by Frank Sherry
Against all odds Woodes Rogers had succeeded in suppressing piracy—not only in his own Bahamas colony but throughout the Caribbean. By closing Nassau to the brigands, he had deprived the outlaw nation of its capital city, its center, its main base in the New World—and had thereby assured its eventual defeat in the West Indies.
There were several important reasons why Rogers succeeded in defeating the pirates of New Providence.
First, he always kept the pirates of Nassau off balance and in disarray by offering pardons to most of them but punishing a few others, by enlisting some in his own service, by alternately threatening and cajoling. As a consequence, the unruly citizens of Nassau were never able to agree among themselves whether to regard Rogers as an enemy or a friend. This made it impossible for Rogers’s pirate enemies to muster a united opposition to the feisty governor.
Rogers also succeeded because of the strength of his character. Immensely brave, resolute, brimming over with self-assurance, Rogers always seemed to sense precisely when to take bold action—such as the hanging of the eight recalcitrants—and when to hold his peace. He knew when to bend the law to his purposes and when to ignore it. But for all that, he never allowed the outlaws, the whores, and all the other flyblown citizens of Nassau to forget that he represented the dignity, power, and majesty of England.
But the chief ingredient in Rogers’s success was one he never acknowledged but always practiced: his willingness to tolerate, within bounds, the brawling, careless, unrestrained life-style of his pirates. For the most part—as long as they did not openly impede his designs or practice piracy—Rogers let the seadogs of Nassau live their lives as they chose. In this way the pirates remained almost as free under Rogers as they had been before his arrival. The brigands of Nassau, left relatively free, could never really work themselves up to rebel against Woodes Rogers. And so Rogers conducted his governmental business, established his authority, built his fort, planted his surviving settlers, even made some converts among the pirates—and one day the old seadogs of Nassau discovered that the Bahamas had become a real colony that no longer had a place for their lawless breed. They could either leave for other climes, or stay and—truly—reform.
Yet, having tamed his pirates, and having sent the Spanish invaders packing, Rogers now came face to face with an obstacle he could not overcome: the ingratitude of His Britannic Majesty’s government.
Since his arrival in Nassau, Rogers had been paying the expenses of the Bahamas colony from his own funds. It had cost him approximately £11,000 to pay his soldiers, purchase food for the settlement, and provide for the defense of Nassau. Although he had kept careful accounts and had written often to the Board of Trade in London requesting reimbursment and support—in the form of money or supplies—he had been ignored.
In November 1720, alarmed by the lack of response from London, Rogers’s colonial council wrote to the secretary of state in Westminster: “Governor Rogers having received no letter from you dated since July 1719, and none from the Board of Trade since his arrival [has] given him and us great uneasiness lest this poor colony should be no more accounted as part of his Britannic Majesty’s dominions.”
Still Rogers received no response.
In February 1721 he wrote to London: “It is impossible that I can submit here any longer on the foot I have been left ever since my arrival.”
In March 1721 he finally reached the end of his patience. He left Nassau, sailing first to Carolina where he ordered provisions for his colony sufficient to last until the end of the year. Then he sailed for London, worn out and disillusioned, but determined to put his affairs in order.
Back in England, he found to his dismay that neither the government nor his backers in the Bahamas colony syndicate would make good the financial losses he had suffered during the previous three years. Humiliated, heartsick, and worn out physically, Woodes Rogers was declared bankrupt and dismissed as governor of the Bahamas colony. A new governor, George Phenney, was appointed in his place and sent to Nassau.
Rogers went to debtor’s prison.
His work in the West Indies, however, endured. The outlaw nation was scattered and no longer a serious threat to Caribbean or American trade.
But if the outlaw brotherhood was defeated, it was far from annihilated. It still possessed numerous enterprising commanders. These spirited captains—many of them veterans of Nassau—had turned eastward once more.
