Introduction

In the seventeenth, eighteenth, and even into the nineteenth centuries, pirates pilfered and plundered the east coast of North America, from the Carolinas to Newfoundland, and as far east as the islands of the Azores. These bloody rovers of the sea were, to large extent, the result of the reoccurring wars between England and her major adversaries, France and Spain. None of the countries had a powerful navy, so they enlisted privateers, who carried letters of marque licensing them to capture enemy ships, to help fight their wars. But when a war ended, a privateer captain and his crew had nowhere to turn but piracy.

Commonly defined, a pirate is a man or woman who once engaged in the practice of robbing vessels on the high seas during the age of wooden ships. (In our age, of course, a pirate may have no connection with the sea. Illegally copying computer software, for instance, is referred to as piracy.) The pirates of this book are the sea brigands of the days of wooden ships. They are the most romanticized figures of the world’s seven seas. Rather than work for meagre seaman’s wages, pirates shared in the spoils of plunder, and some retired in very favourable circumstances. They were engaged in a very dangerous profession, however, and if they weren’t killed or severely wounded in battle, they stood the chance of being arrested for piracy, the penalty for which was death by hanging.

During the centuries of colonization of the New World, the English decided that even when at peace with Spain, they were not obliged to adhere to any peace treaty with respect to the Spanish colonies in the West Indies. This gave rovers of the deep the opportunity to prey on Spanish galleons en route to Spain from the Caribbean, carrying enormous loads of gold, gems and precious jewels stripped from the Maya, Aztec and Inca empires.

The route that the Spanish treasure ships took to Spain from the Caribbean usually followed the Gulf Stream up the eastern coast of North America, to a latitude north of Bermuda where westerly winds assisted in the homeward journey. On this course, the Spanish convoys often came within three or four hundred miles of Nova Scotia. Pirates of the eastern Atlantic seaboard, like Peter Easton, preyed on these shipments of unimaginable value, much to the distress of Spain.

But even without Spanish treasure ships, Newfoundland was a gold mine to pirates. Over ten thousand people with about four hundred ships were engaged in the gigantic fishing industry there; the waters teemed with fish, which were caught, salted and dried. A shipload sold for the equivalent of millions of dollars in today’s market. A pirate captain and his crew who managed to capture a loaded fishing vessel en route to Europe from Newfoundland could sell the ship and cargo at one of the many free ports of France where a huge black market carried out a brisk trade with Muslim kingdoms of North Africa.

People generally perceive pirates as cruel and evil, but piracy was not always a personal choice. Many wanted very much not to be part of the piratical fraternity. Men were frequently forced to join a pirate crew to save their own lives. An honest, hard-working seaman would be on a commercial vessel when it was captured by pirates and his capabilities and skills assessed. If he were a physician or a carpenter, and ships were for ever in need of both, there was little chance of escaping death if he refused to join. Indeed, most capable seaman had no choice but to sign on.

Female pirates were far less likely to be pressed into service—they were often not welcome aboard at all. Still, there were enough of these women to leave a strong piratical legacy. Princess Alwida, daughter of a Gothic king, avoided an arranged marriage with Prince Alf, son of a Danish king, by adopting the life of a sea brigand. She joined an all-female pirate crew that dressed as men, and proved her worth as a ferocious pirate. In the early 1800s, Mrs. Ching, a Chinese lady pirate terrorized Europeans to the point where her name became an icon for a woman pirate. And Mary Read, an Englishwoman and ferocious pirate, fooled hundreds of pirates into believing she was a man.

Unfortunately, there are few confirmed cases of these “lady pirates” in the waters of the North Atlantic, and thus, with the exception of Margaret Jordan, female pirates are not represented in these pages.

John Phillips, the Newfoundland Fish Splitter

How a dreary job led this man to piracy, plunder, and a violent death.

