Sep

18

A tall ships tale

September 18, 2006 | Leave a Comment

Talk Like A Pirate Day Logo

SINCE I have issues with conventional language most days, tomorrow I shall abandon all hope and lend my voice to the Ahoys, the Arrrghs and the Ayes of International Talk Like A Pirate Day. Naturally it’s my mother’s fault: she raised me on the swashbuckling potentially basque-busting tales like Frenchman’s Creek and Treasure Island. Oh and Peter Pan of course. (You never thought of that as a bodice ripper? What can I say? I was a disturbed child.) Sadly however, I had to find out about the rum by myself. A shame, I’ve always thought, all those lost years…

buccaneer (buk-uh-NEER) noun

- An unscrupulous adventurer in politics, business, etc
- A pirate

– Wordsmith

But back to the origins of global Piratitude. It all started during an ill–fated game of racquetball between John Baur and Mark Summers way back in 1995, “making it the first holiday that ever originated as a sports injury”. That boy-moment began to make waves when ex-newspaperman Ol’ Chum Bucket Baur and Cap’n Slappy Summers decided America needed to get on board. Perhaps it was the old hack in Baur reponding to the Bush Administration’s buccaneering spirit of the time: in 2002 he and Summers sent a message to national humour-columnist Dave Barry (rumours of a bottled delivery have been exaggerated). Barry was instantly hooked. Thanks to his column, International Talk Like A Pirate Day was soon in full sail.

Why September 19th? Apparently it is Summers’ ex-wife’s birthday which made it easy for him to remember. Whether it was the birthday he wanted to remember or the parodic holiday isn’t completely clear. We also don’t know if it was his buccaneering bent that prompted the wench to ship out (possibly in order to return to her original status of woman). Which is not to knock women of the pirate variety: think of the story of Bonny and Read…

Footloose & pooped

The bottom portion of a sail is called the foot. If it is not secured, it is footloose and it dances randomly in the wind.

The poop is the stern section of a ship. To be pooped is to be swamped by a high, following sea.

– Fort Ogden, Nautical Origins of Some Common Expressions

It’s a tall ships tale with all the turbulance of the high seas: love and tragedy, subterfuge, betrayal and survival. A story of great courage in the face of sure defeat. So trim your sails and embark with me, if you will, on this journey…

The story of Bonny & Read

Old pirate hatTHE PROBLEM was that Mary Read was born a woman. The solution lay in her mother’s audacity and an accident of birth. Mary’s mother was wed to a sea captain and while Mary was certainly conceived during one of his sojours in London, she was born while he was at sea. Taking advantage of the timing, when next the captain made his way to her berth, the excellent Mrs Read dressed her daughter as a boy and used for her the name of Mark. This would secure inheritance for the child on her father’s demise, and sea travel in the 17th century being what it was, it was a move that showed sound foresight. The sea captain must have died soon afterwards, for records show that Mary and her mother lived on the inheritance until the girl was a young woman, when the money ran out. As blood would have it Mary, using the familiar subterfuge, felt the pull of the sea and took work on a ship.

It might have been a particularly brutal assignment, or perhaps her mettle had not yet been tested. In any event, the harsh enviroment and frequent abuse forced Mary to jump ship. She joined the British military, never forgoing her disguise. Finally, the tide turned: she excelled on the battlefield and fell in love with a fellow sailor, whom she married. Mary could final adopt the skirts and manner of her gender.

But it was not to last. Her husband was killed and she found herself back in britches and on the battlefield. Perhaps love had softened her in some way for she had lost her stomach for battle and soon left to heed the call of the brine that ran in her veins. Mary boarded a ship headed for the West Indies. It was on this voyage that she came to be captured by another woman in britches: Anne Bonny, companion to notorious pirate Calico Jack Rackham.

Touch and go (link)

Irish Anne, born in County Cork, straddled two worlds from birth. Her father was an attorney, her mother a maidservant. When the affair became public, William Cormac abandonned his native shores and his profession. He took Anne and her mother to Charleston, South Carolin, a place where master and slave could not have been more cleary divided.

