Pirate Scum Purged
November 30, 1778. Italian Peninsula, Kingdom of Naples. A pirate fleet had been wiped out.
In an era like this, pirates were as common as they come. Most pirate captains were former officers who'd lost their jobs due to naval disarmament. Their crews were a motley bunch: unemployed laborers, owners of small forges ruined by lack of work, construction workers impoverished after public works dried up, and all sorts.
But this lot was different from your run-of-the-mill pirates. They were disciplined. And not just that—their armament was top-notch. As mentioned, their captain was a former officer who'd been forced out by disarmament.
Normally, officers retired honorably during cutbacks. But these were chaotic times, with all of Europe bankrupt. They had to secure their own "severance pay."
That's why piracy was such a booming business. Anyone with a warship bought cheap at auction could set up shop as a self-employed pirate.
Some officers, while grabbing their severance, also pocketed "overdue performance bonuses." Things like trade routes and armament details of their own nation's merchant ships.
Still, they were nobles at heart, even if rotten ones. Many had bought their commissions, but some hailed from old aristocratic lines. Pillaging their own country's merchants was beneath human dignity.
So they sold the info to foreign pirates. Payment came in the form of enemy merchant routes, sea lanes, and armament status.
This was how they preserved noble honor while lining their pockets. But those were just bonuses—peanuts compared to severance. The real prize? The ships themselves.
Corvette captains, including majors turned pirate skippers, patrolled between coast and open sea in peacetime, posing as greenhorn shipping entrepreneurs who'd snagged warships at bargain-basement auction prices.
Spot a plump merchantman, run up the black flag, and tail her stern relentlessly. They'd hound her until she struck her colors.
They might loose a few 24-pounder shots during the chase—warning fire only. A couple of those, and most merchants surrendered peacefully, sharing out the cargo.
Holdouts met with unfortunate "accidents"—ballast punctured. Not intentional, mind you. Cargo was profit, after all. Wasting shot on a slugfest hurt their bottom line too.
The ex-colonel captaining a heavy frigate had it better than those corvette skippers. Crew size made the difference. A corvette could barely pack twenty souls, leaving her wide open to counterattack.
Botch the helm and sideslip a merchant? Grape-shot would shred her to splinters. Even boarding meant getting swamped by numbers.
And even if they took her, the ship was too small. Often they couldn't haul more than 5% of the cargo. Capturing her outright? Crew skills varied wildly.
Had there been ex-merchant sailors, they could've swapped ships. But mostly not. So they torched 95% to cover tracks.
A frigate changed everything. Pack in at least a hundred, up to three hundred men, and you could strip most cargo after a win. Plus, with those numbers, ex-seamen were easy to find.
Sell the loot as trade goods, offload the prize to civilian shippers cheap. Those shippers would eventually loop back into pirate hands via trade. That was the sustainable plunder ecosystem Europe's pirates had built.
But some had it even better. A few frigate captains, retiring, lured in old corvette commanders to become pirate admirals.
They hit the Baltic and Mediterranean's petty kingdoms and principalities, anchoring in harbors to demand "passage tolls."
States weren't pushovers like merchants. They'd mount coastal guns, drag up field artillery if needed.
Small navies, sure, but not pirate chow. Except these weren't your typical Age of Sail rabble.
These retirees had regular navy training, decades of sea fights big and small. And they bought "bonuses" from foreign pirates—weak spots, strong points, what to watch.
Coastal defenses? One point-blank barrage sufficed. Overkill a battery, kick up massive dust, and it was over.
Troops and nobles sneered at wasted shot, steeling themselves. But town folk panicked. Shaken morale and distant outposts forced stalemate surrender.
Let the nation crumble to pinch tolls? Absurd.
Mid-tier power Kingdom of Naples, with eight heavy frigates, still lost to one pirate frigate and six corvettes. Now her people paid 10% tolls outbound and inbound.
But the masses didn't hate the pirates. Or hated Naples more, anyway. To them, elites had abandoned folk for self-preservation.
Five frigates in harbor, yet they watched coastal guns get silenced? Biggest gripe.
Naples fumed at the injustice. Truth was, they'd lured pirates into a trap at strategic reefs and isles for annihilation.
Three hidden frigates were swinging wide for a stern rake—until the mob branded the navy elitist guardians.
Weeks after pirates seized Naples harbor, shipping firms started folding. 10% out, 10% in—tolls bled them dry. Even big lines lost money per voyage. Small ones? Doomed.
Furious masses went underground, plotting countermeasures. Intellectuals and silver-tongued orators concluded: ally with pirates, topple the kingdom.
Pirates took one toll; conservative elites looted endlessly via taxes, yet shirked protection.
Use pirates to flip the kingdom, then blast them with coastals and frigates. Most folk balked. Revolution fine, but pirate-backed? Nah.
They held off, status quo till a pirate-free path emerged.
Radical intellectuals and orators blasted the masses. No use. The louder they got, the more isolated.
Zero hour: rebels torched the naval base to burn frigates. Empty. Naples had sniffed the plot, slipped the main fleet out pre-dawn.
Pirates blundered in, milling confused. Dawn broke; Naples fleet, sun at their backs in formation, annihilated them.
Thus ended Naples' pirate scourge.
December 1, 1778. Kingdom of Naples, pirate loot warehouse.
Post-purge, soldiers raided the pirates' stash. Weeks of 20% cargo tolls? Command expected mountains of goods and coin.
Just dozens of bread loaves, a few beer kegs. Cash? Barely 3,000 francs. Four ducats amid French brass "gold" and silver-plated iron junk.
Troops saw French coin, no questions. High-denom was ducats, mids were francs across Europe.
They tallied loaves vs. haul. Five-sou bread x dozens wouldn't dent millions in tolls. One sugar shipment alone—hundreds of 120-franc sacks per ship—topped 3,000 francs easy.
As Naples scratched heads over empty books, wreck divers hit paydirt. Flagship frigate debris: a British ensign.
No hesitation—protest to the British envoy. Sir William Hamilton, Naples consul, bristled: "Refrain from baseless speculation."
Riled mobs stormed the embassy. Naples folk dug up 860,000 francs from