John Phillips, Newfoundland fish—splitter, sliced the razor-sharp blade down the stomach of his last creature of the sea to be cut that day. Wiping the knife blade clean of fish scales and blood on a filthy piece of canvas, he tossed it on a low shelf below the cutting table where it landed among a cluster of identical knives, all to be sharpened by others before the next eighteen hours of boring labour.

Phillips, an Englishman from a family of shipwrights, expected more from life than to spend his days splitting fish—a job that just paid for food and lodging and a ration of rum in return for intolerably long hours of drudgery. He had started his working life over in England as a carpenter’s helper at a young age, about twelve years old. Parents forced their children to help pay the landlord and put bread and butter on the table. The carpenter’s trade in the shipwright industry wasn’t great, but far exceeded cleaning out the innards of cod. At that point of his life, however, he knew no worse job than carpentry, and had grown tired of sawing boards and hammering nails. In the local pub he heard sailors tell thrilling stories of their lives at sea as men who had travelled talked of all the fun they had experienced across the Atlantic in the new country. There was particularly talk about Newfoundland—ships regularly sailed back and forth between English ports and Newfoundland. It was the place to go! He had spent nights dreaming of a change of pace, an adventure abroad. Something he could later recount in the pubs to attentive crowds.

In 1720, a few years after entering the carpentry trade, Phillips decided to set out in search of a better, more exciting life. There would be an opportunity in the shipyard trade across the sea. England had taken over the shipyards in Placentia, a coastal settlement in Newfoundland, from France under the treaty of 1713, and was said to be operating a booming business. So he packed his bags and signed on a ship bound for Newfoundland.

The cruise had been relatively uneventful until one day out on the Grand Banks, not far from Newfoundland, when his ship was attacked by the sadistic pirate Anstis, one of the most depraved in the history of piracy. Anstis had a reputation for throwing his captives overboard, impressing o nly those that could fill a vacancy in his crew; captured women were raped and murdered. Carpenters were always needed, so Phillips was spared and signed pirate articles.

Not long after Phillips was taken aboard, Anstis captured the ship Irwin, commanded by a Captain Ross. In this undertaking, Phillips’s introduction to the career of piracy could not have been more shocking. He witnessed the brutal gang-rape and murder of a female passenger, which ended with her being thrown overboard to the sharks.

Following this violent capture of the Irwin, Anstis and his pirates decided to apply to the British Crown for a pardon. They signed what was known as a “round-robin,” a circle of signatures placing no one at the top of the list. Pirates frequently used this method to appeal to the British government for clemency, so noone bore any more responsibility than anyone else for the crimes committed.

Pardon was granted and Phillips returned to England on a merchant ship; he then signed on another, bound for Newfoundland, and arrived at Placentia in the spring of 1723, three years after he first attempted to reach the colony. But the work situation in the shipwright industry at Placentia wasn’t as promised. Phillips was unable to find work as a shipwright in that location, so he went down to the island now called St. Pierre and Miquelon, off the southern coast of Newfoundland, in search of work as a carpenter or shipwright. He was not able to find the work of his trade there, either, and was obliged to take the fish-splitting job that he found so loathsome.

With Phillips as leader, plans were made to steal a ship anchored in the St. Pierre harbour. It was a trading schooner owned by William Minot of Boston. The night of August 29, 1723 was chosen for the heist, but when Phillips arrived at the predetermined meeting place on the shore only four of the sixteen had shown up. Phillips was determined not to go back to fish-splitting and decided to carry out the theft despite the shortage of manpower. They appropriated the schooner and sailed out of the harbour, with no one in pursuit.

