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The Night Thrust; or, More Politely, the Passata Soto

“This subterfuge is termed a Night-Thrust; being a short method of deciding a skirmish in the dark.”

–Andrew Lonergan, The Fencer’s Guide, 1777.

 

But Edward was no longer there, or at least not where Lynch expected. Completely covered by the inky darkness, Edward had lunged backward, his left hand dropping to the ground, his body bending inward, his blade shooting forward at Lynch’s belly: the Italians called this passata soto, but some of Edward’s English contemporaries called it the “night thrust” for its utility in the darkness.

Benerson Little, Fortune’s Whelp, 2015

 

Sottobotta Marcelli A

A classical passato soto from Regole Della Scherma by Francesco Antonio Marcelli, 1686.

 

The Classic Passata Soto or “Night Thrust”

A staple of many Western fencing texts since the Renaissance, the passata soto, or passata sotto, also known variously as the sbasso, sottobotta, cartoccio on occasion, the various dessous of the French masters of the smallsword and the passata di sotto of the modern, the passata soto is usually defined as a counter-attack made by lowering the body while simultaneously thrusting, extending the rear foot in a reverse lunge, and placing the unarmed hand on the ground for support. Occasionally the technique is recommended at an attack, with a true lunge, rather than a reverse, made. Andrew Lonergan provides an eighteenth century definition and exercise of the passata soto under the name of night thrust:

“On Guard in Quarte; and disengage a Quarte-over-the-arm [modern sixte]. I now batter [beat] with a Tierce; and begin to advance my left foot to form my Pass upon you in Tierce. Now when you see my left foot move, slip your left foot back, so as to pitch yourself on that knee; stoop your head so that your arm now turned into a Segonde may cover it, hold your left hand extended toward the ground, that it may sustain you, in case you should totter; thus my point will pass over your head, and I shall fall upon yours.”

And his reasoning why such “athletic” techniques should not be abandoned:

“Though these methods of Disarming, and Passing, Volting, and that of the Night Thrust, seem to be almost abolished by the refiners of these arts; I cannot conceive why a man, who is naturally strong and active, should not avail himself of such advantages, especially when improved by our athletic exercises, so engaging to an English subject, and forbidding to all others.”

In the old Italian schools, the body was usually bent at the waist. In some of the old French, the body was lowered by a very low reverse lunge. The adversary may be hit either with the extending arm or by impaling upon it, or both.

 

Cartoccio

A nineteenth century “cartoccio” or passata soto by any other name. From Manuale Teorico-Pratico per la Scherma di Spada e Sciabola by Giordano Rossi (1885). Note that different masters often use the same or different terms to mean different things. For example, Cesare Enrichetti in his Trattato Elementare Teorico-Pratico di Scherma (1871) calls this a sbasso; his cartoccio is a counter-attack made with lunge in tierce with a smaller lowering of the body.

 

In terms of the modern French school, the “passata di sotto” is classified as an esquive, specifically une passe dessous with the back leg extended or both legs deeply bent.

With real weapons, the adversary is ideally impaled, usually in the belly which is, were the swords real, a good place to hit because are no ribs and cartilage to potentially prevent the point from entering or otherwise diminish its penetration. There is also some anecdotal evidence to suggest that in some cases belly wounds may be more quickly incapacitating.

 

Long Low Lunge by La Touche or La Tousche

An arrest is made in opposition with the hand held quite high in prime and the body lowered. From Les Vrays Principes de l’Espée Seule by the sieur de la Touche, 1670.

 

Prime dessous

An arrest, with the body lowered, made in prime beneath the adversary’s blade, left-hander against right-hander. From Les Vrays Principes de l’Espée Seule by the sieur de la Touche, 1670.

 

A very long low lunge which made going forward might slip under the adversary’s guard, as in Rafael Sabatini’s novel The Black Swan (1932), and which made in reverse might serve aid a counter-attack by lowering of the body. Long low lunges like this are often identified with, or confused with, the passata soto.

