Daniel

The conditions of sailing in the Golden Age of Piracy dictate some sailing strategies that appear obvious. 1. Since you can't accurately determine longitude, get in the latitude of your destination as soon as you can and sail due east or west to get there. This is exactly what most merchant ships did, according to the introduction of Johnson's General History of the Pirates. 2. If you want to sail eastward, do it in the latitude of the prevailing westerlies. 3. If you want to sail westward, do it in the latitude of the trade winds. 4. The calms of the horse latitudes (30 to 35 degrees, according to Wikipedia) and the equatorial doldrums slow you down, so cross them as quickly as possible by going straight north or straight south. Given these strategies, the obvious way to get to the Guinea Coast or the Cape of Good Hope from America is to get inthe latitude of about 38 degrees North and take the prevailing westerlies to the Azores, top off your water and supplies, and then shoot either straight south from Santa Maria for Cape Verde, or southeast by south, aiming for the Gambia. This takes you directly south across the horse latitudes, and puts the trade winds on your beam or quarter. However, I have never read of any captain who actually did this. Instead, most ships sailing from America seem to have stopped at Madeira. Kidd, for example, sailed the Adventure Galley from New York to Madeira, and Richard Zacks says taht this was the "standard southeasterly trade route of that age." But Madeira is at 32 and a half degrees North, smack in the middle of the horse latitudes. To get there by sailing on the latitude line, you have to spend almsot the whole voyage in the light, variable airs of the horse latitudes. If you stay north of the horse latitudes and take the westerlies across the Atlantic, then by the time you get to the meridian of Madeira your dead reckoning of longitude will surely be far off, and you stand an excellent chance of missing the island when you turn south. Furthermore, Madeira is only a little over 500 nautical miles from Salé, the major Atlantic base of the Barbary corsairs (Santa Maria in the Azores is 900 nautical miles from Salé). So besides being harder to get to, Madeira's more dangerous. So why did Kidd and other sailors from the Americas prefer Madeira to the Azores?

Actually, I can't remember ever hearing the name "scallywag" applied to a pirate before Pirates of the Caribbean came out. The Scalawag Bunch is about Robin Hood's Merry Men, but they aren't really pirates.

"Came in through the scuppers" is an interesting variant. In Sea Slang it's called coming in "through the hawse-hole." As opposed to those who purchased their rank or were born to it, who were said to "come in through the stern cabin windows."

Thanks. I'd been wondering if chain shot was ever used on land; now I see it was.

In Billy Budd, when the order comes down at dawn to lay topside to witness punishment, some of the crew expect to see a flogging. But the old Dansker memorably mutters, "They flog men at noon. The early morning is for a hanging." I've seen no reference to this practice in any other source. Is it genuine, or a literary invention? And if it was the practice to flog at noon and to hang in the morning, when did it arise? Would it have been a naval practice only, or would the same custom obtain in the merchant service? The only other reference I've found about the timing of punishment is from a book called Sea Slang, which defines "Black Monday" as the day when the ship's boys received their accumulated week's whipping.

Books on piracy often show the many different kinds of ammunition that period cannons used: round shot, chain shot, bar shot, grape, canister, case, and langrage. However, pirates generally used quite small cannons: Konstam suggests that four-pounders were typical. Were some of these more exotic kinds of shot practical for small cannons? I would guess that grape, canister, and langrage would be useful in just about any cannon; they used langrage all the time in swivel guns and pattereroes, after all. But would chain or bar shot be practical for a four-pounder? Indeed, is even round shot practical for a four-pounder? How about for larger calibers? Is there a certain minimum size of cannon you need to make round, bar, or chain practical?

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I vaguely recall seal skin being used for rain gear by sailors, but can't remember the date; it might have been after GAoP. I guess it would have been pretty expensive.

Johnson's General History of the Pyrates has at least three references to buried treasure. Besides Kidd, who everybody knows about, Blackbeard's crew at least thought that he had buried his treasure, and Blackbeard encouraged the notion: The third reference very explicitly says that Calico Jack Rackham's men buried their treasure on the Island of Princes (not clear on exactly where this was; it's in the Caribbean close to the Isla de Pinos off Cuba, and is not to be confused with Principe in the Gulf of Guinea, which was also called the Island of Princes). I could have sworn that I read somewhere in John Stephens' Captured by Pirates of a captive witnessing two chests on the beach where the pirates were staying, covered with wet sand that appeared to have just been dug up. But I'm damned if I can find the reference now.

Cool. IIRC, a similar arrangement prevailed on St. Vincent in the 1620s, with the French and the English sharing the island and cooperating, largely because they were both scared witless by the Carib natives. After the French and the English managed to cooperate in killing the Caribs off, they eventually turned on each other.

