Rogers also contacted the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, an Anglican missionary organization famous for its extensive production of religious pamphlets, books, and flyers. Hoping to reform the moral behavior of the pirates, Rogers asked for and received a shipment of Society books for distribution among "the English inhabitants of Madagascar." One wonders what the veterans of Henry Avery's 1696 campaign would have made of the Christian pamphlets, but in the end they were never distributed. In the latter part of 1716, Addison and Steele informed Rogers that his Madagascar plan had little hope of winning official support. Apparently the East India Company, which held a monopoly on British trade in the Indian Ocean, felt that a thriving royal colony would be a greater threat to their commercial interests than a few hardscrabble pirates hiding in their jungle huts. But Addison had good news as well: There was another pirate's nest in need of Rogers's services, one thousands of miles removed from the East India Company's jurisdiction.
Addison and other government officials were being bombarded by alarming reports about the pirates of the West Indies, who appeared to be gaining strength at a remarkable rate. The Bahamas, Virginia governor Alexander Spotswood warned in the summer of 1716, had become "a nest of pirates" and would "prove dangerous to British commerce if not timely suppressed." That December, the governor of Jamaica reported that the pirates "take more than half the ships and vessels" bound for Jamaica or Hispaniola, crippling his colony's trade. By midwinter, even the captains of His Majesty's warships feared for their safety. The captain of the six-gun sloop-of-war Swift* was afraid to venture out of Port Royal, and Leeward Islands governor Walter Hamilton was forced to cancel an official tour of the Virgin Islands on the sixth-rate frigate HMS Seaford for fear they would be captured by "the pirate ship and sloop commanded by Bellamy." In the spring, London's top diplomats informed Addison that the pirates had "grown so numerous that they infest not only the seas near Jamaica, but even those of the northern Continent." "Unless some effectual and immediate protection is sent," they warned, "the whole trade from Great Britain to those parts will not only be obstructed, but in imminent danger of being lost." With the empire's transatlantic trade at stake, something needed to be done about the pirates, and Addison knew just the man to do it.
Rogers took to the idea immediately. His plans for Madagascar were easily applicable to the Bahamas, he told Addison, and with proper support were sure to rid the Americas of piracy. Rogers envisioned a public-private partnership by which the government would outsource the management of the Bahamas to a corporation of private investors. The corporation would supply the necessary soldiers, colonists, and supplies, plus several private warships and a governor, in the person of Rogers himself. The Crown would contribute a squadron of frigates to support the initial landing and issue a pardon for those pirates who agreed to peacefully surrender to the new governor. The pirates expunged, Rogers and his fellow investors would recoup their investment from the colony's profits. All that was needed was the approval of the Crown and the acquiescence of the lords proprietor, the circle of aristocrats who still held title to the colony.
Rogers spent much of 1717 building political support for the venture. He called in every favor he could think of, exploiting his business network in Bristol, his personal relationships in London, and his late father-in-law's contacts within the Admiralty. He formed an alliance with the wealthy merchant Samuel Buck, the longtime agent of the lords proprietor for the Bahamas, who had personally lost over £2,700 to the pirates. Together they formed a corporation with the verbose name The Copartners for Carrying on a Trade & Settling the Bahama Islands, recruiting five other investors from across England. The two men got 163 leading merchants in London and Bristol to sign petitions to the king in support of the venture. "Woodes Rogers," petitioners informed the government, "is a person of integrity and capacity, well affected to his Majesty's government* ... a person in every way qualified for such an undertaking."
Rogers and Buck managed to induce the lords proprietor to relinquish to the Crown their right to govern the Bahamas by pointing out that the pirates represented a grave threat to their far more valuable Carolina holdings. The proprietors may also have been swayed by the involvement of a well-known slave trader like Rogers, who would be likely to shape the wayward colony into a proper plantation society, making it harder for the slaves of South Carolina to make their escape. The proprietors would maintain their property and commercial rights in the Bahamas, but agreed to lease them to Rogers and his partners for twenty-one years for a token fee. Meanwhile, Joseph Addison shepherded the Copartners' proposal through the halls of power and onto King George's desk.