 

Bouchet 1670

An attack, amounting to a passata soto, performed as a long low lunge. There are at least two likely possibilities for the scene. The swordsman on the left may have parried late or his parry has been forced against a low attack in tierce: his medium is engaged with his adversary’s forte. Or, the swordsman on the right has thrust in tierce opposition against a low guard. In any case, the long low lunge is designed to slip under the adversary’s guard or to reach an adversary otherwise out of range. This lunge is similar to that described by Rafael Sabatini in The Black Swan, although he credits it to the Italian school, even though it was a staple of many 17th century French smallsword schools. Louis François du Bouchet, circa 1670. Rijksmuseum. A copy is also in the British Museum.

 

The passata soto is not without significant drawbacks, which is probably why Lonergan recommended its use at night and nowhere else. Foremost, it must be well-timed. Too late, and the fencer attempting it may get hit in the face, neck, or upper torso. Too soon, and the fencer attempting it throws away the advantage of the surprise mandatory to its success. Used too often, and the adversary may learn how to trigger it with a feint, and then take advantage of the poor position the classical passata soto leaves the fencer in.

And it is this poor position that is the major drawback of the passata soto, in particular with real weapons. With the unarmed hand on the ground, the torso bent sideways, and the rear leg extended well behind, the fencer is in a bad position for defense after a failed attack or, even if the swords were real, after impaling the adversary. Few wounds are immediately incapacitating, including ultimately fatal wounds: many duelists and battlefield swordsmen were wounded or killed after giving an adversary a fatal wound. Even with a mortal wound to the heart, an adversary may live as long as ten seconds. Even assuming an average of four, that’s plenty of time to even things up.

In the case of dry (non-electric) weapons, the judges and director (referee) will determine whether a hit was made, whether it was in time, and whether a hit on the fencer who ducked is valid via rules regarding replacing of target. In the case of electrical weapons, the machine will make the determination in epee, and the machine and director in foil and saber.

For the fencer armed with a rapier on poniard, placing the poniard-armed hand on the ground is giving up half of one’s offense and defense, to be replaced by almost blind trust.

From the position of the passata soto, a prime or lifted sixte/septime beat or bind, or a St. George parry or opposition (modern saber quinte) accompanied by the use of the unarmed hand to help ward off the adversary’s blade, plus an urgent recovery forward or backward, all performed near-simultaneously, is the only viable option if the passata soto has failed to hit or otherwise halt the adversary.

Such recovery, however, is invariably slow, and a loss of balance may ensue if the unarmed hand is removed from the ground too soon to assist in parrying or opposing, for example. Further, the long low position leaves the fencer vulnerable if the arrest fails, whether by missing the adversary or failing to immediately incapacitate him. In particular, the head, neck, and subclavian area are exposed. Fatal thrusting wounds can be given in any of the three areas. It’s likely that execution at night might alleviate some of these weaknesses in the technique, but it would need to be a dark night with little ambient light.

 

Historical Techniques Similar to Passata Soto

There are better methods, past and present. In particular, these methods, while not reducing the target quite as much, leave the fencer in a much better position should the counter-attack fail, or, with real weapons, should the adversary be hit but not be immediately incapacitated. Some masters, Sir William Hope for example, believed also that a lowered position better-protected the torso.

In general they consist of a lowering of the body to a lesser degree, often with a parry or beat first, or with a thrust in opposition. Below are a series of images depicting this in various forms over time.

 

Besnard1

Against a thrust to the head, parry the blade upward and riposte in seconde while lowering the body and head toward the knee. From Le Maistre d’Arme Liberal by Charles Besnard, 1653.

 

Alfieri

 

Alfieri 2

 

Alfieri

Three images from L’Arte di Ben Maneggiare la Spada by Francesco Ferdinando Alfieri (1653) showing various techniques accompanied by a lowering of the body but without a passata soto. Note that the hand is ready to assist!

 

Stoccata Marcelli

Not truly a lowering of the body during a counter-attack, this image shows what in modern terms is a remise against the riposte, with the body lowered from a lunge, making it “relatively” safe. From Regole Della Scherma by Francesco Antonio Marcelli, 1686.

 

Tierce cut off in time by a seconde Laroon

“A Teirce [Tierce] cutt off (in time) by a Second.” In other words, a counter-attack in seconde against an attack in tierce, with the body lowered for protection. Note that the unarmed hand is present in front of the face for protection. From this position it can be used to parry or oppose as necessary. From The Art of Fencing Represented in Proper Figures Exhibiting the Several Passes, Encloses, Disarms, &c. by Marcellus Laroon, various editions dated from the 1680s to circa 1700.