If love enriched and tightened this family unit cast adrift so suddenly, the New World granted them material riches also, and Cormac bought a large plantation. Anne grew up a quick study and a sharp wit. It’s said her temper was short and her face was fair: romance and adventure were bound to beckon. At sixteen she set her course for life marrying John Bonny, a sailor and small-time pirate. Her wealthy father should have been sensible to the streak of rebellion that ran through her, he planted its seed. But instead, upon her marriage he disowned her, and her rebellion caught fire — as did did her father’s plantation. John Bonny took his bride away to the safest place he could think of: a pirate hub in the Bahamas.

Out to sea

Cat o' nine tailsIt could be that the union soured for Anne when she found she had married a man who could turn governor’s informant. Or perhaps Anne should never have been tethered by convention. She took to frequenting pirate watering holes, and so met Calico Jack Rackham, an infinitely more dangerous man. Infinitely more appealing. When John Bonny refused Rackham’s offer of divorce-by-purchase and complained to the governor, Anne was sentenced to be flogged and returned to her husband. So under a darkened moon, Rackham and Anne eloped.

Many have believed Anne donned the garb of a man to join her pirate lover at sea, but in recent times it seems this was not the case . She must have been a remarkable woman to so sweep aside hardened sailors’ superstition. Certainly she earned respect and was good in combat. But I still believe she had a sharper weapon at her disposal: her wit. And so it was that Anne stood at Rackham’s side when they took the ship that carried Mary Read.

Mary, still in the guise of a man, joined Rackham’s crew and Anne befriended her, still unaware of her true identity. They must have been close, or perhaps all modesty is set aside in such close quarters: one day Anne walked in on Mary while she was dressing and the cat was out of the bag. Anne swore secrecy and the two became fast friends (some fancy a romance blossomed there) but in the face of Rackham’s jealousy at the amount of time Anne was spending with the apparent lad, Mary confessed her sex — and bared her breasts to prove it.

Ill winds

Italian caplock pistolDespite the prevalent belief that female passengers brought bad luck, Rackham was man enough to keep her on and soon afterwards revealed her identity to the rest of the crew. Besides, technically Mary was not a passenger; she was not shy with a blade and had been able to hold her own doing man’s work. Anne was already a part of the crew, perhaps with Rackham’s protection, but she too could wield a cutlass.

Whatever the case, there was no mutiny, Mary continued as part of the crew, and possibly as a result of the revelation, found her love interest in a fellow pirate very much returned. They married and for the next three moons every success visited the crew’s endeavours and coffers were full. But complacency set in. There came a night when the halos of St Elmo’s fire must have shone deadly bright about nearly every head. The dreaded pirate hunter Captain Barnet took the ship by surprise and captured Rackham and his crew on behalf of the governor of Jamaica. Most of the crew were three sheets to the wind and did nothing to defend their position. But Mary Read and Anne Bonny did fight.

It was a battle lost before it had begun.

The end?

Pirate BessRackham and his crew were sentenced to hang, but Mary and Anne pled their bellies: both were with child. The last record that bears the name of Mary Read is that of her death in prison, whether of fever or of childbirth isn’t known. Of Anne Bonny’s fate there is no further written word.

And so the story ends.

But tomorrow you can look to the North Star and wonder, Could that have been me? Might I have had the courage? between Ahoys! and Arrrrrghs. If you’re less given to flights of supposition and fancy, you could put your hand to the wheel and turn TLPD into something that speaks volumes in any language, as Fearsom’ Bess (pictured right) did:

As TLPD is around my birthday … I decided to have fun and raise some money for one of my favourite causes at the same time.

My workmates each pledged adonation towards the Hamlin Fistula Aid and Relief Fund (an Australian project to help Ethiopian women who suffered severe childbirth injuries). … The challenge: To venture up and down the main street of Parramatta during lunchtime in pirate garb… Most of the lunchtime crowd including the constabulary barely raised an eyebrow — mind you, people are pretty used to vagabonds, buccaneers and layabouts around here …

At least $A300 has been raised to date for the Fistula Aid fund. Who knows what we’ll get up to next year!?”

image credits

TLPD logo courtesy of John Baur and Mark Summers
Handmade pirate hat from this eBay seller (The Story of Bonny & Read)
Cat o’ nine tails from Knotical Arts (Out to sea)
Italian Caplock Pistol from the Weapons Emporium (Ill winds)
Fearsom’ Bess from flickr’s Talk Like a Pirate Day set (The end?)


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