The next day, when safely out at sea, Phillips renamed the stolen schooner: he called her the Revenge. Then he proceeded to draw up pirate articles for the ship. First was the matter of the division of spoils. It read: “The Captain shall have one full share and a half in all Prizes; the Master, Carpenter, Boatswain, and Gunner shall have one Share and quarter.” Next, was the matter of loyalty: “If any Man shall offer to run away, or keep any Secret from the Company, he shall be maroon’d, with one Bottle of Powder, one bottle of Water, and one small Arm and Shot.” Theft was a concern: “If any Man shall steal any Thing in the Company, or game to the Value of a Piece of Eight, he shall be maroon’d or shot.” One of the items was rare for any ship of the day because it amounted to something akin to modern-day insurance: “If any man shall lose a Joint in Time of an Engagement, he shall have 400 Pieces of Eight, if a Limb, 800.” In view of what he had witnessed while serving under Anstis, Phillips understandably did not omit an article related to rape. This article read: “If at any Time we meet with a prudent Woman, that Man that offers to meddle with her, without her Consent, shall suffer present Death.” There was included an article pertaining to good behaviour that stipulated, “That man that shall strike another whilst these Articles are in force, shall receive Moses’ Law (that is, 40 Stripes lacking one) on the bare Back.” Phillips and the four men who showed up that night of the heist signed the articles. Their names and ranks were: John Phillips, captain; John Nutt, navigator; Thomas Fern, carpenter; James Sparks, gunner; and William White, crewmember.

Although the crew was tiny at the outset, it soon grew as Phillips captured ships and gathered men who either willingly joined or were impressed because of their special skills. One captured man stood out above the rest. He was the infamous pirate John Rose Archer, who had once served as Blackbeard’s lieutenant. Phillips appointed him ship’s quartermaster. Another noteworthy recruit was John Fillmore, whose grandson, Millard Fillmore, became the thirteenth president of the United States of America.

For several months, Phillips proceeded to run down and capture ships on the Grand Banks of Newfoundland. Among the ships captured on the Grand Banks, special mention is made of two: Mary, commanded by a Captain Moor and carrying a cargo valued at five hundred pounds, and a French vessel carrying over a thousand gallons of wine and valuable supplies.

Leaving the Grand Banks for warmer climes, Phillips sailed down to the West Indies, but found few ships to loot; trade had badly dried up in the region. The Revenge did, however, fall in with a French sloop from Martinique which gave them no resistance although it had twelve deadly guns. Phillips plundered the vessel, took on much-needed provisions, and let it sail away. Then he headed for the island of Tobago to work on the Revenge. The hull was badly covered with sea growth, so he ran the ship up on shore at high tide for careening. This work was done in a beautiful little cove with a white sand beach, a plush jungle growing down to its back edge, and abundant fresh potable water.

Here at Tobago they captured a small vessel and began fitting it for piratical venture. It was a comfortable little ship and Thomas Fern, one of the original founders of Phillips’ pirate band, conspired with four of the crew to steal it and go off on their own. Fern had been holding a grudge against Phillips for some time for appointing John Archer rather than himself as ship’s quartermaster, and was happy with the opportunity to part company with Phillips.

It was the month of February 1724. Phillips finished work on the ships and set a course northerly, with Fern in command of the recently captured small ship. Not long after putting out to sea, Fern began lagging behind the Revenge and, when he thought the moment was right, began to run away. But Phillips had a watchful eye, saw what Fern was up to, and gave chase.

Fern almost got away, but the wind stopped blowing in his favour and Phillips caught up with him. Fern and his fellow conspirators were taken aboard the Revenge and Phillips held a trial. He gave Fern the severest of the two penalties for theft named in the ship’s articles: one day while on shore, Fern was tied to a tree and shot through the heart. The four other men of the conspiracy were pardoned and returned to serve with the crew. It is not clear why they were not found guilty of disobeying the ship’s article pertaining to running away or keeping a secret from the “Company.” Perhaps history is incorrect and they were innocent of any wrongdoing, simply obeying the skipper’s orders; or perhaps they convinced Phillips of their innocence.