16
King of Madagascar
Captain Christopher Condent had—over a long piratical career—gained a well-deserved reputation for both cool courage and shrewd judgment. A native of Plymouth who had gone to sea as a boy, Condent—like most of the pirate commanders of Nassau—had fought as a privateer in the War of the Spanish Succession, and had drifted to the Bahamas after the war.
Condent—who must have been a bantam cock of a man—was the sort of captain of whom it could be said: “He never fought when he could talk, but never ran when he had to fight.”
Veteran hands who had served with him were fond of recalling one particular incident in which Condent most clearly displayed the combination of bravery and sharpness that marked his character.
The story goes that during one of Condent’s predatory cruises through the Caribbean, an Indian crewman got into a dispute with some other members of the crew and was badly beaten in a fight. For days afterward the Indian brooded and muttered about “revenge.” One day, while the rest of the crew were busy on deck, the Indian surreptitiously stacked barrels of gunpowder, arms, and flammable materials in the hold. He then began to shout and gesticulate, making it clear that he intended to set fire to this pile—and blow up the ship. The rest of the crew, peering down into the hold, could see that the Indian was mad with rage and meant to carry out his threat. Some of them proposed abandoning ship immediately, which also meant abandoning all their hard-won loot. Others suggested tossing smoke bombs down at the Indian. But it was pointed out that this would no doubt precipitate the very action they were trying to prevent.
At this juncture, according to the story, Captain Condent arrived on the scene and took in the situation in a flash. Cautioning the rest of his crew to make no sudden moves, and to do nothing to “help” him, Condent began to speak soft and soothing words to the distraught Indian, all the while edging closer to the brink of the hold, until he stood almost directly above the wild-eyed would-be incendiary. When he judged that the Indian had been sufficiently distracted by the mellow tones of his voice, Condent suddenly launched himself down into the hold, at the same time drawing both his pistol and his cutlass. The startled Indian managed to get off a shot just as Condent fired his own pistol. The Indian’s shot struck Condent in the arm, breaking it. Condent’s shot killed the Indian.
This was the man who early in 1719—when Woodes Rogers had been governor of his Bahamas colony for barely six months—foresaw that the doughty governor would inevitably triumph over the pirate republic in Nassau, and that the Caribbean would soon become both unsafe and unprofitable for sea raiders.
Certain that he had read the future accurately, Condent convened his crew and suggested that they abandon the West Indies and instead set sail in his ship, Flying Dragon, eastward across the Atlantic to see what luck they might have in those waters. As usual his crew supported Condent’s judgment, despite the fact that for all they could tell, there were still plenty of good pickings in the Caribbean.
After crossing the Atlantic, Condent cruised southward along the west coast of Africa, taking a number of prizes as he went. By easy stages, he rounded the Cape and made for Madagascar. He arrived off the great island some time in June or July of 1719.
Although the outlaw nation had not been a force in the Indian Ocean since the great days of Madagascar nearly twenty years earlier, Condent thought there might be good hunting along the old sea-lanes between the Red Sea and India. He headed Flying Dragon north toward the mouth of the Red Sea, where Tew and Every and dozens of others had made their fortunes
a generation earlier.
Although he patrolled vigilantly across the Gulf of Aden, no fat Mogul vessels or rich East Indiamen showed themselves. Condent then set his course for the west coast of India. For months Flying Dragon plowed between the Gulf of Cambay, on the Indian coast north of Bombay, and the Maldive Islands, twelve hundred miles to the south. But she took only a few small prizes. Condent and his men began to wonder if the stories of the fabulously rich cargoes of the East were perhaps no more than the tall tales of old men.
Then, in October 1720, more than a year after he had arrived in eastern waters, Condent’s luck changed dramatically. While cruising off the Indian coast in the vicinity of Bombay, he sighted a large Arab ship headed eastward toward the East India Company trading center at Surat. Condent pursued her. He overtook her long before she reached the safety of the shore. The Arab ship surrendered without a fight.
