The Republic of Pirates: Being the True and Surprising Story of the Caribbean Pirates and the Man Who Brought Them Down Read Online Free
River Thames. For Avery and his shipmates, it appeared to be the beginning of a profitable adventure.
Things went badly from the start. The journey to La Coruna in northern Spain should have taken two weeks, but for some reason it took the
Charles II
and her consorts five months. Upon arrival they discovered that the privateering documents they needed had yet to arrive from Madrid, so they sat at anchor and waited. A week passed, then two, and then a month, with no indication that the wheels of Spanish bureaucracy were turning. Aboard the crowded ships, the men grew restless, and some began asking why their promised semiannual salary payment had not yet been made. They sent a petition to Sir James Houblon, asking that salaries be paid out to the sailors or their wives, as previously agreed. In response, Houblon told his agent to put several petitioners in irons and lock them in the ships' dank brigs.
Such reaction did not put the sailors' minds at rest. While visiting other vessels in La Coruna's sleepy harbor, some of the married sailors were able to send word back to their wives in England. A letter informed the women of their husbands' plight and urged them to meet Houblon in person to demand the wages they no doubt needed to survive. The women then confronted Houblon, a wealthy merchant and founding deputy governor of the Bank of England, whose brother was chief governor of the Bank and would soon become Lord Mayor of London. His response chilled them to the bone. The ships and their men were now under the king of Spain's control and as far as he was concerned the king could "pay them or hang them if he pleased."
When word of Houblon's response got back to La Coruna, the sailors began to panic. Several pleaded with the captain of a visiting English warship to take them back, but were refused. Captain Gibson's personal steward, William May, offered to forsake £30 in back wages were he allowed to leave the
Charles II;
Gibson told him to return to duty or he would be thrown in jail. The ship's company concluded they had been sold into the service of the king of Spain for "all the dayes of their lives."
Henry Avery came up with a solution. On May 6, 1694, four months after arriving in La Coruna, he and some of his fellow sailors rowed into town. Wandering the narrow, winding streets, they gathered up men from the other English ships in the harbor. He had a plan to gain their freedom.
At nine o'clock the following evening, several of these recruits set out from the
Charles II
in a small boat. When they came alongside the
James,
one of the sailors hailed a figure on deck using a prearranged password: "Is your drunken boatswain on board?" This failed to elicit the expected response, so they spoke more plainly, something along the lines of: "We're part of the secret plan to seize control of the
Charles,
so all you mutineers hop on board and we'll row you over there." Unfortunately the man on the deck of the
James
was not a member of the conspiracy and he ran off to alert his captain. Before the captain sounded the general alarm, however, twenty-five conspirators from the
James
launched the ship's pinnace—the largest of her boats—and rowed off after their colleagues in the direction of the
Charles.
Back on the
Charles,
Avery heard the sounds of commotion echoing across the harbor from the
James.
He knew they could wait no longer. He and two dozen of his men rushed out on deck, seized the watchman, and took control of the quarterdeck, where the helm and many of a ship's other controls were located. As their co-conspirators from the other ship arrived in boats, the captain of the
James
opened fire, sending two cannonballs splashing into the harbor next to the
Charles.
The cannon fire alerted the Spaniards manning La Coruna's medieval fortress, who were now readying its guns. Avery barked out orders. Men rushed forward to cut the ship's thick anchor lines or clambered up the ratlines to unfurl the sails; the helmsman
Things went badly from the start. The journey to La Coruna in northern Spain should have taken two weeks, but for some reason it took the
Charles II
and her consorts five months. Upon arrival they discovered that the privateering documents they needed had yet to arrive from Madrid, so they sat at anchor and waited. A week passed, then two, and then a month, with no indication that the wheels of Spanish bureaucracy were turning. Aboard the crowded ships, the men grew restless, and some began asking why their promised semiannual salary payment had not yet been made. They sent a petition to Sir James Houblon, asking that salaries be paid out to the sailors or their wives, as previously agreed. In response, Houblon told his agent to put several petitioners in irons and lock them in the ships' dank brigs.
Such reaction did not put the sailors' minds at rest. While visiting other vessels in La Coruna's sleepy harbor, some of the married sailors were able to send word back to their wives in England. A letter informed the women of their husbands' plight and urged them to meet Houblon in person to demand the wages they no doubt needed to survive. The women then confronted Houblon, a wealthy merchant and founding deputy governor of the Bank of England, whose brother was chief governor of the Bank and would soon become Lord Mayor of London. His response chilled them to the bone. The ships and their men were now under the king of Spain's control and as far as he was concerned the king could "pay them or hang them if he pleased."
When word of Houblon's response got back to La Coruna, the sailors began to panic. Several pleaded with the captain of a visiting English warship to take them back, but were refused. Captain Gibson's personal steward, William May, offered to forsake £30 in back wages were he allowed to leave the
Charles II;
Gibson told him to return to duty or he would be thrown in jail. The ship's company concluded they had been sold into the service of the king of Spain for "all the dayes of their lives."
Henry Avery came up with a solution. On May 6, 1694, four months after arriving in La Coruna, he and some of his fellow sailors rowed into town. Wandering the narrow, winding streets, they gathered up men from the other English ships in the harbor. He had a plan to gain their freedom.
At nine o'clock the following evening, several of these recruits set out from the
Charles II
in a small boat. When they came alongside the
James,
one of the sailors hailed a figure on deck using a prearranged password: "Is your drunken boatswain on board?" This failed to elicit the expected response, so they spoke more plainly, something along the lines of: "We're part of the secret plan to seize control of the
Charles,
so all you mutineers hop on board and we'll row you over there." Unfortunately the man on the deck of the
James
was not a member of the conspiracy and he ran off to alert his captain. Before the captain sounded the general alarm, however, twenty-five conspirators from the
James
launched the ship's pinnace—the largest of her boats—and rowed off after their colleagues in the direction of the
Charles.
Back on the
Charles,
Avery heard the sounds of commotion echoing across the harbor from the
James.
He knew they could wait no longer. He and two dozen of his men rushed out on deck, seized the watchman, and took control of the quarterdeck, where the helm and many of a ship's other controls were located. As their co-conspirators from the other ship arrived in boats, the captain of the
James
opened fire, sending two cannonballs splashing into the harbor next to the
Charles.
The cannon fire alerted the Spaniards manning La Coruna's medieval fortress, who were now readying its guns. Avery barked out orders. Men rushed forward to cut the ship's thick anchor lines or clambered up the ratlines to unfurl the sails; the helmsman
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