 

Dessous

From Le Maître d’Armes ou L’Exercice de l’Epée Seule dans sa Perfection by Andre Wernesson, Sieur de Liancour, 1692. Notably the unarmed hand is not used to parry or oppose.

 

Bondi 1696

Counter-attack with lowering of the body. From La Spada Maestra by Bondi di Mazo, 1694. The unarmed hand is not used to oppose, a practice many would not recommend.

 

Labat

From L’Art des Armes by le sieur Labat, 1696. Note that the unarmed hand is, again, unwisely extended backward, probably for balance, rather than kept ready to parry or oppose.

 

Doyle

Again, a counter-attack made while lowering the body. The impaled hat may be a humorous way of showing the risks of this technique. From Neu Alamodische Ritterliche Fecht- und Schirm-Kunst by Alexander Doyle, 1715.

 

McBane

Donald McBane’s version of a passata soto, although he did not use the name. The body is not bent, and rear leg is dropped to the knee. From Expert Sword-Man’s Companion, 1728.

 

L'Exercise des Armes - Jean Baptiste Le Perche de Coud1

A pass made in seconde with lowering the body. From a circa 1740 edition of L’exercice des Armes, ou le Maniement du Fleuret by Jean Baptiste Le Perche de Coudray. The original work was published in 1670.

 

La Marche 2

Stop thrust via dérobement, with a “reverse lunge” and associated lowering of the body. The technique, of using a backward lunge while making a stop thrust on the preparation, has been around for centuries. In the modern version, the rear foot is extended simultaneously with the extension. The front follows immediately after, almost as if pushing off from the hit. The body often leans forward a bit, and the body, in the modern version, is not lowered. From L’Épée by Claude La Marche [Georges-Marie Felizet], 1884, reprinted 1888 or 1889.

 

The Passata Soto in Film

The passata soto is seldom shown in film, unfortunately, but here are two of the very few associated examples:

 

Fairbanks Passata Soto Detail

Detail from a lobby card for The Three Musketeers starring Douglas Fairbanks. In this same scene in the film the technique is not used: either it was cut, or the shot was posed separately solely for publicity stills. The film created the modern swashbuckler film genre, with athletic feats of derring-do made de riguer. As the New York Times more or less put it at the time, why fight one swordsman when you can fight six at the same time? United Artists, 1921. Choreography by Henry J. Uyttenhove, graduate of the Belgian Military Institute of Physical Education and fencing master at the Los Angeles Athletic Club.

 

Binnie Barnes Passata Soto

Binnie Barnes in The Spanish Main (1945) executing a passato soto, her sword buried almost to the hilt, quite unnecessarily, not to mention that it might, in the real world, be slow or otherwise difficult to withdraw. Detail from an RKO publicity still. Choreography by Fred Cavens, choreographer of most major Hollywood swashbucklers from the 20s to the 50s.

 

The Passato Soto in Modern Fencing

In modern competitive fencing, the technique is still occasionally seen in its classical form, in particular against a flèche, but more often is modified.

In the sprint of 1978 I saw it well-used by a University of Southern California epeeist–I made up the weakest third of the USC epee team, having fenced for less than a year–at a large collegiate meet at the University of California San Diego. The score was la belle (4-4), with no time limit for the final touch as I recall.

Suddenly both fencers stopped and pulled off their masks, but for no reason other than that they had heard the bell on the adjacent strip and, their adrenalin up for the la belle touch, mistook it for theirs. The young director… Hold on for a moment. Today the director, from directeur de combat, the person who “directs” a duel, is called a “referee,” solely because the foolish powers that be thought it would make fencing more spectator friendly… Seriously.

But back to our anecdote. The young college-age director, rather than enforcing the halt and putting the fencers back on guard, said “I didn’t call halt!”