On September 3, 1717, Addison had the king's answer: Woodes Rogers would be appointed governor and garrison commander of the Bahamas. There was one small catch: If Rogers wanted the job, he would have to do it pro bono. There would be no salary. He had already committed £3,000—most of his estate—to the Copartners' corporation, but such was his enthusiasm for the project that he agreed to take it on without pay. It was a decision that would eventually bankrupt him, once again.
While the voluminous paperwork for these deals was being processed, Rogers and Buck scurried around London, making preparations for the expedition. Rogers's 460-ton ship Delicia would serve as flagship, backed by one of Buck's ships, the 135-ton Samuel, with six guns and twenty-six men; and the seventy-five-ton sloop-of-war Buck, also with six guns. They recruited an Independent Company consisting of 100 soldiers and 130 English, German, and Huguenot colonists. Thousands of pounds of provisions were ordered: lumber for houses and gun carriages; tools for repairing the fort and clearing land for farming; arms, cannon, and clothing for the soldiers; and enough salt, bread, flower, and preserved food to feed the expedition's 530 people for more than a year. Much of the cargo would be carried by a fourth ship, a tubby 300-ton merchant ship called the Willing Mind, mounted with twenty guns. Before the year was out, Rogers and his five other Copartners had spent £11,000.
In late October, Rogers received word that the lords proprietor had signed the surrender of government papers. He happily offered to deliver the documents to St. James's Palace himself, which the proprietors agreed to. On November 6, his carriage made its way between the large brick homes lining the wide, straight dirt expanse of Pall Mall and up to the tall, Tudor-era guard tower of the Royal Palace. Guards ushered him into the first of a series of inner courtyards. There, at the heart of the British Empire, he was likely greeted by Addison, in his long wig of brown curls, with a shake of hands and a smile of accomplishment. The hard work was reaching fruition.
On January 6,1718, King George issued Rogers his commission and official instructions."Whereas by reason of the great neglect of the Proprietors of the Bahama Islands," the king proclaimed, "the said islands are exposed to be plundered and ravaged by pirates and others, and are in danger of being lost from our Crown of Great Britain ... We ... by these presents do constitute and appoint you, Woodes Rogers, to be Our Captain General and Governor in Chief."
Rogers had been granted his wish. It wouldn't be long before he would wish the king had turned him down.
CHAPTER SEVEN
BELLAMY
March–May 1717
WITHIN HOURS of capturing the Whydah, Sam Bellamy's men anchored the powerful ship off the nearest Bahamian island, Long Island, 160 miles southeast of Nassau. Bellamy headed the Sultana into the wind and, with sails flapping, ordered the men to drop her anchors as well. The heavy iron anchors plunged into the crystalline water and, as the wind pushed Sultana to the leeward, their heavy flukes dug into the sand and coral sea bottom. The vessel stopped moving and the two galleys lay side by side, one a miniature of the other, as the Marianne came to a stop a short distance away.
The pirates who had taken over the Whydah were happy and courteous, Captain Lawrence Prince was relieved to discover. A number of them probably knew Prince, at least by reputation. He had been to Jamaica several times and been stranded there for mo
nths after his previous command was sunk in the great hurricane of 1712. Both John Fletcher, the Marianne's quartermaster, and Paulsgrave Williams's boatswain, Jeremiah Higgins, were from Jamaica, and may well have come across Prince during the grim aftermath of the disaster. They could vouch that Prince, unlike many other captains, treated his crews fairly. The pirates were in a generous mood. They were keeping the Whydah, but Prince could have the Sultana instead, along with £20 in silver and gold as a gesture of goodwill.
The pirates busied themselves transferring cargo and guns from the Sultana to the Whydah, trying to pack as many valuables as possible into the larger ship's holds. The most valuable items, silver, gold, and gems, were stored in a single heap of bags in the Whydah's great cabin. The pirates bragged to the prisoners that this stash alone was worth between £20,000 and £30,000. At the time of the Whydah's capture, Bellamy and Williams had over 120 men under their command, and each and every one, from nine-year-old John King to the Afro-Indian John Julian, were entitled to at least £100. In addition, the holds of the Whydah and Marianne overflowed with ivory, indigo, and other valuables. No wonder that when the time came, several of Prince's men asked to stay with the pirates and were welcomed into their ranks.