As Condent’s men ransacked her holds, they discovered that she was carrying an immmensely valuable cargo: drugs, spices, silks—and £150,000 in gold and silver. Condent was determined to moderate—as far as possible—the wrath that her Arab owners and the East India Company would no doubt feel when they heard of the loss of this great ship and her rich cargo. He was careful, therefore, to ensure that his men treated the Arab ship’s passengers and crew with a certain amount of consideration. No violence was committed against any of those aboard the captured vessel—and passengers and crew alike were deposited safely ashore. Condent then beat a hasty retreat across the broad ocean with his prize, making for the old pirate sanctuary of St. Mary’s.
There Condent and his men shared out the gold and silver. Each man’s share came to approximately £2,000. Leaving much of the ship’s luxurious cargo scattered on the beach of St. Mary’s, Condent and about forty of his crew then set sail for the French island of Bourbon, 450 miles east of Madagascar. At Bourbon they applied for, and received, pardons from the French governor, who was always pleased to give aid and comfort to any gentlemen of fortune who had harmed—or even embarrassed—Britain’s East India Company. This was especially so when there was some little profit in it for the governor himself.
Defoe says that the shrewd Condent, having made a once-in-a-lifetime score, now retired from the sweet trade. He married the sister-in-law of the governor of Bourbon and returned with her to France where, according to Defoe, he parlayed his pirate loot into a fortune. He died a wealthy shipping magnate, respected by all who knew him.
Most of Condent’s men followed their shrewd captain’s example and never again went to sea. Many of them settled down in Bourbon, where they were regarded as valuable citizens of the island and lived contented, peaceful lives. The last of Condent’s men, it was said, died in Bourbon in 1770, a half century after taking the prize that had made them all rich.
Christopher Condent was not the first of the Nassau pirates to head eastward in order to escape Woodes Rogers. He had been anticipated by the Irishman Edward England. One of the most successful of the New Providence pirates, England had been one of those who had chosen to depart Nassau in advance of Woodes Rogers’s arrival. But unlike Blackbeard and Charles Vane, who chose to operate off the American coast, England had set sail eastward. It was a decision with momentous consequences, not least for England himself.
Like most of his colleagues, Edward England had served as a privateer in the War of the Spanish Succession and had headed to the Caribbean afterward. But unlike many others, it appears that he did not turn immediately to piracy. Headquartered at first in Jamaica, he seems to have avoided any overt acts of piracy until 1716 when he joined with other Jamaica captains to raid the Spanish Silver in the Gulf of Florida. It was after that score that England became a declared outlaw and made Nassau his headquarters.
A big man, slow moving and slow to anger, England seemed to lack that hatred of civilized society that was so characteristic of pirate leaders. Defoe describes him as “one of those men who seemed to have a better share of reason which should have taught him better things.” Saying that England was not “avaricious” and was always “averse to the ill-usage” of prisoners, Defoe claims that England would have been contented with “moderate plunder and less mischievous pranks, could his companions been brought to the same temper.” But England, he adds, was usually overruled by his crew and “obliged to be a partner in all their vile actions.”
This was the man who—early in 1718—decided that with Woodes Rogers on his way to Nassau supported by Royal Navy warships, the time had come to leave the Bahamas—and to search elsewhere for prey. As Condent would a year later, England thought the Indian Ocean might offer good hunting. Accordingly, England set out eastward across the Atlantic, arriving off the coast of Africa in his ship, Fancy, in late March or early April of 1718.
Here England and his men took a number of vessels, including one called the Cadogan, whose brutal skipper was recognized by some of England’s crew who had served under him in their days of honest service. Whooping with delight at having captured the master who had mistreated them in the past, these members of England’s crew murdered the Cadogan’s captain “to avenge themselves and other poor sailors he had ill treated.”
England worked along the coast of Africa for many months before finally heading into the Indian Ocean. By the time Fancy arrived at the mouth of the Red Sea in December 1719, Christopher Condent had already departed for the Indian coast where he would make his great catch. England, however, remained in the Gulf of Aden and took several rich Indian prizes.