Chapter 2 Standing high on the Cynosure's poop deck, Brilliana saw the whole ship spread before her, a valley of grey-brown planks with masts growing like three majestic trees draped with vines of rigging. Tope was in their cabin below, but Brilliana had insisted on staying above deck in the beautiful weather. "Cast off headrope and headspring!" the boatswain cried. As the foc'sle hands untied the ropes at the front of the ship, the Cynosure's bow began to drift away from the dock. "Cast off stern line and stern spring!" the boatswain bellowed. "All hands aloft and stand by to make sail!" Brilliana smiled with excitement. She drank in the new sights, sounds, and smells of adventure all around her. The ship's men were swarming up the rigging. The beautiful sharp-cornered white sails swelled proudly at the Cynosure's bow and stern. All around them floated the commerce of New York Bay, ships and barques, brigantines and sloops, cutters and pinnaces, borne together on the outflowing tide toward the Atlantic Ocean and the world beyond. Three weeks had passed since that rainy night had brought Martin to Oneida Hall. Now Martin was on the sterncastle below Brilliana's feet, straining at the wheel to steer the Cynosure's head with the tide. Captain Hurley had paced and fretted and raged to set sail for every hour of those three weeks, but Tope had insisted on the most careful preparation, stocking enough food and beer to last the whole crew to Madagascar without stopping at the Madeiras, hiring on the best and most reliable crew, discharging any men who appeared sickly, weak or incompetent, and spending a small fortune getting fresh new sails, cordage, and gunpowder. But what amazed Brilliana most was that Tope had talked Hurley into letting her come. Tope had let it be known that she was to serve as his companion and nurse if he fell ill, and that he was loath to leave her in New York without a guardian. But Brilliana knew his real purpose. On a four-month passage without one other female present, and Brilliana in the prime of her beauty, Captain Hurley would be easy prey for her. And she for him. She looked at Hurley down on the quarterdeck. Here on the sea he seemed a different man, more confident, more active, standing more solidly on the slowly tilting deck than on the land. He was truly a glorious figure. Get down! Brilliana heard the sharp cry behind her, and almost at the same instant something heavy hit her hard between the shoulder blades. She fell forward on her hands and knees, and heard something whoosh above her head. Frantically, she grabbed the hem of her dress and pushed it down to cover her calves. As she did, she saw a sailor crouching by her feet. Who pushed me? she cried, outraged. I did, the crouching man said, with no apology in his voice. The boom bloody near took off your head, damn it. You dont belong on the poop deck. As the man spoke, he pointed overhead. Shocked speechless by the mans violence and his language, Brilliana mutely followed his indicating finger. Above and to her left, she saw a massive timber projecting backward from the nearest mast, the bottom edge of a sail tied to it and rising up to meet a similar timber farther above. She thought that sail had been on her right a moment ago. Then she remembered the sound of something passing over her head as she fell, and realized that the timber had swung right across the deck with no warning and had almost hit her in the process. You might have warned me, she said irritably, tucking her feet back and away from the sailor, a guarding hand holding down the hem of her dress. I did. The man offered his hand. She took it and rose to her feet. The mans bright, blue-gray eyes stared directly into hers, and their gaze was sharp, unsettling, unsympathetic. Brilliana had the eerie feeling that he was looking into her, not at her. She guessed he was nearing thirty, with a medium height and lean frame that she would not have thought strong enough to inflict the violent shove he had just dealt her. Around those arresting eyes was a slightly boyish face with a sour grin. The thin eyebrows were almost feminine. His cheeks were round, younger than the knowing eyes and cynical mouth. His unfashionably short hair stuck up in places as if trying to escape from his scalp. Brilliana remembered a line from Shakespeare that she had read once: He hath no drowning mark upon him: his complexion is perfect gallows. Brilliana dusted herself off, noting with irritation that her dress was now stained with tar. She gave the man her most reproachful expression. I say again, madam; lubbers should not be on the poop deck. Lay below, if you please. His voice was not commanding, but superior and quite unashamed. Fresh outrage jerked Brilliana up to her full height. Why you saucy, impertinent rogue! Who are you to order me about so? He bowed, that infuriating smile never flickering. Vincent Keel, first masters mate of the Cynosure. Here is where I would ordinarily say at your service, or enchanted to meet you, but as we both know, either courtesy would be a lie. And while I have been known to lie, especially to women so beautiful as yourself, I do it under other circumstances than these. I have the right to remove you bodily below, but I am too lazy to carry such a dead weight. My saving you was an impulse I now regret. I expect your presence aboard will cause contention among my crew, so if you prefer to remain topside and get yourself swept overboard, you will doubtless spare me much trouble. He gave a mocking salute. Good day, madam. Determined to wipe the grin off the mates face, Brilliana grabbed Vincent Keel by the shoulder as he turned away. Mr. Keel, you did not permit me to introduce myself. I am Brilliana League, ward of Josephus Tope, half owner of this voyage. She thought about adding, and the intended of Captain Hurley, but recoiled from venturing onto such shaky ground. You will find Mr. Tope expects his crew not to use me roughly, and to keep a civil tongue when addressing me. The mate seemed unconcerned. I expect Mr. Tope will be lenient on men who save his daughters life. Though I wouldnt be, were I in his place. Brilliana was so angry that she actually growled, but the mate turned away without a backward glance. She descended the stairs to the quarterdeck. Captain Hurley was standing at the sterncastle door, silently watching the crew in motion. Brilliana had always imagined that the captain spent much time in the giving of orders or steering the ship, but it seemed to her that Hurley did much more watching than anything else. Captain, she said, bending her knees in a perfunctory courtesy. I find your masters mate to be most disagreeable. Vincent? said Hurley. Why, what has occurred? Just now he bowled me to the deck, and then spoke to me most uncivilly. He laid hands on you? Hurley looked over his shoulder sharply, toward the poop deck. Thats a very serious matter. Did he try to outrage you? Brilliana paused, realizing that Hurley had interpreted her accusation as an attempted rape. She was angry at the mate, but she was not willing to slander him, certainly not with a hanging offense. He pushed me down to prevent the boom from striking me, she admitted. For that much he may have had cause. But he is an impudent dog. He said . . . He said that I should get off the poop deck, that he was sorry he saved me, and that I would cause troubles with the crew. And he spoke . . . coarse words to me. Can he not be dismissed from his place? Hurley looked partly relieved and partly concerned. Well, thats different. If the words were the true offense - well, I am sorry, Brilliana, but I cannot spare Vincent Keel. Truth be told, Ive never liked the man, but he is the best sailor in my crew, he has an intimate knowledge of the waters we are to travel, the men fear him, and he gets good work out of them My second mate is not a fit replacement for him. Youre sure he attempted nothing worse? He looked into her eyes. Brilliana resisted the temptation to tell the lie that would get her what she wanted. She would not make herself the guilty one. No, I have told you all that he did. I would like to give you what you want, Brilliana, Hurley said, with a smile that made Brilliana blush under its warmth. But I truly cannot afford to lose Vincent before we even weather Sandy Hook. Even so, the man is indeed an impudent dog. I will order him to apologize to you. I beg you to be satisfied with that. Brilliana did another courtesy. Thank you, Captain. She turned away, feeling much better. She had not got all she wanted, but an apology would give her the last laugh over the mate. Better yet, she was certain she had won Hurleys eye. That smile had not been the kind of smile given to a child. She went through the stern castle door to find her cabin. It was dark in the passage, lit only by the distant stern cabin windows. Making her way toward that light, she took the handle of the last door on the left before the captains cabin itself. She and Tope actually shared a cabin, an idea that scandalized her at first, but a solid partition could be drawn across the room at night, giving them both the privacy of separate rooms. Tope was at his table, studying a map. Brilliana told him what had happened. Tope looked unhappy. I told Hurley to keep a close eye on you while you were on deck. The task should not have been left to his mate, he said. I do hope you will be more careful, Brilly. A ship is a dangerous place for the uninitiated. I am glad you have come, even if we cannot get you married before we return. Too many New York ladies see nothing of the world; you should get some salt air and smell the East Indies before you settle down. But I want you alive to savor the memory. I will be more careful, Brilliana promised. There came a knock at the door. Tope rose to answer it. He moved with strength and confidence that belied his age; it had not taken him long to get back the sea legs that he had had in his seafaring life before he came to New York. At the door was Vincent Keel. Madam, he said, with a quick bow. I have come to carry out my orders, which are to apologize to you. He went down on one knee and held out his hands. From the depths of my heart, I am sorry for all that I did on the poop deck this last hour. She looked into his face. He was still smiling, his countenance anything but penitent. And she realized that his apology for all that I did included not only his coarse and unkind words and rough treatment of her, but also his saving her from death or grave hurt. Hes not sorry. Hes mocking me, again! thought Brilliana, hesitating before his proffered hands. But to refuse his apology risks making me look spiteful in front of Papa. No, not just making me look spiteful. It really would be spiteful. He did save me. She took his hands. The offense is forgotten, Mr. Keel. The mate rose, and withdrew his hands from her grasp with a gesture just short of abrupt. And now, by your leave, I have other hapless innocents to affront. He bowed, turned and was gone. Insolent rogue, Brilliana thought. She drew the partition and changed her dress, fumbling at the clasps in the darkness; the porthole provided the only light in the cabin. Wanting to look her best for dinner with the captain, she decided to stay below, but the rocking of the ship made her queasier and queasier, and she remembered that Tope had told her that she would be less seasick above deck. She tried to tough it out for half an hour, but as her stomach felt worse, she suddenly realized that she might puke on her dress. She rose and fled back out the stern castle door. The fresh sea air on the quarterdeck was a great relief, although her stomach was not completely calmed. