Under pirate flags, the buccaneers of the late 17th and early 18th century raided many a ship and took many a cargo, and committed more than a few acts of murder and torture along the way. Yet pirates have, arguably, the most positive public image among all criminals. How can this be? David Cordingly, who organized many maritime-history exhibits for Great Britain's National Maritime Museum in Greenwich, England, seeks an answer to that question in his book Under the Black Flag.
As Cordingly explains it, the existence of rich and not-terribly-well-protected stores of treasure in the New World, coupled with competition among European nations for territory and hegemony in the Caribbean, made for an ideal environment for piracy from 1650 to 1725 – “the Golden Age of Piracy.” The frequent naval wars fought by Great Britain, France, Spain, Holland, and other nations meant that, when those wars were over, there were plenty of skilled but out-of-work sailors who might find a new job opportunity on a pirate ship.
Many of the stories of pirate raids recounted by Cordingly were already somewhat familiar to me. Having travelled in Panama, I knew the story of Sir Henry Morgan’s January 28, 1671, raid on Panama City, “the principal treasure port on the Pacific coast of Central America for the gold and silver which was brought by ship from Peru” (p. 51). Indeed, it is a story that is still retold to this day, with sadness, by the people of Panama.
Morgan’s well-planned raid successfully took Panama City, even if the city council’s president, Don Juan Pérez de Guzmán, had managed to get most of the treasure out of the city before it fell. Morgan reported to Jamaica’s governor, Sir Thomas Modyford, that “Thus was consumed the famous and ancient city of Panama, the greatest mart for silver and gold in the whole world”; but no doubt he left out of his report the fact that “The inhabitants [of Panama City] were savagely tortured to reveal where they had hidden their money” (p. 52). Cordingly is conscientious in reminding his readers that real-life pirates were routinely cruel and brutal in making sure that they got the money they were seeking.
One of the paradoxes of life among the pirates is that a seaman could get a better shake, in terms of respect for his rights, as a member of a pirate crew than as a sailor in the British Royal Navy. A certain kind of rough democracy seems to have prevailed among many pirate crews; if a man could do the work, he’d be respected for it, and factors like a man’s cultural or socioeconomic background might not matter as much. Pirate captains even drew up formal articles, as chronicled in the 1724 book A General History of the Pyrates:
“III. No person to game at cards or dice for money.” [Really?]
"VII. To desert the ship or their quarters in battle, was punished with death or marooning.
"IX. No man to talk of breaking up their way of living, till each had shared £1,000. 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 public stock, and for lesser hurts, proportionately.” (pp. 99-100)
Cordingly also chronicles how the pirate economy had a formative effect on the life and culture of many Caribbean communities, as in the case of Port Royal, Jamaica. In the period between 1650 and 1670, “The governors of the island actively encouraged [pirates] to use Port Royal as a base, hoping that the presence of heavily armed ships would discourage the Spanish and French from attempting to capture the island”; consequently, “During the 1660s the pirates had a field day” (p. 143), as Port Royal became home to countless bars, taverns, brothels, and other businesses that served the pirates. Yet Morgan’s 1671 raid on Panama City, described above, caused the British government to recall both Morgan and Modyford, and to distance itself from piracy; henceforth, “Port Royal became notorious not as a pirate haven but as a place where pirates were hanged” (p. 145).
By the early 18th century, the nations of Europe were no longer willing to wink at piracy as long as a pirate was on one’s own side. The potentially greater profits of peacetime economies demanded an end to the depredations of these seagoing outlaws, and therefore the end of the age of piracy came quickly – as shown in the case of Edward Teach, or “Blackbeard,” who was killed by an expedition led by Lieutenant Robert Maynard at Ocracoke Island, North Carolina, in 1718.
Cordingly captures well the drama of that moment, as well as the ways in which Blackbeard has hung on in popular culture – from the 1798 play Blackbeard, or The Captive Princess, to the 1952 film Blackbeard the Pirate with Raoul Walsh, to contemporary Outer Banks tourism: “As for the village of Ocracoke in North Carolina, the story of Blackbeard has proved a useful tourist attraction. Visitors to the island will find an inn called Blackbeard’s Lodge, a pirate souvenir shop called Teach’s Hole, and the Jolly Roger Pub” (p. 201). On the basis of many summertime visits to Ocracoke Village, I can tell you that Cordingly speaks true.
A thoughtful afterword, “The Romance of Piracy,” points out that pirates, then as now, were hardened criminals capable of great cruelty toward their victims; consider, for example, the treatment that contemporary merchant captains and crews have received from Somali pirates off the Horn of Africa. Therefore, Cordingly writes, “it is surprising that [piracy] should have acquired a comparatively glamorous image” (p. 242).
Cordingly suggests that the reason behind that paradox is that pirates represent a way for people of the modern world to engage in symbolic rebellion against the drabness and routine of modern life: “The pirates escaped from the laws and regulations which govern most of us. They were rebels against authority, free spirits who made up their own rules. They left behind the grey world of rainswept streets and headed for the sun. We imagine them sprawled on sandy beaches with a bottle of rum in one hand and a lovely woman by their side, and a sleek black schooner moored offshore waiting to carry them to distant and exotic islands” (p. 243).
Cordingly published Under the Black Flag in 1995, eight years before the premiere of Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003). As the five films in the Pirates of the Caribbean series have grossed $4.5 billion worldwide, it seems clear that Cordingly is correct in his closing verdict regarding the “romance” of piracy. Indeed, he anticipated most of the elements of the screenplays for these films, years before they were written:
The fact is that we want to believe in the world of the pirates as it has been portrayed in the adventure stories, the plays, and the films over the years. We want the myths, the treasure maps, the buried treasure, the walking the plank, the resolute pirate captains with their cutlasses and earrings, and the seamen with their wooden legs and parrots. We prefer to forget the barbaric tortures and the hangings, and the desperate plight of men shipwrecked on hostile coasts. For most of us, the pirates will always be romantic outlaws living far from civilization on some distant sunny shore. (p. 244)
Well-written and well-illustrated, Under the Black Flag is an authoritative history of the so-called “Golden Age” of piracy; and if the book doesn't have enough of a Captain Jack Sparrow quality for you, please keep in mind that, in the book’s subtitle, Cordingly promised to set forth the romance and the reality of life among the pirates.