You know what surely happened next. Without putting masks back on, immediately the opposing team’s fencer flèched, ours dropped into a beautiful passata soto. We got the touch and the bout. Neither fencer, thankfully, was hit in the unprotected face. Or at least that’s how I recall it happened…

 

Clery 1

A mostly classical passata soto from the twentieth century French school. From Escrime by Raoul Cléry, 1965, an excellent book by one of the great French masters.

 

Beck 2

At top, a counter-attack made by extending the arm and bending at the waist, a modern variation. At the bottom, a classical passato soto made against a flèche. Both techniques are effective. From The Complete Guide to Fencing, edited by Berndt Barth and Emil Beck.

 

Mangiarotti 1

An exercise for leg strength and elasticity, also suitable for developing a modern passata soto, which is nothing more than a squat. It’s a good exercise to drop into the squat while making a counter-attack, then lunging or flèching from the position. Ten of each works well as part of a fencing plyometrics workout. From La Vera Scherma by Edoardo Mangiarotti and Aldo Cerchiari.

 

In modern usage, although infrequently seen, is a form known as the “turning” passata soto. The description is best left to R. A. Lidstone:

 

Lidstone

From Fencing: A Practical Treatise on Foil, Épée, Sabre by R. A. Lidstone, 1952.

 

In competitive use, the modern form most often takes the form of ducking or squatting, shown below. Ducking has been used for at least seventy-five years in modern fencing.

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Modern ducking or modified passata soto performed by Geza Imre of Hungary unsuccessfully against Sangyoung Park of South Korea during the final of the men’s epee event at the 2016 Olympic Games. The bout was a classic one, pitting an older well-rounded epeeist with excellent control of distance–“a complete fencer”–over a much younger epeeist armed mostly with lightning speed and near-perfect tempo used at close distance. Imre gave up a 14-10 lead to lose the bout, as much due to tactical errors, it is argued, as to his adversary’s excellent seizing of distance and tempo.

 

Copyright Benerson Little 2017. Last updated July 24, 2017.

 

Did Pirates Wear Eye Patches?

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Costume illustration of an eye-patched, peg-legged seaman by Paul Gavarni for the Carnival in Paris. The popular image–meme, if you prefer–of the disabled seaman had been in place for more than a half a century by now, if not longer, in both Britain and France. This image was created between 1838 and 1843. British Museum.

 

So, “Did pirates wear eye patches?”

The short answer: Only if they had lost eyes to disease or injury, and this was no more prevalent among pirates than among fighting seamen and soldiers. In other words, the eye patch is in no way a sign or symbol of the pirate per se, nor even of the seaman in general.

Still, the question is a good one, if only to give us a reason to dig into related history.

The Mythbusters television show and other speculators have recently added to the myth by working backward from the proposition, that is, “If pirates wore eye patches, why would they have worn them?” rather than looking first at primary sources to see if there is any evidence that pirates wore them at all. There isn’t, other than as noted below.

The associated suggestions that pirates may have worn eye patches to improve night vision or daylight lookout observations or to enable them to fight below decks isn’t supported by any primary source material. In fact, the loss of sight in an eye, even by wearing an eye patch, causes significant loss in both depth perception and visual breadth, making movement aboard a vessel, aloft especially, very dangerous. It would also make visual observation by a lookout much more difficult.

As for fighting below decks, pirates didn’t really do much of it: it was much easier to flush crew below decks by tossing grenades and firepots into breaches chopped into decks and bulkheads with boarding axes. In other words, the mere idea that eye patches might have been used to aid in fighting below decks shows a clear lack of understanding of the subject.

In other words: There is no historical evidence at all for any of these purported reasons why a pirate might have worn eye patches! Mythbusters and other popular “documentaries” are entertainment, not serious history. This includes “The History Channel,” now known I think as History.com: it’s “docu-tainment,” not real history.

Again, if a pirate wore an eye patch it was because he had lost an eye or was disfigured in his eye, and for no other reason!

The origin of the modern myth that pirates wore eye patches is largely literary. However, its roots lay deep in reality, both in the fact that eyes were often lost to disease and battle trauma, and that a one-eyed person often looks fearsome or sinister. The latter sense goes back millennia, and probably farther. Homer’s Cyclops, Polyphemus, is an early instance.

