The Perpetrator as the Greatest Victim
February 13, 1778, Ballhausplatz, Vienna, Austria.
The financial scam that had rocked all of Europe had drawn foreign ministers from every nation into a summit. Europe had banded together to overcome the unprecedented economic depression... and failed miserably.
"The Papal envoy, fine. But why the hell are the American colonists here?"
It was all because of Britain.
"America has declared independence. That gives us the right to join."
"Nonsense!"
They'd barely taken their seats before descending into bickering. In the end, the main conference fizzled out into irrelevance, devolving into a fractured hall where each nation hunted for alliances that suited their own interests.
"Count of Bergen. While those gladiators fight it out, how about you and I have a chat?"
"Count of Litberg, isn't it? Long time no see. I miss the days when Lord Battenberg was around."
France with its nominal ally, Austria.
"Ahem, our ancestors hail from Portugal..."
"Ah, yes, yes. My in-laws are from Spain."
Portugal with Spain.
"Small states should stick together, no?"
"Quite right."
"Mind if we bring in our neighbor up north, the Papal States?"
"You're a cardinal of the Apostolic Camera! Of course."
The Netherlands linked arms with Italy's petty duchies and the Papal States.
"Ha, even Her Majesty... What am I supposed to do with this?"
Russia's foreign minister was the only one left alone.
"Um, Prussian foreign minister?"
"Sorry, we've got our own headaches."
Austria and France's ties had been ruined by Peter III, and Prussia had no love for fanatics. Botched diplomacy was a Russian tradition, after all.
*
February 14, 1778, Ballhausplatz.
Britain declared it wouldn't attend so long as "British America" existed. Pan-European cooperation went up in smoke.
But that was just a matter of pretense, forever.
"Very well, let's commence the first conference on the pan-European economic depression."
"It's so quiet without the British. I picked up a fine music box from Switzerland—shall I play it?"
"Please do. Better than this drabness."
With Britain gone, the atmosphere warmed beyond compare. Europe's nobles were all cousins or acquaintances if you dug into their family trees.
"France's turmoil is regrettable."
"No matter. It's all those British bastards' fault."
"Can't argue with that. Ha ha."
The one with the worst reputation became the common enemy, binding them tight.
"Does anyone know the truth behind this affair?"
At Austria's question, Prussia replied.
"From our independent investigation, the scammers focused investments on Prussian steel, grain, and materials."
Austria followed.
"Austria saw heavy bets on jewelry, parchment—luxury consumer goods."
Then Russia.
"Russia's mines, mostly asbestos ones."
Every nation confessed the same: money had poured into their signature exports.
"We're last. France was hit across the board. They even bought up physical goods with bills."
"The biggest victim by far. We just lost money; France lost the goods too."
France cracked a wry, self-deprecating joke as if it were nothing.
In truth, Count of Bergen was from the noble faction and didn't know the full story, but the reality painted a far more deceptive picture.
"We don't even have guns to fend off pirates now."
"In any case, we must overcome this pan-European economic crisis. Core industries across Europe have collapsed, pirates ravage the Atlantic, and they're bold enough to invade France."
The Holy Roman Emperor of Austria wrapped up the chummy meeting.
"What if we assemble all of Europe's fleets into a grand armada and wipe out the pirates? They're plundering the Atlantic, so they must have loot stashed. Hit their bases, and we'll reclaim gold or goods."
Prussia broke the silence with a counter.
"That requires British involvement. Without the Royal Navy, it'd be Spain's fleet with a few escorts. And we lack the funds to move our navies."
"Or issue pan-European currency..."
"No gold backing."
Solutions abounded, but reality's walls loomed too high.
Then France raised a hand.
"What if each nation implements those ideas independently?"
"No, in-law, what the devil do you mean?"
"Brother-in-law. This is an official venue. Anyway, we're broke. To get money, we need resources from the American colonies. So each navy goes out, plunders the pirates plundering our merchant ships."
Plunder the pirates who plunder our merchants.
"Isn't that just recovery?"
"Exactly."
"That's why we're here—because we can't."
It sounded good on paper, but funds and navies made it impossible.
France, however, piled on a few more crimes in the process.
"Pirates might not be the savages we think."
"Meaning?"
"Which nation handles pirates best? Only one."
The land of Francis Drake and William Kidd.
Britain.
*
March 7, 1778, French coast.
A man in suspiciously pristine rags handed maps and documents to the pirates.
"Captain Paul. Business good lately?"
"Quite profitable."
A French pirate and a French official.
"How's it going these days?"
"Sweet. Real sweet. Rum?"
"You've gone full pirate. I'll take a glass."
The official sipped from the wooden cup Paul offered.
"Nueva España vintage."
"One of many such places."
"Ha ha. True. Those foreign pigs, hogging all the good stuff."
Paul scanned the maps and papers over rum: attack routes, armaments, departure dates for each nation. Basic intel, but enough for him.
From pirating multiple times a day, Paul was a master of sea combat.
"Three galleons? Ten frigates' broadsides will do. Spaniards worry me a bit... but easier than Brits. We'll smash Europe's navies to bits."
"Reliable as ever."
And above all, Paul commanded four mid-sized ships and twenty small ones as pirate admiral—all from the era's indiscriminate captures.
*
March 7, 1778, U.S. East Coast.
"Captain! Large frigate flying pirate colors, 6,000 feet south!"
"Evade! We hit British ships only."
Another plunder unfolded off America.
"East, about 20,000 feet! British ships-of-the-line! Three of them! No escorts!"
"No escorts? Fate's gift! Rally all American privateers! Over 200, we encircle and sink 'em!"
"Aye!... Wait, no capture? Sell to France or Spain, covers half a year's navy budget!"
"No time for that, you know!"
Privateers specializing in Britain alone.
America's budget navy.
"Captain! That frigate's heading for the British warships!"
"Ignore. No concern of ours."
As American privateers gathered, British ships fired warning shots.
Range kept Americans at 3,000 feet—about 900 meters—merely watching.
Then a pirate-flagged flotilla struck the British ships' sterns and bows.
"Captain! It's that frigate!"
"Perfect! Strike American colors, raise pirate! Join the plunder!"
"Woooah!"
American privateers cheered the mystery pirates' barrage, hooking onto the British ships.
Brits couldn't mind cutters and sloops versus the frigate; hundreds of privateers with thousands of grapples fixed them, preventing turns, dooming them to one-sided frigates' fire.
The mystery frigate anchored leisurely, pounding away.
Minutes later, white flags rose on British ships.
American crews cheered, divvying cargo and prisoners amiably.
But tension spiked as the mystery frigate neared; they braced, guessing demands.
Cutters and sloops were rushed privateers. A frigate's grape at close range would sink dozens.
They readied for boarding, awaiting response.
At 600 feet—about 180 meters—the frigate anchored, sent boats with a herald.
Boarding the crippled ship-of-the-line, he flashed his naval lieutenant's epaulet.
"Friends of America! We're friends of France! Congrats on the victory. Take all the cargo; may we have the ships and guns?"
American sailors and captains replied as one.
"Of course. America forgets no friend's grace."
"We accept your kindness. Everything but guns and hulls. Food to powder—the Continentals need it most, aye?"
"We accept. France's kind friends. Rum?"
"Naturally."
Boats swarmed from the frigate; the British ship turned American-French feast hall.
They shared little: nationalities, languages, looks all differed.
But one thing: privateers pirating for their nations.
Awkward at first, one rum toast made them brothers-in-arms, reveling arm-in-arm.
"To America's independence!"
"Cheers!"