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, relishing the salt smell. Then she remembered the swinging boom and snapped her eyes open. She did not want to get caught unawares on the deck again. Manhattan was out of sight; to her right she saw the sun lowering toward the thin, distant strip of land that was, she guessed, New Jersey. She gradually noticed an eerie, moaning woodwind wail rising and falling, a pure and eerily beautiful tone, but without any melody. She scanned the deck to see where the notes came from, but could see no one with any kind of instrument. She saw sailors everywhere, above her and below, muscular young barefoot men with ragged edged trousers, faded shirts of checky or striped cloth, and worn fearnought coats. They watched the horizon, cleaned and mended their clothes, stood ready by the ropes that entangled the belaying pins on the left side of the ship, or just chatted with one another. But none of them seemed to be playing the odd musical tones, or even to notice them. She heard Vincent Keels voice from the poop deck behind and above her. Boatswain, call the watch. The boatswain walked up to a small bell that hung by an hour-glass at the edge of the quarterdeck and gave it four double rings. All the sailors sprang into motion at once. Everyone on the deck lined up along the rail on the left side of the ship, while other sailors erupted from the square hatches in the main deck and fore deck and ran to line up on the right side. Brilliana briefly wondered if the ship had encountered some dire emergency, but the sailors didnt look worried. Several of the sailors on the left swore cheerfully at the last few men to emerge and line up on the other side. Who were you fucking down there? Youre tardy as a whore come to Sunday sermons! You need a lick of the ropes end, matey! The boatswain counted up the men on each side, then shouted, Larboard watch, lay below! One of the men gave a whoop, and then the sailors on the left made for the hatches, sprinting down the ladders, and the deck was soon much as it was before. Brilliana saw Vincent Keel call out to one of the sailors heading for the hatches, Simar! The man he called was dressed in the same trousers, striped shirt, and fearnought coat as the others, but his skin was as brown as an Indians, and he wore a white turban on his head. He turned, saw the mate, and smiled. The two men embraced each other. To Brillianas astonishment, a bizarre, alien language spilled from Vincent Keels mouth, and the dark man answered in a similar tongue. They talked enthusiastically, with wide gestures. A lascar, Tope said in Brillianas ear, startling her. She turned and saw that her guardian had come up beside her without her hearing. From Gujrat, I suppose, or maybe Sind, by the looks of him. I met a few of them in Surat and Malabar back when I was a sailor. Never saw a white man who could speak their tongue like that, though. Are they friendly? Brilliana asked. Most I knew were evil-tempered brutes, Tope answered. But his mates gave that one a good character, and I saw he could hand, reef, and steer. Plus he handles a boat better than most white men I know. Isnt it bad luck to have heathens aboard? Brilliana said doubtfully. From what Ive seen, Brilly, the Lord loves the sailor best who knows his trade, heathen or no, and hates only them as are idle or unhandy. Ive seen blameless men get swept overboard with prayers on their lips, while blaspheming sinners standing not a fathom away were spared. And Ill warrant that Mohammedan sailors are hardier against the cholera and dysentery than any of us Christian folk. Then are the Bibles promises false? Brilliana asked softly, frowning. She would not have dared even ask the question of anyone else, but her trust in Josephus Tope was absolute. Tope shrugged. You ask hard questions for a poor unlettered merchant like me, Brilly. Still, Id not wager against the Bible. We Christians will be masters of the world, more like than not. Were hungry for power, hungry for knowledge, and hungry for land. Were bringing our Bibles and our books into every corner of the globe, planting them, and watching them grow and spread. Then we search out other kingdoms secrets and bring them back to our homes. Meanwhile, the Chinese hoard their treasures behind their walls, and the Hindus bow their necks under their Mohammedan lords and pray to be reborn with better fortune. The Turks, aye, theyre fierce, no tougher fighters in the world, but their own kings bleed them white and they crush every new thing before it can grow. Maybe we Christians arent meek, like the Bible says we should be, but I guess well inherit the Earth all the same. If we do, then I hope well become more fit to govern it than we are now, Brilliana said. Enough then. I see the cook coming out of the galley. Shall we join Captain Hurley for supper? They went aft to the captains cabin. Hurley was there, with the second mate, a Dutchman named Cornelis van der Dussen. Vincent Keel, the first mate, was not there yet. Also present were Mr. Innsworth and the boatswain, who doubled as the purser and carpenter. The supper was steamed kippers with pepper and fried potatoes, with fresh apples for dessert. The food smelled good, but out of the fresh air, Brillianas stomach revolted again. Tope saw her pale and whispered in her ear. Look out the stern windows, and keep your eyes on the horizon. It helps. Brilliana nodded and obeyed. Looking at the horizon made the swaying of the ship seem less unnatural, but she still didnt dare to eat a bite. Enjoy the fresh food while it lasts, said Hurley to his guests. Well be down to biscuit and salt pork soon enough. Was there any new word of Berwick before you boarded, gentlemen? I never did find out where he had his ship anchored, said van der Dussen. But I scoured Wall Street and confirmed that Coffin John Amber and Dan Savage have not been seen in the coffee houses since Saturday last. And as I told you before, Big Murphy also disappeared that day. All three were seasoned pirates, well known to have sailed with Tew and Culliford. They wouldnt have missed Berwicks cruise for the world. If they joined him on Saturday or Sunday, then Berwick may have up to a weeks advantage of us. Vincent Keel came in, sitting silently in his empty chair. Keel! Confound you, man, must you always be tardy? Hurley complained. Keels eyes flashed, but his reply was mild as summer. I beg pardon, Captain. It took longer than I expected to set our new lascar coxswain straight. Heathen bug- Hurley cut himself off and glanced at Brilliana. You should attend to such matters more promptly. Now, let us to return to Berwick. If at all possible, we should try to overtake him before he reaches Madagascar. Following him after he abducts Lemuel Duncan will be far more difficult, not knowing his destination. I spoke to one of his former crewmen, a slit-eared rogue named Guernsey, in Rhode Island while Mr. Tope was fitting the Cynosure out. For some coin, he told me that Berwicks ship is called the Black Painter, and that she was called the Recife before he took her from the Portuguese. Shes rigged a barque, and Berwick cut down her focsle and poop that she might sail the better. When he left her, she had ten eight-pounders on each broadside, a four-pounder chase gun in the bow and another in the stern. Theres no telling what kind of shot she has, so we had best suppose that she carries the lot: chain, bar, round, grape, and canister. How many men? asked Tope. He said she had space for sixty, Hurley answered. Van der Dussen shook his head. Space means nothing. Pirates will billet their men on the deck, in the gun room, anywhere. Even in the captains cabin. She could have a hundred and fifty, easily. They couldnt feed that many all the way to Madagascar, said Hurley, a note of alarm in his voice. Begging your pardon, captain, said van der Dussen, may I recall to you that they have no cargo? Even if they filled half their hold with powder, shot, and cordage, the other half of a three hundred tonner would be . . . . . . enough to supply a hundred and fifty men for nearly a year. Hurley finished. Very well, then, they may outnumber us. We will seek no boarding action with them. But our broadside is twelve sixteen-pounders. Our hull will be thicker than any barques, well outrange them, and our broadside is above twice as heavy as theirs. I daresay we have the higher freeboard than any vessel of three hundred tons, and can keep them off if they try to lay us aboard. Even so, Tope interjected, we could use more men. I signed on all the trustworthy crew I could find in New York, but without me and the officers, the ships list is still only forty-nine. That will properly man only the sixteen-pounders, and when the scurvy strikes it will be less. If we put in at Williamsburg, we could bring on more men. Vincent Keel spoke. The latest sloop from Williamsburg reported the scarlet fever sweeping the city. The vessel is still under quarantine. Well, that settles that, said Hurley. No stopping in Williamsburg. Bermuda, then, suggested Tope. Hurley looked at Tope sharply. Bermuda cant have above two hundred seamen, most of them already signed on other vessels. We would be lucky to gather half a dozen men with a stop there. I would almost think you were afraid to meet Berwick. If we meet Berwick, I want to be sure of whipping him, said Tope. Fair enough, but stopping in Bermuda wont help us do that, and it will let him get further ahead, Hurley answered. Very well, Tope relented. Then what shall our course be, Captain? The usual way would be south by southeast to Brazil, then round Recife and south by southeast again to the latitude of the Cape. But I want to catch Berwick, and hes an old Guinea Coast rover. He may steer eastward for Africa. Tope nodded. Then to fall in with him, get in the latitude of Sierra Leone and follow the coast. I may do just that, said Hurley. Brilliana had listened to the conversation with silent interest, but had not eaten a morsel. Even so, her stomach was becoming more restive, and as the men argued it began to lurch. She rose. Excuse me, I feel no appetite, she managed to say. Are you well? Hurley asked, shifting his attention to her. Yes, she lied. I would merely like to have some air. She turned and, carefully controlling her step, left the table. Exiting the cabin, she carefully closed the door behind her. Then she ran down the hall to the main deck. The air was good, but her stomach was not calmed, and she turned and rushed to the rail. With a series of heaves, she threw up into the sea. She leaned on the rail, breathing heavily. The day had been a disaster. She had been manhandled by the mate, ignored by Hurley at dinner, and been sick. Was it going to be like this all the way to Madagascar? What was she doing here? She had thought of this voyage as an extended romantic cruise with her guardian and Captain Hurley, with a chance of treasure at the end of it. She had hardly given any thought to the possibility that she could be caught in the middle of a savage fight between Berwicks Black Painter and the Cynosure. Hurley could be killed, or Tope, or Brilliana herself. They could be sunk, or founder in a storm. She had a sudden, vivid image of herself choking, coughing, green water closing over her head, dying unmarried, alone, thousands of miles from home, all the years of life and love and pleasure she had in front of her devoured by the sea. She envisioned a gang of pirates - greasy, ragged beggars like the ones who haunted Bessels Key - surrounding her jeering at her, tearing her dress open, their knives ready to cut her to pieces after they had their way with her. She imagined Tope, the solid rock whom she relied on for guidance and protection, lying on the deck with his throat torn open and staring eyes; Hurley disappearing under a horde of laughing cutthroats with their cutlasses stabbing up and down. Her empty stomach heaved again; only her tears dropped into the water. She tried to collect herself. There was danger, yes, but Papa and Hurley were formidable men themselves. This was a strong ship, well-armed, she had heard them say. Her horrible visions could come true, but they were not likely. Berwick and his sea-roving scum had more to fear than she did. The thought drove away the sense of panic that had threatened to overwhelm her, but it still left her feeling cold and scared, deprived of the confidence and sense of security she had enjoyed on land. She became aware again of that woodwind moan suffusing the air. She looked up. Vincent Keel was on the deck with her, watching. Your dress is stained again, he said, pointing. If you have to puke, I suggest you do it on the leeward side. The wind wont blow it back at you there. Why are you always watching me? Brilliana asked. Why are you everywhere but where you are wanted? I might ask the same of you, Keel said. This is my deck. You are on it. Brilliana found herself wondering why she had spoken so harshly to him. He had merely given her good advice, if in a blunt and tactless way. Only - why did he have to see everything? He saw things, spoke of things, that others either never saw or kept quiet about. I would not mind your being here, Keel continued. I might even welcome it, for your face outshines the ladys figurehead on the prow of this vessel, but your head seems to be equally wooden. If you refuse to learn the rules of the sea, then better you kept to your cabin. Brilliana felt too tired to fight. She muttered, Very well, and headed toward the stern castle door. The wind puffed up, and the music grew louder. Mr. Keel, she asked suddenly, who is playing that music? Music? Keel asked. What music? That, Brilliana said, frustrated. Unable to think of any other way to show him what she mean, she tried to whistle the same notes she was hearing. Keel listened a moment, then laughed. Miss League, thats the wind blowing through the rigging. He grasped two of the main shrouds, and the tone faded slightly. He let them go, and it resumed. Its the song of the ship, he said. Beware. Soon it gets in your blood, and then youre lost to the land.

