–6 ( see also self-

ish Succession and, 11

interest); signaling and, 94–106; as

private property rights, 53–55

social revolutionaries, 11; stinkpots

Prize Act, 11–12

and, 87–88; time of war and, 12;

profi ts. See wages

torture and, 107–133; treasure and,

property forfeiture, 145

11–14 ( see also treasure); unem-

public goods, 56–57, 71–74

ployment and, 12–13; various

Public Record Offi

ce, 210

names for, 1, 6–7

Puerto Rico, 103

pirate society, 19; age demographics for,

punishments: amputations, 151, 196;

10–11; autocracy and, 39–41; black

cat-o’-nine tails, 39; common

pirates and, 156–71; British law and,

knowledge and, 78; confl ict preven-

26; crew size and, 9–10; Declaration

tion and, 52–53, 57, 63–70, 81;

of Independence and, 22; democracy

dying speeches and, 210; fi nes, 48;

and, 23–44 ( see also democracy);

fl ogging, 32, 35, 39, 112, 113, 128,

egalitarianism of, 68–70; fl oating

223n32/7; governance and, 48–49;

societies and, 203; homosexuality

imprisonment, 48; keel-hauling, 64;

and, 171–75, 250n171/17,18,32;

marooning, 62–65, 78, 100; Moses’s

incentive-alignment problems and,

Law and, 65; pirate code and, 63–

180–85; ownership structure of, 20;

70; predatory captains and, 15–19;

2 67

I N D E X

punishments ( cont. )

of, 200, 202; democracy and, 23,

quartermasters and, 65; torture and,

32; election of, 23–24; Jolly Roger

123–31; walking the plank, 107,

and, 92, 100–2, 105; Kennedy and,

112

66; mott o of, 118; negative exter-

Puritans, 80, 232n80/15

nalities and, 70; pirate code and, 60,

62–64, 80; public good provision

quartermasters: abuse by, 78–79,

and, 71; punishments and, 65;

231n78/18; ads of force and, 150;

shows of force and, 151; squadron

captain’s relationship to, 35–37;

of, 10; torture and, 115, 119, 123,

common knowledge and, 78; de-

125, 129; violence of, 107–8

mocracy and, 33–37, 225n36/16;

Roberts, Dread Pirate, 192

dispute resolution and, 66; distribu-

Robinson Crusoe (Defoe), 209

tion of booty and, 77–78; pay scales

Rogers, Woodes, 9, 125, 146–47, 197–

and, 68; pirate code and, 78; punish-

98, 201

ments and, 65; separation of power

Rogozinski, Jan, 211

and, 35–36; torture and, 115, 129

Roman Republic, 25, 36

Queen Anne’s Revenge (Blackbeard ship),

roundshot, 88

10, 66, 176–77

Royal Assent, 24

Royal Rover (ship), 23

Race and Economics (Sowell), 188

Russia, 48, 200

Rackam, “Calico” Jack, 8, 172, 174, 205

Randolph, Isham, 17–18

sakers, 88

Rankin, Hugh, 26, 211

Scandanavia, 9

ransom, 133, 204, 254n204/12

Scot, Richard, 152

rape, 65

Scott ish, 8

rational choice theory, 5–6

seamen, 10–11; British Royal Navy and,

rations, 15, 33, 78, 141, 198

12 ( see also British Royal Navy);

Read, Mary, 172–74

economics and, 194; English law

Reason of Rules, Th

e: Constitutional

and, 17; fair weather sort of, 18; in-

Political Economy (Brennan and

siders and, 204 ( see also crews); loss

Buchanan), 186

of commissions and, 12; predatory

Rediker, Marcus, 10–11, 126, 162, 201,

captains and, 15–19, 29, 40–41, 77,

210–11

108–9, 126–31; punishments and,

Red Sea Men, 8, 197–98

15–16; unemployment and, 12–13;

rent-seeking, 191

wages and, 13–14 ( see also wages)

retirement, 14, 69, 208

Second Reform Act, 24

Réunion, 14, 201

self-interest: confl ict prevention and,

Revenge (ship), 64, 137, 225n36/16

52–53, 63–70, 81; democracy

Rhode Island, 26, 201

and, 46–47; government and,

Richard, Captain, 130

46–47, 51–52; greed and, 177–79;