Days passed as the pirates hoisted more cannon into place on the Whydah's gun deck, boosting her armament from eighteen to twenty-eight guns, and lowered extra cannon into Marianne's hold. The pirates also loaded unwanted cargoes onto the Sultana, according to the desires of Captain Prince. As they prepared for departure, their stockpile of treasure was loaded into chests and taken out of the great cabin and stowed on the gun deck with the men. So great was the trust among the pirates, crewman Peter Hoff later reported, that the treasure was left there "without any guard, but none was to take any without the Quarter Master's leave." Before hoisting anchor, the pirates also forced two or three of Captain Prince's unmarried crewmen to join them, apparently finding themselves short of specialists.
In early March, Bellamy gathered the pirates together to decide what to do with their "ship of force." Spring was nigh, so they agreed to advance up the eastern coast of North America, seizing ships as they passed in and out of the gates of the Chesapeake and Delaware Bays, or the harbors of Charleston and New York. If separated by bad weather or unforeseen events, the Whydah and Marianne would regroup at Damariscove Island in Maine. En route, Williams would stop at his home on Block Island, Rhode Island, to visit family members there; he probably wished to give them a share of his plunder. The pirates knew his extended family could be counted on to purchase and discretely dispose of the pirates' bulkier cargo. Bellamy may have revealed an interest in making a similar stop on the Outer Cape, to return to his love, Mary Hallett.
***
In early March, the Whydah and Marianne circled the southern end of Long Island until their bowsprits pointed toward Florida. They were embarking on what would be the most challenging cruise of their careers.
They captured their first prize off the north coast of Hispaniola a day or two after weighing anchor. The three-masted merchant ship Tanner had been only a few hours out of the French harbor of Petit Goave.* When the pirates boarded the Tanner, they discovered she was a peculiar vessel: a British ship under contract to France, carrying a mixed Anglo-French crew and an enormous consignment of Haitian sugar back to La Rochelle, France's greatest commercial port. While searching the Tanner for valuables, the pirates told her crew they were "Robin Hood's men." At least one of the Tanner's crew was impressed. John Shuan, a twenty-four-year-old sailor from Nantes, couldn't speak English, but declared loudly in French that he wanted to be a pirate as well. Bellamy relayed commands to him through a bilingual crewman. Shuan listened to his first order as a pirate: to climb high up the Tanner's rigging and take down her topmast; this would slow the vessel down when the pirates released her, making it impossible for her to raise a timely alarm. Shuan, eager to prove himself, scampered up the mast and unrigged this upper section, lowering it to the deck with pulleys. He also helped the pirates find 5,000 livres (£208) hidden in Captain John Stover's cabin and, with the help of an interpreter, was welcomed aboard the Marianne. The Tanner was then released.
Williams kept the Tanner's topmast because at this point the Marianne was in rough shape. The pirates had been in possession of the fifty-ton sloop for nearly a year, during which time they had weathered storms, fought at least one serious battle, and captured nearly fifty vessels. They kept her bottom clean, as best they could, by careening regularly and keeping the areas below the waterline covered in white lead paint. As pirates, however, they had had no access to proper shipyards or port facilities. Above the waterline, the Marianne was becoming a wreck. The yellow and blue trim decorating her quarterdeck was peeling, as was the blue paint on her stern. Her single mast had broken just above the deck, a critical wound that had been shored up by lashing on an old spar against it like a splint on a broken leg. Her sails were old and covered in patches. The old English flag, the red cross of St. George, fluttered from her bowsprit, under which a large chunk of the upper part of the bow was missing. Williams could further reinforce his injured rigging with the Tanner's topmast, but pretty soon he would need to get the Marianne a new one.