CHAPTER 1 Brilliana League wanted to dig her heels into her black mares flanks and go flying down the street with her stirrups pumping and her face leaning into the wind. But that would not be proper, so she repressed the urge and went down Pearl Street at a stately trot. On Bowery Lane she could have indulged herself fully in a wild gallop, but that too was improper; she was alone and could not be seen outside the city without an escort. Maybe Papa would have time to hunt on Sunday after church; then she could ride as hard as she pleased. She heard someone call from a ships chandlery ahead of her. Brilliana! Over here! Brilliana spotted Martin, Captain Hurleys indentured servant, beckoning to her from the chandlerys corner. She smiled and cantered up to him. Another boy stood near Martin: a handsome, muscular negro maybe a year older than the indenture. She did not know this boy, and not until much later did she realize that her brief meeting with him would change her life. Brilliana, this is Nehemiah Duncan, Martin said, indicating the negro. A free man, lucky devil, and newly come from Madagascar. Hes an able seaman already, and his fortunes half made! Nothing was surer to excite Martins admiration; he was set on becoming a sailor when his indenture was up. Lovely to meet you, Brilliana said, extending her gloved hand toward Nehemiah Duncan. The young seaman took her hand and kissed it. Im deeply honored, Miss League. His eyes wandered from hers to follow the lines of her body. Brilliana had become used to young men looking at her that way. We were going to go foot-racing together, while Nehemiah gets his land legs back, Martin said. Want to come, Brilliana? Brilliana looked into the muddy, unpaved street. A year or two ago she would have accepted without a second thought. Now . . . Im sorry, I cant. Mrs. Tilbury would tan my hide if I soiled this dress. Oh, Brilliana, youre no fun any more, Martin complained. Nehemiah patted a battered old pistol in his belt. After the race, we are going shooting in the woods outside Haarlem; we may even get a rabbit. Would that suit you better? Joy flared in Brilliana at the thought of those woods: free, open land where she could race the black mare. But she shook her head. I have no chaperone. I cant go up to the fields alone with you. People would talk. It wont do to speak too long even on the street. Martin made no effort to conceal his annoyance. Brilliana, we grew up together, and you played with me and trusted me all the while. Are you frightened now even to be seen with me and my friends? Brilliana blushed; it did sound hurtful when he put it that way, but what could she do? Your master and Mr. Innsworth are coming tonight, and Papas giving them a fine dinner. I cant be late, or soiled, or do anything else that will spoil the occasion. It was the wrong thing to say, she realized immediately. Well, then, be off to your feast, if you wont lower yourself to the humble pleasures of us simple folk, Martin said sourly. Nehemiah Duncan intervened. Dont take offense with her. Cant you see that your lady friend is not refusing you willingly? Its duty, not desire, that tears her away from you. Brilliana smiled weakly. Youre very kind, Mr. Duncan, and very right. Duncan flashed ivory teeth at her. At your dinner, do me the kindness to mention my name to Master Tope. Martin says he owns a shipping concern, and his patronage would make my seafaring prospects much happier. Brilliana said gratefully, I would gladly do so, but what should I say? I know nothing of you. Martin grinned, his sour mood already forgotten. Hell quickly cure you of that! Nehemiah talks of nothing but himself! Aye, said Nehemiah, and if you want to rise as a sailor, youd best do the same. In this world, a man blows his own horn, for theres none else will do it for him. Miss League, I am Lemuel Duncans son, as fine a pilot and sea artist as ever handled a quadrant. Since he went to Madagascar he has become a man of wealth and property by guiding mariners safely through dangerous harbors and providing the native men with boats and supplies. He will leave his eldest son a rich man. But I am his second son, and must make my own fortune. God prosper you, then, said Brilliana. But could my Papa expect you to stay here for long, or return to your home and your father? Miss League, my father is tired of Madagascar. He was born here in New York, and he longs for the sound of the English tongue, a pew in an English church, and the taste of real Caribbean rum, not that swill Philipse sells us. My older brother is almost ready to manage our estate on Madagascar by himself. In a few years, my father plans to turn the land over to him, and join me here. But in the meantime, I must fend for myself and find my own position. And have you one? Brilliana inquired. Nehemiah smiled. I am coxswain aboard the Dunbarton, but I could see myself as a boatswain or a masters mate on one of Master Topes vessels. Brilliana told Nehemiah she would certainly mention him to her father, and got his boarding houses address in case Mr. Tope should decide to invite Nehemiah to call. Thank you, Miss League, Nehemiah said with the utmost courtesy. She saw him force his eyes to look down at the street, although they clearly wanted to roam her body again. I hope to see you soon again. Im sorry to lose your company. Farewell. Brilliana offered her hand again to Martin and Nehemiah, and then rode away as fast as good manners would permit. Even mounted and on the street, she had spoken to the boys longer than was discreet, and she was sure some old ladies tongues were already wagging. She left them at the chandlery and went on with her ride, turning at the Water Gate and trotting her mare along Wall Street. She reached the Hudson, rode down to Fort Anne, and was soon back on Pearl Street and at Oneida Hall, her home. Dismounting, she gave the mare to Catiline without a word; the slave bowed equally mutely, and took the animal to the stable to unsaddle and brush her. Going in the great front double doors of Oneida Hall, Brilliana turned past the staircase and went into the great dining hall. She paused for a moment in front of the portrait of her that hung above the fireplace, dissatisfied with it as always. The hair was about right: a rich saffron yellow bequeathed to her by her Dutch mother, dead so long ago that Brilliana could not remember her. Her mother had also given Brilliana a strong bust and blue eyes, although the painter had not been able to show the green halo around the pupils. Her English sire had contributed her tall, naturally cavalier frame and angular face, and these, too were adequately shown in the painting. But her father had also given her hollow, pale cheeks, not the pink apple-shaped ones that the painter had depicted, and the dusky color that she had gained from riding daily in the sun had been lightened to an alabaster tone that she had never possessed. But the mouth dissatisfied her most; the artist had tried to make her modest and demure, and had reduced her mouth to an almost stupefied calm. In real life, her smile was warm and ready. Walking on to the study, Brilliana found Josephus Tope going over his accounts. Her guardian was tall and stocky, with big, blunt-fingered hands that were hard as iron to the touch, lingering proof of the poverty of his origins. Although he always dressed in the very best London coats and three-cornered hats, and owned one of the best pews in Trinity Church, Tope never bothered to powder his sun-browned face, and wore a wig only at Sunday sermons. This, too, showed he had not been born to wealth and property. Tope was a self-made man; he had arrived in New York as a complete unknown near the turn of the century, starting his shipping business in middle life with the money he had scraped together during a life spent entirely at sea. Brilliana always called Josephus Tope Papa, although he was in reality only her guardian. Her real father, Bertram League, had once been Topes partner in the shipping trade, but smallpox had dragged him to his grave ten years ago, unrecognizable; Brilliana still shuddered at the memory. Her dead mothers family lived in the Low Countries, and her father had been estranged from his relatives in England, so Bertram had willed Brilliana to Topes guardianship. Tope was unmarried and had no children of his own, and although Brilliana vaguely remembered him being cold and distant at first, he had soon become as devoted and loving as any father could be. Papa, Im back, Brilliana said. Tope turned and smiled. Brilly. Did you enjoy your ride? Yes, she answered. She told him about Nehemiah Duncan. She had expected Tope to lightly dismiss the matter, but Topes face darkened with concern. Brilly, you are too old to be talking with sailor boys on the waterfront. Some of them have evil intentions. It was broad daylight on a busy street, Brilliana objected. And Martin was right there. I trust Martin as much as you do, but you are eighteen and have a reputation to preserve. You dont know how evil-minded women can be. They need only the slightest pretext to blacken your honor from one end of town to another, and make you one less prospect to contend for the hands of the men they want for their own daughters. Brilliana flushed; it was unfair, but she knew Tope was right. The gossips in the fish market were always savaging girls names for the flimsiest reasons. Im sorry, Papa, she said, walking closer and holding her hands out. Its just . . . sometimes I feel as if Im in gaol, for no crime but being female. I understand, Tope said, taking her hands in his. It is hard, but it will pass when you are married. He seemed to change the subject, but Brilliana knew that he had not. I want you to look your very best when Captain Hurley and Mr. Innsworth come