WILLIAM KIDD’S LAST VOYAGE

by Bruce Heydt

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In the closing days of the 17th century, honest, peace-loving folk in both England and its North American colonies feared, above all, the French, divine judgment, and William Kidd. Of these, the infamous Captain Kidd seemed to many to embody the most pervasive threat. The Royal Navy and amazing grace offered a substantial degree of security against the first two dangers, but the third grew in the minds of many decent citizens into a supernatural menace which even the grave could not confine. After Kidd’s execution by hanging in 1701, an anonymous epitaph warned:

Reader, near this Tomb don’t standWithout some Essence in thy Hand;For here Kidd’s stinking Corpse does lie,The Scent of which may thee infect. . . .

Yet the real Captain Kidd stands in stark contrast to this better-known, though legendary, alter ego. Perhaps no character in a Greek drama ever was more victimized by hubris and a cruel fate than was William Kidd, who exhibited no predisposition to become a pirate, who denied to the end that he had ever played the part of one, and whose inept exploits, whatever his true motivation, showed him to have little aptitude for such a swashbuckling career.

Kidd himself did not know he was a wanted man until he dropped anchor in the West Indies in April, 1699. He successfully avoided two British ships sent to intercept him, but rather than flee across the sea, he surrendered himself to the governor of the American colonies of New York, Massachusetts, and New Hampshire. Not doubting his own innocence, Kidd believed he could clear his name if given a chance to tell his story. . . .

Kidd’s reputation had been unblemished in 1696, when he first set sail on his controversial voyage. In that year, he was known only as a well-to-do New York colonist, who had come to England hoping to serve his King as captain of a Royal Navy warship.

While Kidd waited in England for a vessel to command, the Whig-dominated Board of Trade pondered a related concern–the pirates who were disrupting commerce between England and her Indian colonies. What England needed, the King’s advisors decided, was an aggressive privateer who could battle the pirates on their own terms, and perhaps prey on a few French merchantmen as the opportunity arose.

The Board reached this conclusion almost as Kidd came knocking on the door, asking for a ship to command. The New Yorker, his heart set on a commission in the Royal Navy, balked at accepting employment as a privateer, but officials in the service of the Crown pointedly questioned the loyalty of any British subject who refused to serve the King, and hinted suggestively that should Kidd choose instead to return to America, his ship might not clear customs. In the end, it was not so much these threats as the realization that the hoped-for Royal Navy commission was not forthcoming that persuaded Kidd, reluctantly, to lead a ship against the Red Sea pirates.

Having virtually shanghaied Kidd, the Board of Trade offered him almost no compensation. The Board well understood that giving a man an armed ship and a licence to plunder created a temptation to which even the most patriotic mariner might succumb. To ensure that privateers stayed well clear of British or allied shipping, and that the sponsors received their fair share of the spoils, the Board of Trade required privateers to post a bond before leaving port. It set Kidd’s at a staggering £20,000, compelling him to sell his own ship and to find a private investor in order to meet his obligation. In return, Kidd and his crew were to be paid strictly out of the booty they captured. If they failed to take any prizes, they would not only receive no pay, they would also assume the costs of the entire voyage. These last terms negated the intent of the bond by fostering a state of desperation among the crew and encouraging them to run amok in search of victims.

While seeking to guarantee Kidd’s integrity, the members of the Board felt no compunction against skimming off an immodest percentage of his booty for themselves. Such arrangements were not unheard of, but the equity of the details contained in Kidd’s contract may be judged from the fact that every one of his sponsors used an alias when signing it–including King William, who claimed 10 per cent of Kidd’s profits.

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