Ringrose, Basil, 207

incentive-alignment problems and,

risk sharing, 174–75

180–85; invisible hand and, 1–6,

roasting, 114, 124

177–78; opportunism and, 38; pi-

Roberts, Bartholomew, 8, 14, 172; black

rate code and, 52–53, 66–67 ( see

pirates and, 157; conscription and,

also pirate code); principal-agent

139, 142, 149; cruelty of, 99; death

problem and, 38–44; rational

2 6 8

I N D E X

choice theory and, 5–6; regulation

dispersed benefi ts approach and,

dangers and, 186–88; sharing of

164–71; economics of, 164–71,

loot and, 59–60; tolerance and, 157

189, 250n165/20; England and,

Senate, 25

156; menial labor and, 159; profi t

separating equilibrium, 96, 103–4

from, 159; as skilled labor, 169

separation of powers, 24–26, 34–37

Smeeks, Hendrick Barentzoon, 208

Sharp, Bartholomew, 161–62, 207

Smith, Adam, 46; invisible hand and,

shipowners, 19–20, 87; absentee,

1–6, 177–78; societal laws and,

37–39; distribution of booty and,

80–81

77–78; as landlubbers, 37–38,

Smith, Captain, 130

225n37/21; pay scales and, 68–70;

smoking, 55, 70–71, 186

Prize Act and, 11–12

Snelgrave, William, 93, 99–100, 118–

ships: backstaff and, 84; batt le capabili-

19, 126, 129, 210, 242n126/21

ties and, 85; British ensign and, 82;

Socialism (von Mises), 180

careening of, 89–90, 140, 199, 201;

Sodomy and the Perception of Evil (Burg),

chip log and, 84; current and, 84;

171

damages to, 89–90; disguising of,

Solgard, Captain, 201

82, 86–87, 233n86/31; grappling

Somalia, 203

distance and, 88; guns of, 82–88;

Sophocleus, John P., 191, 252n191/9

Jolly Roger and, 20, 82–106; legiti-

South China Sea, 203, 253n203/1

mate fl ags and, 82, 86; man-o’-wars,

South Sea, 97

11, 82, 102, 123–24; modifi ed, 83,

Sowell, Th

omas, 188

85, 105; navigation skills and, 84–

Spain, 9; buccaneers and, 7–8; Guarda

86, 232n84/21; pegboard and, 84;

Costa and, 96–98, 102, 104; His-

phantom, 203; ruses to gain close

paniola and, 7; New World and,

proximity to prey, 86–87; safety on,

7–8; reclamation of Sicily and, 200;

53, 55–56, 70–71; signaling and,

separation of powers and, 24; Treaty

94–96; squadrons and, 10, 198;

of Tordesillas and, 8; Treaty of

stinkpots and, 87–88; taking no

Utrecht and, 96; War of the Qua-

quarter and, 91, 97–98; trading up

druple Alliance and, 13, 97, 200;

of, 90; variety of, 91–92; windward

War of the Spanish Succession and,

advantage and, 85–86. See also spe-

11, 97, 145, 197, 199–200

cifi c ship

Spanish Main, 10

shows of force, 151–52, 190, 195

Sparrow, Captain Jack, 108

Sicily, 200

speed measurement, 84

signaling: Jolly Roger and, 94–106; le-

Spotswood, Alexander, 96, 125, 130,

gitimacy and, 102; pooling equilib-

138, 148

rium and, 95, 102–5; separating

Spriggs, Francis, 92, 132, 222n29/24

equilibrium and, 96, 103–4

squadrons, 10, 198

skeletons, 91, 105

Stalin, Joseph, 48

Skinner, Captain, 128–29, 242n128/28

state capitalism, 11

skull-and-crossbones. See Jolly Roger

state of nature, 51

slaves, 162–63, 175, 189; Act for the

stinkpots, 87–88

More Eff ectual Suppression of Pi-

Straits of Malacca, 203

racy and, 170; black pirates and,

“Strangulation by Regulation” (Nutt er),

164–71; contributions of, 167–68;