 

AN01018534_001_l

Polyphemus by Jan de Bisschop, after Daniele da Volterra, after Michelangelo, after Pellegrino Tibaldi, 1671. Odysseus, aka Ulysses by the Romans, blinded him. British Museum.

 

 

Some versions of Bernal Diaz’s The Discovery and Conquest of Mexico describe the fierce old musketeer Heredia, sent to frighten Native Americans, as a one-eyed, one-legged (or game-legged) soldier. The same work describes how Cortez’s enemy, Narvaez, lost an eye in battle.

 

AN00297044_001_l

A British army pensioner with eye patch and wooden leg. Again, the image was not restricted to naval seamen, much less, and popularly, pirates. By Isaac Robert Cruikshank, late eighteenth or early to mid-nineteenth century. British Museum.

 

Among seafaring journals and other records of the Golden Age of Piracy, there is only occasional mention of one-eyed seamen, usually in lists of those wounded in battle. Exquemelin’s various editions of The Buccaneers of America famously list compensation for the wounded, including the loss of an eye, and it is here that the primary source of the myth of pirates and eye patches is probably to be found, in combination with other works such as Bernal Diaz’s. The loss of an eye in battle was fairly common, in fact: seafarer Edward Coxere describes the use of oakum and tallow to stuff an eye socket in order to heal the wound, for example. Notably, none of the several eyewitness images of buccaneers or flibustiers from the 1680s show any with any of the usual Hollywood characteristics: wooden legs, eye patches, parrots, hooks, &c. This is to be expected. The large number of images of seamen, usually naval, with eye patches dates to a century later.

 

20150724_094428

20150724_094523

Images of splinters produced by round shot during an accurate test of the damage done in action. Author’s photos taken at the Erie Maritime Museum.

 

As a friend, “Tweeds Blues,” pointed out recently, it seemingly would not be surprising to find a fair number of one-eyed naval, privateer, and pirate seamen, given the damage done by splinters in action. Here I feel the need to point out yet again that Mythbusters is entertainment: an episode even suggested that splinters didn’t cause much damage in a naval action. In fact they did: there are hundreds, if not thousands, of accounts of the damage done, not to mention at least one accurate test that proves the horrible extent of damage splinters can do. The Mythbusters test parameters were simply incorrect, not to mention that overwhelming historical evidence was largely ignored. The images above show splinters resulting from round shot striking a correctly-built hull section. The test was conducted by the Maritime Museum in Erie, Pennsylvania, home of the Flagship Niagara.

 

Burgin

Joseph Burgin, a Greenwich pensioner, who lost and eye and a leg in action in the Royal Navy in the early eighteenth century. National Maritime Museum, Greenwich.

 

Of course, the most famous example of a naval mariner with an eye patch is that of Lord Admiral Horatio Nelson, who lost the sight in one eye during the capture of Calvi on Corsica in 1793–except that did not actually wear an eye patch. This has not stopped the popular assumption that he did from becoming prevalent, and, although out of our period, this has still influenced the idea of the one-eyed mariner, and therefore one-eyed pirate.

 

Portret van Johann Karl von Thüngen, anonymous, 1675 to 1711

“Portret van Johann Karl von Thüngen,” the German field marshal. Period images of him show this eye patch worn without a thong, string, or other tie. Anonymous, 1675 – 1711. Rijksmuseum.

 

The fact is, patches were commonly used to cover any facial disfigurement. In the seventeenth century diarist and navy secretary Samuel Pepys wore a black patch, or possibly a large beauty patch, to cover a large cold sore. Similarly, King William III advised a soldier to remove the black patch covering the scar on his face because “It’s more honourable in a Soldier to wear a Scar than a Patch.” (For the latter reference, see Coke in the sources listed below.)

 

AN01496231_001_l

Scottish soldier Sir William Brog, 1635, with a patch covering a scar on his nose. (And an earring too.) Pring by Crispijn van Queborn. British Museum.

 

AN00153094_001_l

Eye patches, stumps aloft and ‘alow, not to mention peg legs. “Plumpers for Sr Judas, or the Chealsea Pensioners Revenge,” a satirical print, 1784. British Museum.

