A Dead Man’s Tale: A Pirate’s Pardon and a Customs Collector’s Collusion by Daniel A. Laliberte
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aptain John Smith of the private armed schooner Young Spartan was incensed. It was 11 April 1818, and his ship’s boat had just returned from depositing the crew of his recently acquired prize, the merchant brig Norberg, on a deserted island just north of Cuba. He had intended to dump the Norberg crew overboard, but his first lieutenant, Ralph Clintock, and the ship’s doctor threatened to mutiny should he do so. Murder would have crossed the thin line between legal privateering and piracy—a hanging offense. His boat crew had returned from the island with a note from the stranded part
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owner and supercargo of the Norberg, a man named Cosler. In the note, Cosler threatened to see Smith charged with piracy if he were rescued. That changed things. Young Spartan possessed a letter of marque from the revolutionary Republic of Mexico that authorized the seizure of Spanish shipping, but Smith did not want to risk testing it in a US court. He knew that the United States did not yet recognize Mexican independence. More importantly, he also knew that the Norberg was actually a Danish-flagged vessel in which his second lieutenant had planted Spanish papers to justify capturing her on the high seas. Further, he was legally obligated to
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bring any prize into port and petition an Admiralty court for the rights to the vessel and her cargo, and he was also required to safeguard its crew and their personal property. Marooning definitely crossed a line. Unwilling to take the chance that the Norberg’s owner and crew might be rescued and accuse him of piracy to American authorities, Smith determined to “go on shore and kill the whole crew…particularly the damned rascal Cosler.” Apparently, even his virtuous first lieutenant recognized the danger and volunteered to lead the mission. Clintock took a boat back to the island with a shore party. From the deck of the Young Spartan, shots were heard ashore. Clintock soon returned and reported the deed was done. Satisfied, Smith ordered the two vessels set a course for Savannah, Georgia, where he would dispose of the Norberg and her cargo under a secret agreement he had pre-arranged with the collector of customs there. It never dawned on him that Clintock and the shore party would spare the lives of the Norberg’s crew by just firing over their heads, and if he had entertained the idea, the likelihood that they would be rescued was slim to none. Such wanton acts of piracy by vessels like the Young Spartan had begun to increase beginning in mid-1815. That this followed the end of the War of 1812 was no coincidence. During the war, the United States had loosed a swarm of more than 500 privateering vessels against Great Britain’s merchant fleet. Those privateers had brought thousands of prizes worth millions of dollars back to the States. Now that hostilities were over, the letters of marque legitimizing what was essentially targeted piracy were invalid. Vessels purpose-built for privateering could not just switch to carrying cargo, at least not with any efficiency. Privateers were designed for speed. Accommodating a large crew and a few guns, they had little space Young Spartan’s stomping grounds in the summer of 1818. Cosler and his crew from the Norberg were put ashore on one of the small islands off the north coast of Cuba. SEA HISTORY 173, WINTER 2020–21