tonight. Captain Hurley commanded the Cynosure, one of the newest and biggest merchant ships in the port of New York, and had carried cargoes for Tope several times. Bluff, handsome, honest and brave, with a quickly growing fortune, Hurley was one of the most hunted bachelors in New York. She knew that her guardian considered her a good match for Hurley, although the captain was thirty-one years old. Brilliana liked Hurley, and liked the idea of marrying him, but she didnt want to do it too soon. She felt too young to rush into marriage. Another, more serious problem was that Hurley had showed little interest in her so far. He evidently still thought of her more as a child than as a potential wife. Very well, Papa, said Brilliana, turning and preparing herself for an afternoon of primping and making up her face with Mrs. Tillbury clucking over her. I think I will speak to this Nehemiah Duncan, Tope said. Did he tell you where he was boarding? Brilliana told him, and Tope wrote the address down on a fresh paper, following it with the beginning of a letter. Youre sure he said his father was a pilot called Lemuel? he added. Yes, Brilliana answered, not seeing any relevance. Tope frowned, then shook his head. I sailed Madagacar waters with the East India Company in my youth, and knew most of the pilots who plied those seas, but Ive not heard the name. Even so, Id like to see if the boy is worth anything. He finished the letter with a flourish and sealed it. Brilliana glided from the room to prepare herself to impress Captain Hurley. And for two weeks, she forgot all about Nehemiah Duncan. * * * Brilliana awoke to an echoing boom from Oneida Hall's front doors. A flash of lightning showed a barrage of raindrops bursting against her window lattice. Again the boom of the front doors' heavy iron knocker jarred her ears, and she slid lithely from her bed. She threw a woolen cloak over her shoulders, lit a candle in the fireplace coals, and hurried out. 　　　Two of the slaves, Catiline and Dido, had arrived in the entrance hall before her. Brilliana pushed the curtains away from the window next to the door that looked out on Pearl Street. Through the rain, she saw a figure pressed against the door. She rapped against the window pane, then again, louder. The figure heard her and crept up to the window. She recognized Martins face through the streaming glass. 　　　"Open the door," she commanded the slaves. 　　　Catiline lifted the bar and Dido pulled the thick handle of the door, filling the hall with the rain's high-pitched drumroll. Brilliana approached the entrance and peered out, cupping the flame of her candle. Martin rushed inside. "Close the door, quickly, he gasped. Im being followed. 　　　　　　 Brilliana looked out into the night. She saw no one, but she felt something disquieting. She closed the door and signaled the slaves to bar it. Captain Hurley came down the stairs, rubbing his eyes and still wearing his rumpled street clothes. For Chr-… he began, then looked at Brilliana and stopped himself. What is this noise about? Dripping, Martin hugged himself, shivered, and stamped his feet Its Berwick, the pirate, sir. Hes sent men to follow me, I think to kill me. Do you have a pistol, sir? The bar on that door will keep any bad sorts out, I warrant. Now explain yourself. Who is this Berwick, and why would he have someone following you? As Hurley finished the question, Tope and Mr. Innsworth arrived, also bleary with sleep. Martin, what the devil are you up to? Tope demanded. Martin looked nervously from Hurley to Tope. We were in the Wooden Horse, me and some of the chandlers boys. Berwick and his mate got us in the dark corner away from the fire and said he had a deal for us. If we would steal some cordage, sails, and biscuit and bring them to his ship, he would let us sign articles and ship with him, and wed all get shares in the wreck of the Sangardeep. The wreck of the what? Hurley said. Tope looked distressed, but composed himself quickly. Come, lets get this boy dry. They brought Martin into the dining hall in front of the fireplace. The slaves fetched towels for him and lighted the fire. Go on, Hurley pressed Martin. Oliver, perhaps you should give the boy some time to recover, Tope said gently. Hurley shook his head in annoyance. Hes my indenture, and hes sworn to serve me through thick and thin. Now tell me more about what happened. Martin nodded. Like I said, we were in the Wooden Horse. Will Thomason, he says he has a friend to meet us. I find his friend to be a short, nasty looking man, and he calls himself Captain Berwick, and he has another man with him. And they tells us that we can be rich, if we sign their articles and brings them what they need, see? And Will and the rest, they ask, how can they make us rich, and they tells us this story. Seems nigh on twenty years ago there was a pirate captain name of Ashur MacBain what found two of the Mogul of Indias treasure ships, and he sank one, and robbed the other. When he came back to America, all his crew was caught and hanged, and he disappeared and aint been seen no more since. Exceptin for one man. MacBain had a pilot, a negro name of Lemuel Duncan. He cheated his mates, or so they said, and was marooned on some bare sandy island in the Indian Ocean, and was figured for dead. Only he didnt die, because some of the natives from Madagascar rescued him, and he did quite well for himself living among them natives ever since. Now his sons here in New York, and I guess he doesnt even know what his papa did before he came to Madagascar, because hes been spouting off his name to everybody, until it reaches Berwicks ears. Now Berwick, he reckons that, Lemuel Duncan being Ashur MacBains pilot and all, he knows where that other Mogul treasure ship is sunk. So hes been gathering together a crew ready to set sail for Madagascar, grab this Lemuel Duncan by the scruff of the neck, and make him take Berwick to the treasure. I figured the whole scheme was more like to earn me a noose than a fortune, what with Berwick already carrying a price on his head for piracy and murder, but I didnt want to say so. I agreed just like the rest of them, and I made my mark on the articles, only it wasnt really my mark, and I told em I would bring in your spyglass and charts, begging your pardon, master. But I think they got wise to me. Maybe Will Thomason saw that my mark wasnt right, and slipped them a word after I left. Anyhow, one of them followed me when I left, and I ran all the way here, sir. And thats the truth of it, so help me God. Martin punctuated this declaration with a sneeze. Tope scratched his head. An astounding story. Rather hard to believe, I must say. Hurley looked at Mr. Innsworth, the surgeon. What do you think? Mr. Innsworth shrugged. The story about Ashur MacBain is true enough. I was in Virginia when his ship came in. We did catch all the pirates except the captain, and several of them did confess to marooning their pilot. I dont know anything of this Nehemiah Duncan, though, or if the pilots still alive. Nehemiah is real, too; I met him and Martin both two weeks ago, Brilliana added. "Well, that settles it for me," Hurley declared. "Martin is a good lad, and I take what he says as true." Martin bowed slightly, unsure what to make of this compliment delivered as if he were not there. "Then we must tell Governor Hunter," said Mr. Innsworth. Tope looked out the window. "Aye, but in the morning, not now. None of us should risk our necks out in the black of night, in that rain, with Berwick's cutthroats on the prowl. And I dare say we would be turned away from the governor's door if we called before dawn, in all events." "Then Berwick will get away," Hurley protested. "If he was suspicious of Martin, as the boy thinks, then he'll sail with next tide, short supplies or no." "Likely," said Tope. "But we could do little to stop him in any case. Who knows where his ship may be anchored?" Hurley looked down for a moment, his mouth working. "I declare, Ill not stand idle while that scoundrel Berwick kidnaps that pilot and finds the sunken treasure. We could all be rich if we found the pilot first and struck a deal with him. The Cynosure can have all hands aboard and be ready for sea in two days. With Gods help, I can get to Madagascar ahead of that pirate, take Duncan aboard, and have him lead me to the Mogul ships wreck. And if Berwick gets there first, Ill follow his wake, hound him to a watery grave, and take the treasure from him. Philipse or Livingstone would surely finance such a voyage. What say you, Josephus?"　　　　　 Tope rubbed his scalp, looking alarmed. "Are you sure you can put to sea that soon? Have you enough powder? Is the food fresh enough to take us to Madagascar? You dont even know yet where on the island Duncan lives." Hurley shook his head impatiently. "His son will tell us that." Aye, said Tope, half to himself. I suppose he will, if Berwick left him alive. We must talk to the lad. Very carefully, and be sure he tells us all he knows. Perhaps it would be best to bring him with us, even. He paused, as if considering something, then shook his head. Us? Are you thinking of accompanying the voyage in person, Josephus? Hurley asked, surprised. Well, I guess Philipse or Livingston would credit you the money, but my terms would be more generous, and you know you can trust me more than them not to put any tricks over on you with the Admiralty once weve the gold in hand. But Ill want to go with you myself. Ive passed a sight more days on the sea than you, Hurley, and Im sick of the view from Pearl Street. Splendid, said Hurley. We divide profits and expenses equally? Done, Tope replied. If you need a surgeon, Ill surely go, said Mr. Innsworth. But Ill want one more to accompany us, Tope said, and he turned his gaze on Brilliana.