186

2 6 9

I N D E X

Stuarts, 199–200

123–26; punishment of predatory

suff rage, 25, 221n25/26

captains and, 108–9, 126–31; repu-

supercargo, 18, 220n18/21, 227n39/22

tation building and, 110–12 115–

surgeons, 140, 164, 208

26; as revenge, 108–9, 123–31;

sweating, 114, 129

roasting, 114, 124; sadism and,

Sweden, 8, 200

132–33; sparing of, 129, 133; sweat-

Swetser, Joseph, 153–54

ing, 113, 129; trademark practices

Sycamore Galley (ship), 141

and, 110–12, 115–26, 192–93; valu-

Sympson, “Lord”, 23

able papers and, 109–10; women

and, 114; woolding, 113–14

taking no quarter, 91, 97–98, 236n98/9

Toward a Th

eory of the Rent-Seeking

tariff s, 190

Society (Buchanan, Tollison, and

Tarlton, Th

omas, 129

Tullock), 189

Taylor, John, 13–14, 114, 164, 198

trademark practices, 17–20; Blackbeard

Taylor, William, 148

and, 120–23; economics of, 192–93;

Teach, Edward. See Blackbeard

Jolly Roger and, 82–106; legitimacy

Th

omas, Dorothy, 172–73

and, 192–93; madness and, 120–21,

Th

omas, Stephen, 152

132; management and, 192–93;

tide, 85

reputation building and, 21, 98–101,

Tiebout, Charles, 61

110–12, 115–26; ruses to gain close

Tiebout competition, 61–62, 229n62/3

proximity to prey, 86–87; torture

tolerance: black pirates and, 156–71;

and, 110–12, 115–26, 192–93

economics of, 159–61; equal pay

transaction costs, 54–55, 71

and, 156; homosexuality and, 171–

treasure, 13, 19, 195, 218n13/22; dam-

75; open-mindedness and, 188–89;

age to, 106, 109; distribution of

self-interest and, 157, 167; slavery

booty and, 59–60, 67–69, 77–78;

and, 164–71

fancy clothes and, 36–37; gift s to

Tollison, Robert D., 189

honest captains and, 129–30; greed

Tortuga, 7, 25

and, 177–78; incentive-alignment

torture, 21, 107; amputations, 112–13,

problems and, 180–85; hiding of,

117, 124; arbitrary use of, 131–32;

109–123, 238n109/20; income de-

burning, 112–13, 132–33; cooking

mographics for, 13–14; matelotage

alive, 112; cost of indiscriminate,

and, 174–75; modern pirates and,

114; cutt ing, 128; “dead men tell no

203–5; as motivation for piracy,

tales” and, 116; deterring capture

11–14; myths of, 11; pay scales and,

and, 123–26; eating ears, 112; fl og-

68–69 ( see also wages); pirate con-

ging, 32, 35, 39, 112–13, 128,

stitutions and, 58–63; Prize Act and,

223n32/7; free riding and, 116–17;

11–12; prize catches and, 13–14;

gift s and, 129–30; heart removal,

torture used in fi nding, 108–123

114, 124; hidden booty and, 108–

Treaty of Tordesillas, 8

123; honorable discharge and, 133;

Treaty of Utrecht, 96

legitimacy and, 117–18, 131; lip re-

Tubman, Harriet, 157

moval, 112; madness and, 120–21,

Tullock, Gordon, 74, 189

132; media and, 113, 117–20,

124; pirate justice and, 126–32;

unanimity, 60–61, 74–79

punishment of authorities and, 108,

unemployment, 12–13

270

I N D E X

United States, 9; Americans with Dis-

von Mises, Ludwig, 180

abilities Act (ADA) and, 187–88;

voting. See democracy

black soldiers and, 162; checks and

Vriejman, M., 208

balances of, 34–35; Constitution of,

27; Continental Army and, 162;

Wafer, Lionel, 207

Continental Congress and, 24; Dec-

wages, 217n12/13; British Royal Navy

laration of Independence and, 22,

and, 12; distribution of booty and,

24; democracy and, 27, 34; Found-

59–60, 67–69, 77–78; docking of,

ing Fathers of, 3, 27–28, 34, 36, 46,

15, 17, 39, 219n15/28, 226n39/16;