Fern’s capture was not without a skirmish: Fern fired his pistol at Phillips and missed, one man was killed, and another man was shot in the leg. This last injury was so severe that the limb had to be amputated. There was no surgeon among the crew, so the carpenter was chosen to hack off the leg. He went below and came back with the largest saw available. The poor victim was given a stiff drink of rum and told to bite hard on a piece of cloth that one of the crew handed him. A couple of crewmen restrained the man and placed the mangled leg on the seat of a chair, and the carpenter began to saw. When he finished, the dismembered limb fell to the floor. To cauterize the new wound, the carpenter heated an axe until it was white hot and singed it against the bleeding stump.

Fern, who had been the ship’s carpenter from the beginning, was replaced by a man named Edward Cheeseman. Cheeseman had been carpenter on the Dolphin, a ship that Phillips captured up on the Newfoundland Banks before sailing down to the West Indies, and although he had no interest in becoming a pirate, he was impressed into service because of his trade.

Following the trial and conviction of Thomas Fern, Phillips continued the voyage north, plundering over a dozen ships along the way until he reached the Banks of Newfoundland in April 1724. Searching around for a prize, Phillips fell in with a beautiful new fishing vessel, the Squirrel. It was so new that carpenters were still working to complete the finishing touches on the deck. It was owned and commanded by Captain Andrew Haradan, out of Annisquam, Massachusetts. Phillips liked the new vessel so much that he decided to make it his flagship. He had all his supplies, equipment and crew transferred over to the Squirrel, and after making himself and his crew “at home” on his new acquisition, he let all of the Squirrel crew except Captain Haradan go aboard the Revenge and sail off for home. Probably because of his seamanship as a skipper, Haradan was forcibly detained aboard his own ship.

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At high noon on the chosen day, the mutineers were busy working on the deck. They moved about with hammers, knives and chisels. Heavier tools, like broadaxes and mallets, lay within reach. John Fillmore casually took a broadaxe in hand, and watched Cheeseman engage John Nutt in light conversation about the weather and other matters of concern to seamen. As Cheeseman and Nutt chatted away, Fillmore strolled over and started talking to the boatswain, the axe hanging loosely by his side as if he would be needing it in a few minutes to continue his work. The boatswain was turned away from John Nutt; he therefore didn’t see Cheeseman’s sudden attack. With a backward thrust, Cheeseman grabbed Nutt between the legs with one hand, and the back of his neck with the other. The startled pirate grabbed for the object that was shooting sharp pain through his genitals, only to find himself tipping backwards. In a split second, John Nutt was drowning in the freezing northern Atlantic. At almost the same instant, Fillmore, who was watching Cheeseman out of the corner of an eye, swiftly raised the broadaxe and brought it down onto the centre of the boatswain’s skull, slicing it wide open like a codfish under a fish splitter’s knife. During the fracas, other conspirators knocked unconscious the gunner, James Sparks, and another founding member of the piratical crew, and all were thrown overboard.

Phillips, who had been down in his cabin, finally heard the noise above and rushed up the ladder to the deck. As he emerged from below, Cheeseman swung a tremendous blow with a mallet, smashing Phillips’s jaw to smithereens. Still conscious despite the blow to his face, Phillips charged Cheeseman—but before he reached him, Haradan intervened. He swung a broadaxe with all his might and hit Phillips on the head, knocking him dead with that one vicious blow. Cheeseman, seeing his opponent dead at the head of the ladder, went immediately below and herded up the remainder of the pirate crew.

With all Phillips’s loyal men on deck, the victors behaved as badly as any voluntary band of pirates. They butchered ten of Phillips’s men and threw them overboard. Dubious of the piratical status of the remainder, not knowing if they had been impressed, they locked them up to stand trial.

So Captain Haradan was again in command of his ship, and while he struck a course for his New England home, the new non-piratical crew sliced the head from Phillips’s dead body and attached it to the ship’s main mast. Then they threw the remains overboard.

Back in his home port, Haradan had the imprisoned men on board his ship sent ashore to stand trial. The majority—with the exception of John Rose Archer, whose record was badly blemished from serving under Blackbeard—were acquitted or reprieved.

Acknowledgements

Preface

Introduction

John Phillips, the Newfoundland Fish Splitter