The Treasure of Ashur MacBain by Daniel R. Baker Copyright 2010 For Mom Who charted her own course. For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. - - Luke 12:34

Here are the first two chapters of my new short novel. I'd be very interested to see if anyone likes it or wants more. The whole novel is complete, but I'm hoping to publish it or in some way market it.

There's quite a good bit of evidence for the high power of quartermasters other than Bartholomew Roberts' that I haven't seen mentioned yet in the thread. I would agree with Foxe that the quartermaster was ultimately the creature of the crew, as were all officers on a pirate vessel. One must guard against thinking of pirate officers in the same way as merchant and naval officers, who could rely on outside support against their subordinates; in a pirate crew, every officer ultimately stands or falls by his ability to win over or intimidate his fellows. But that doesn't mean that their power wasn't real. Prime ministers are creatures of their constituents, and can be deposed by a no-confidence vote, but nobody would say that they don't wield real power! 1. Stede Bonnet's quartermaster Stede Bonnet's quartermaster, Robert Tucker, was apparently very powerful, according to the boatswain, Ignatius Pell, as seen in this excerpt from Bonnet's trial: Bonnet himself also claimed that Tucker had more power than he did. Bonnet's testimony, of course, must be viewed skeptically: he was pleading for his life. But Pell had no reason to try to excuse Bonnet; on the contrary, he was King's evidence and was saving his own neck by putting his fellow pirates on the gallows. 2. Thomas Tew's quartermaster Johnson clearly refers to considerable power of the quartermasters in crews other than Bartholomew Roberts', particularly Thomas Tew's. 3. Charles Vane's quartermaster Charles Vane's quartermaster was the infamous Calico Jack Rackham.