As they picked their way north along the southern edge of the Bahamas, the pirates considered calling on Nassau, where they might scavenge a mast off some derelict prize and overhaul the Marianne in safety. As attractive as that might have been, Bellamy and Williams counseled against this course. If they stopped now, they would miss the lucrative spring pirating season, when the East Coast teemed with shipping after the long, bitter winter. With a ship full of treasure, they would be wise to avoid potentially fractious encounters with either of the Bahamas' rival leaders, Benjamin Hornigold and Henry Jennings, as both had reason to be cross with Bellamy and Williams. Besides, with a ship like the Whydah, the pirates had the confidence to set up a seasonal pirate outpost of their own. The War of Spanish Succession, Williams told them, had left the coast of Maine in much the same condition as the Bahamas. The Indians and their French allies had burned most of the English settlements, leaving hundreds of miles of coastline uninhabited, including countless anchorages where an entire fleet of ships could refit unobserved by European eyes. Most important, the shores were covered in forests, with so many great pines that the Royal Navy itself relied on the region to supply its warships with pitch, lumber, and masts. Williams likely suggested they sweep up the East Coast, sell heavy cargoes at Block Island, and rest and overhaul the Marianne on the central Maine coast. The pirates agreed and, a few days later, they watched the last of the Bahamas disappear astern.
They stayed well offshore of the Carolinas, intending to make a beeline for the entrance to Chesapeake Bay. Despite being more than 100 miles out to sea, they came upon a small merchant sloop out of Newport, Rhode Island. The sloop's master, Captain Beer, was bound for Charleston and had probably opted for the outside passage precisely to avoid the pirates said to be infesting the Florida Straits and Windward Passage. Instead, Beer found himself captive aboard the largest pirate ship he and his fellow sailors had ever seen.
Beer spent only two hours aboard the Whydah, but he subsequently wrote out everything that had transpired, including a transcription of his conversation with Samuel Bellamy, in which the pirate commodore expounded on the political motivations for his actions.
Beer was brought aboard the Whydah while the pirates were plundering his sloop of cargo and trying to decide whether to return the vessel to him or not. Both Williams and Bellamy were in favor of giving Beer his sloop, which was too small to be of any use to them, but their men, their egos inflated by their recent successes, refused. Bellamy ordered Beer brought before him so that he could, apologetically, give the hapless captain the bad news.
"Damn my blood, I am sorry they won't let you have your sloop again, for I scorn to do anyone a mischief when it is not for my advantage," Bellamy told Beer. "Damn the sloop, we must sink her and she might have been
use to you." The pirate paused, looking the Rhode Islander over, his sympathy draining away by the second.
"Damn ye, you are a sneaking puppy, and so are all those who will submit to be governed by laws which rich men have made for their own security, for the cowardly whelps have not the courage otherwise to defend what they get by their knavery," he resumed, his anger building with every word. "But Damn ye altogether! Damn them [as] a pack of crafty Rascals. And you [captains and seamen], who serve them, [as] a parcel of hen-hearted numbskulls! They vilify us, the scoundrels do, when there is only this difference [between us]: they rob the poor under the cover of law ... and we plunder the rich under the cover of our own courage."
Bellamy looked Beer over once again, carefully weighing the effect of his next words. "[Would] you not better make one of us," he asked the captain, "then sneak after the asses of those villains for employment?"
Beer took little time in responding. His conscience, he told the fiery pirate commodore, would not allow him to "break through the laws of God and man."
Bellamy looked at him with disgust. "You are a devilish consceint[tious] rascal, damn ye," he declared. "I am a free Prince, and I have as much authority to make war on the whole world as he who has a hundred ships at sea and an army of 100,000 men in the field. And this my conscience tells me: ... There is no arguing with such sniveling puppies who allow superiors to kick them about [the] deck with pleasure, and [who] pin their faith upon a pimp of a Parson, a squab who neither practices nor believes what he [tells] the chuckle-headed fools he preaches to."*
With that, Bellamy ordered Beer away. He told crewmen to row the captain back over to the Marianne, so that Williams could leave him on Block Island. When the pirates finished transferring the last cider and foodstuffs onto the Marianne, they set Beer's sloop on fire. The smoke plume could be seen for miles around until the vessel burned down to the waterline, and the flames were quenched by the sea.
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