Soon other pirate captains, most of them refugees from Nassau who had followed Condent and England’s wake eastward, also began to take up stations in the Gulf of Aden. Among these were the French pirate Oliver La Bouche and the Englishman John Taylor, who was later to capture Nossa Senhora Do Cabo and score the greatest coup in the annals of piracy. At this time, however, Taylor was still an obscure figure in command of a small vessel, probably a brig, called Victory.
Taylor was well acquainted with England. (It is probable that Taylor had served in England’s crew before becoming skipper of the Victory, and that Victory was a ship originally captured by England and subsequently given to Taylor.) In any event, by the early part of 1720, England, in Fancy, and Taylor, in Victory, were hunting as partners.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS
In August 1720, England and Taylor, having pulled back to Madagascar waters to share out loot and to take a break from their labors, encountered two large East Indiamen lying in the bay of the island of Johanna.
The East Indiamen were the Cassandra, under the command of a Captain Macrae, and the Greenwich, under the command of one Captain Kirby. Both ships, well armed and provisioned, had been sent to Madagascar by the East India Company to search for pirates. The company—acutely aware that piracy was once again on the rise in the Indian Ocean—was determined not to allow the outlaw nation to reestablish itself in Madagascar. The Cassandra and the Greenwich, therefore, had been dispatched specifically to drive pirates away from Madagascar and its environs. The two pirate-hunter ships had come into the harbor of Johanna Island searching for the Frenchman La Bouche, who was rumored to have made his headquarters there.
When Captain Macrae of the Cassandra spotted Fancy and Victory approaching the harbor, however, he decided that these were even better prizes than the Frenchman. He signaled Captain Kirby of his consort Greenwich that he was preparing to engage the oncoming pirates. Kirby replied that he understood and would also engage. Now a third ship that happened to be in the bay, a Dutch merchant, beat a hasty retreat away from the harbor that obviously would soon become a scene of battle.
Meanwhile, the approaching pirates were under the impression that they had caught two fat and vulnerable East India Company merchant ships watering in the bay—perfect victims.
Aboard the well-armed and swift Fancy, Captain England now ran up his Jolly Roger, as well as a red flag. Ignoring the fleeing Dutch merchantman, England bore down on the two East Indiamen. His consort Victory trailed
after him.
As soon as Fancy was close enough, Cassandra loosed a broadside that brought the pirate vessel up short. Soon Fancy and Cassandra were heavily engaged in a gun duel. Victory was soon closing also to join in the fight against the Cassandra.
Frantically Captain Macrae signaled to Captain Kirby, on the Greenwich, to join in the fight. But incredibly, Kirby, rather than joining in, sheered away from the combat—and headed for the safety of the open sea. After she had gotten half a league offshore and was safe from the battle, Greenwich suddenly came about again, as if intending to return to the harbor where Cassandra was now under attack by both pirate vessels. But Greenwich did not rejoin the fight. Instead she hovered offshore, apparently content merely to observe the battle.
Aboard Cassandra, Captain Macrae was enraged at the defection of Greenwich.
“He basely deserted us,” Macrae later charged in his report on the battle. “He left us engaged with barbarous and inhuman enemies with their Black and Bloody flags hanging over us and no appearance of escaping being cut to pieces. But God in his good Providence provided otherwise.”
The battle, which had begun sometime around midday, swayed back and forth for hours. Clouds of gunpowder smoke drifted across the harbor. The booming of cannon reverberated through the jungles of Johanna.
By late afternoon Captain Macrae knew that he was losing the battle. Most of his officers had been hit. There were thirty or more casualties among the crew. In addition, the pirate Fancy, though clearly damaged and with many wounded men aboard her, was continuing to maneuver closer and closer to Cassandra. Soon the pirate would be close enough to board her. The other pirate, Victory, had not been much of a factor in the battle so far, partly because she was guarding against the return of the Greenwich—which was still standing offshore aloof from the struggle—and partly because it was difficult to maneuver in the harbor.