I believe that Stede Bonnet is reputed to going pirate in order to escape a nagging wife True, but Bonnet wasn't a noble. He owned a plantation, but his only title was Major in the Barbadian militia.

Haven't read the book. To the extent that it shows pirates as being drunken, debauched, fond of torture, and generally not nice, I agree. As regards pirates not being aristocrats, that's obviously true for 99% of them. There are examples of real aristocrats, like the Chevalier de Grammont and Cavendish, who would have been regarded as pirates at least by the Spanish, though their own countries would probably have called them privateers. I realize that for re-enactors (which I am not) that opens up the old controversy over whether it's legitimate to portray an unusual pirate as opposed to a commonplace one, and I have nothing to say about that. All I'm saying is that it did happen. But of course, aristocrats aren't necessarily any nicer than the common rabble, or even any soberer. Ever hear the phrase "drunk as a lord?" I would not agree that pirates were necessarily stuck permanently as pirates. There are well-attested cases of people passing from lawful seafaring to piracy and back again. Obviously, some pirates took advantage of royal pardons, like almost the whole population of Nassau did when Woodes Rogers came in; Culliford also got away with that, and John Taylor got himself and his crew pardoned after robbing the Nossa Senhora do Cabo. There was also the old "forced man" excuse, which got several dozen of Roberts' crew off the hook at Cape Coast Castle; even a few of Bonnet's crew managed that. And even without a pardon or an acquittal, there was still a decent chance of simply setting up for yourself in a lawful profession after leaving your ship. Avery probably did that successfully, and those of his crew who went to America instead of Britain also got clean away with it. Kenedy came close: he kept a tavern and bawdy house in London for several years before he was recognized, arrested and hanged.