47, 179, 221n25/32, 222n28/20;

equal pay and, 69, 156; food rations

growth of government and, 191; po-

and, 78; incentives and, 72; pay

litical capturing activities and, 191

scales and, 68–70; pirate constitu-

Upton, John, 201

tions and, 58–59, 63; retirement

Uring, Nathaniel, 16

and, 14; working conditions and,

“Use of Knowledge in Society, Th

e”

14–15; for wounded, 59, 71–72

(Hayek), 180

walking the plank, 107, 112

Wall Street (fi lm), 177

vacations, 41

Wal-Mart, 185

Vane, Charles, 30, 36, 112–13, 125

War of the Quadruple Alliance, 13, 97,

Venetian Republic, 25

200

Venezuela, 90, 201

War of the Spanish Succession, 11, 97,

violence, 45, 79; ammunition and, 88;

145, 197, 199–200

confl ict prevention and, 52–53, 57,

Washington, Booker T., 157

63–70, 81; dispute resolution and,

Welsh, 8

66; duels and, 11, 66, 141; eco-

West Indian Company, 208

nomic costs of, 89–94, 105–6; fi rst

West Indies, 8, 96, 198–99

blood and, 66; good quarter given

White, Th

omas, 13

and, 100; Guarda Costa and, 96–98,

Whydah (ship), 65, 124, 153

102, 104; Jolly Roger and, 90–91;

Williams, James, 78–79

massacres and, 98–99; minimiza-

Williams, Joseph, 141–42

tion of, 88–94; no quarter and, 91,

wind direction, 85–86

97–98, 236n98/9; peaceful nature

windward advantage, 85

and, 88–94; pirate code and, 64;

women, 10, 189; courts and, 173; cross-

publicity and, 100–1; punishments

dressers and, 172–73; fancy clothes

and, 15–16 ( see also punishments);

and, 36–37; pregnancy and, 173;

Roberts and, 107–8; sanctions on,

prohibition of, 174; rape and, 65;

97, 234n97/31, 235n97/32; signal-

torture and, 114

ing and, 94–106; stinkpots and, 87–

Woodward, Colin, 198

88; torture and, 21, 107–133

woolding, 113–14

Virginia, 17–18, 96, 125, 136

workers’ democracy, 182–85

volunteers: ads of force and, 149–54;

Wyer, William, 98, 124

conscription and, 134–35, 139–42,

149–55

Zahavi, Amotz, 95

27 1

Document Outline

- Contents

- List of Illustrations

- Preface and Acknowledgments

- 1 The Invisible Hook

- 2 Vote for Blackbeard The Economics of Pirate Democracy

- 3 An-arrgh-chy The Economics of the Pirate Code

- 4 Skull & Bones The Economics of the Jolly Roger

- 5 Walk the Plank The Economics of Pirate Torture

- 6 Pressing Pegleg The Economics of Pirate Conscription

- 7 Equal Pay for Equal Prey The Economics of Pirate Tolerance

- 8 The Secrets of Pirate Management

- Epilogue: Omnipresent Economics

- Postscript: You Can’t Keep a Sea Dog Down The Fall and Rise of Piracy

- Where This Book Found Its Buried Treasure A Note on Sources

- Notes

- Index

- A

- B

- C

- D

- E

- F

- G

- H

- I

- J

- K

- L

- M

- N

- O

- P

- Q

- R

- S

- T

- U

- V

- W

- Z

Table of Contents

Contents

List of Illustrations

Preface and Acknowledgments

1 The Invisible Hook

2 Vote for Blackbeard The Economics of Pirate Democracy

3 An-arrgh-chy The Economics of the Pirate Code

4 Skull & Bones The Economics of the Jolly Roger

5 Walk the Plank The Economics of Pirate Torture

6 Pressing Pegleg The Economics of Pirate Conscription

7 Equal Pay for Equal Prey The Economics of Pirate Tolerance

8 The Secrets of Pirate Management

Epilogue: Omnipresent Economics

Postscript: You Can’t Keep a Sea Dog Down The Fall and Rise of Piracy

Where This Book Found Its Buried Treasure A Note on Sources

Notes

Index

A

B

C

D

E

F

G

H

I

J

K

L

M

N

O

P

Q

R

S

T

U

V

W

Z

A

B

C

D

E

F

G

H

I

J

K

L

M

N

O

P

Q

R

S

T

U

V

W

Z