A belated thank you for the help, gentlemen. I went to the website of the NC Maritime museum and looked over the QAR model: I notice that she has one forestaysail, as well as a spritsail. Other reconstructions that are out there on the Web are different, but I assume NC Maritime should have the best idea, given that they're digging the actual ship up! From what you bopth are saying, it sounds like the names of the jibs or fore stays'ls depend more on the era than on their actual placement or design. Thanks again.

1. What is the difference between a jib and a fore staysail? That is, if you had a ship with three triangular sails forward of the foremast, and one person called them (from aft to fore) the inner jib, outer jib, and flying jib, and another person called the same sails the fore staysail, inner jib, and outer jib, is it just a matter of opinion, or is there an objective difference? 2. When were jibs (or fore staysails, if that was what they were first called) first introduced? Harland's Seamanship in the Age of Sail shows the Sovereign of the Seas in 1637 without a jib, and a 1756 warship with a jib. That leaves pretty well the whole GAoP in limbo. Would Morgan's ships have had a jib? Avery's Fancy? Blackbeard's Queen Anne's Revenge? 3. How long did the jib and spritsails coexist? I don't think I've ever seen a picture of a ship with a jib and spritsail topmast together. harland has a picture of a 1756 ship which has a jib, a spritsail, and a spritsail topsail, but the spritsail topsail yard is attached to the bowsprit forward of the sprisail yard, not to a separate spritsail topmast. I get the impression that jibs made spritsails obsolete, but I'm not sure how quickly.

A most excellent lead, Foxe! I went immediately and tracked down the source for the OED quote on Googlebooks, Christoph Frick's A Relation of Two Several Voyages Made into the East Indies. From the whole quote in context, not only is that 1700 dog watch not a short watch, it's not a "time period" watch at all; it's a "division of the crew" watch. Frick is describing practice on the Dutch East India Company's fleet about 1680 (the account being published 20 years afterward). Thus, it's clear that the Prince's Quarter, aka the first watch, is what we today would call the larboard watch division of the crew, and that Count Maurice's quarter, aka the dog watch, is what we would now call the starboard watch of the crew. The same passage also has proof that the Dutch East India Company did use the modern system of one through eight bells as early as 1680. So how come the procedure in the Sea-Man's Vade Mecum for ringing the bell every glass only in fog? Maybe they have a much louder and more prolonged ringing in mind? Or maybe English and Dutch practice were different?

Whenever someone says "dial-up," I must link here. And here. And here. And last but not least, here.

The British Horological Institute says that the bell was rung to sound the time on board ship as early as the 15th century. It says the bell was rung every half hour, although it doesn't specifically say that that started in the 15th century also.

How did you handle the watches, Coastie? Did the cook or the captain stand a watch? Or did just the three deck hands stand watch, with one of them forming (gulp) a one-man watch? And wouldn't you have to call both watches on deck every time you tacked? One person at the helm, at least one person hauling braces, one person hauling the tack, and one person hauling the jib sheets? I'd think that would leave people short of sleep.

Falconer mentions that on a warship they would strike the bell every half hour and call "All's well" at night; not clear whether this was done in the daytime also. Also, on French ships, the pilot rang the bell every half hour, and the men on watch were supposed to answer by crying out "A l'autre," so he knew they were awake and keeping watch; this same ringing of the bell every half hour was also the signal to man the pumps if necessary. But note that there's nothing about how many times the bell was struck each half hour, so that doesn't prove that Falconer's contemporaries gave one chime for the first half hour and eight for the last half hour, like we're used to. (Especially not on the French ships; if some of them stood 8-hour watches, then they'd have to ring that puppy 16 times to change the watch!) Ships certainly had bells in the GAoP (the Whydah Gally's was recovered) but were they rung every half hour? Maybe not. The 1704 Sea-Man's Vade Mecum has special instructions to the commander of a prize ship to start ringing the bell every glass (half hour) if a fog came on. That would seem an unnecessary instruction if it were already normal practice to ring the bell every half hour anyway. I can't find any reference in Dampier, Jameson, or Best to using the ship's bell. Best in 1612 tells time the same way a modern landsman would - "2 afternoone" or "this morning at 7" - not with reference to bells.

Most of us are familiar with the traditional watch-standing system of seven periods, namely: First watch: 8pm-12am Second or middle watch: 12am-4am Morning watch: 4am-8am Forenoon watch: 8am-12pm Noon watch: 12pm-4pm 1st dog watch: 4pm-6pm 2nd dog watch: 6pm-8pm But is this the same watch system that would have been used throughout the Golden Age? The oldest reference I know of to dog watches is from Falconer's Marine dictionary in 1783. He says that the watch "is always kept four hours by our British seamen, if we except the dog-watch between four and eight in the evening, that contains two reliefs, each of which are only two hours on deck." This agrees in every detail with the watch system familiar to us today. But Falconer says this was only the British system. In 1783 France, a seaman's watch could be 6, 7, or 8 hours, and in Turkey and Barbary it was usually 5 or 6 hours. The concept of the watch as lasting four hours must be at least as old as Dampier. He wrote that during the 1699 portion of his voyage, "we had not a good Glass in the Ship beside the Half-watch or Two-Hour-Glasses." If half a watch were two hours, obviously a full watch must have been four hours. But this would not show that the dog watches were used yet, or that the watches started at the same time of day as in Falconer's time. The watch constituted some kind of fixed time period on the ship at least as early as 1612. English East India Company captain Thomas Best at that time often recorded his speed as so many leagues per watch, generally 5.5 to 10 leagues. If we assume he is using a three-mile league, and that the watch is 4 hours, that suggests speeds of about 3.6 to 6.5 knots, which would be credible speeds for a ship of the time, so it is possible that a four-hour watch dates back to 1612. Best also writes "This night, in the begineing of the first watch, our men espied a frigott," suggesting that the first watch was at night, and at least could have started at 8pm like the "first watch" that we know.