 

By the late eighteenth century the image of the eye-patched, peg-legged seaman was iconic, probably the result of the increased number of British naval actions brought on by the American Revolution and, especially, the Napoleonic Wars. Notably, in reality most such disabled seamen were pensioned from service, as shown above. These satirical images are probably the material origin of the popular identification of the naval seaman, and therefore the pirate, with eye patches.

Even with its legitimate historical roots in fact, this pirate myth, like many, didn’t come fully into being until the mid-nineteenth century, a hundred or more years after the Golden Age of Piracy. Sir Walter Scott in The Fortunes of Nigel describes “The noble Captain Colepepper, or Peppercull, for he was known by both these names, and some others besides, had a martial and a swashing exterior, which, on the present occasion, was rendered yet more peculiar, by a patch covering his left eye and a part of the cheek. The sleeves of his thickset velvet jerkin were polished and shone with grease, — his buff gloves had huge tops, which reached almost to the elbow; his sword-belt of the same materials extended its breadth from his haunchbone to his small ribs, and supported on the one side his large black-hilted back-sword, on the other a dagger of like proportions.” Here is the epitome of the swashbuckler, easily translated to the pirate.

 

Colepepper

The bold and swaggering Captain Colepepper, from The Fortunes of Nigel by Sir Walter Scott. Nineteenth century, unknown edition.

 

Not long after, Charles Dickens described a pirate with “the one eye and the patch across the nose” and soon afterward similarly did many writers of popular fiction. However, many of our principle originators or propagators of pirate myths—Robert Louis Stevenson, J. M. Barrie, Howard Pyle, N. C. Wyeth, for example—do not appear to have bothered with this myth, although Barrie’s Captain Hook probably did encourage other images of pirates missing a vital part such as a limb or eye.

In 1926 Douglas Fairbanks propagated nineteenth century pirate myths, as well as a few he helped create, across the world with his film The Black Pirate. In it he established the modern pirate swashbuckler stereotype, based much on Howard Pyle’s Book of Pirates, Peter Pan, and probably Captain Blood (one of whose characters, by the way, was one-eyed, although he lost the eye at Sedgemoor, not at sea). Around the same time, we begin to see pirate book cover art and other illustrations showing pirates with eye patches. But it would take later films, such as The Black Swan and The Crimson Pirate  to make the eye patch an obvious, routine part of the stereotypical pirate costume.

 

Quinn

Publicity still from The Black Swan, 1942. An eye-patched Anthony Quinn is on the right.

 

Sources

Roger Coke. A Detection of the Court and State of England. 4th ed. London: J. Brotherton and W. Meadows, 1719. Vol. 2:472.

Bernal Díaz del Castillo. Historia Verdadera de la Conquista de la Nueva España. Reprint, Madrid: Don Benito Cano, 1795. See vol. 1:213.

Edward Coxere. Adventures by Sea of Edward Coxere. Edited by E. H. W. Meyerstein. London: Oxford University, 1946.

Charles Dickens. “The Perils of Certain English Prisoners.” 1857. Reprinted in Charles Dickens’s Stories from the Christmas Numbers. New York: MacMillan, 1896. Page 144.

Alexandre Exquemelin [John Esquemeling]. The Buccaneers of America. London: Crooke, 1684. Reprint, New York: Dorset Press, 1987. Page 60.

Benerson Little. The Golden Age of Piracy: The Truth Behind Pirate Myths. New York: Skyhorse Publishing, 2016. Prologue.

——. “El Mito Pirata” in Desperta Ferro 17 (August 2015), 52-55.

Heidi Mitchell. “Does Reading in Dim Light Hurt Your Eyes?” Wall Street Journal online, April 8, 2013, http://www.wsj.com.

Mythbusters, Episode 71.

Samuel Pepys. Diary. September 26, 1664.

Walter Scott. The Fortunes of Nigel. Boston: Samuel H. Parker, 1822. Page 255.

The Telegraph. “Nelson didn’t wear eye-patch, says historian.” January 19, 2005.

 

Copyright Benerson Little, 2017. Last updated October 15, 2018.

 

Pirates & Earrings

RP-P-BI-7299

A Dutch seaman in Amsterdam dancing in celebration of the recapture of the city of Namur in September 1695. By Cornelis Dufart, 1695. Rijksmuseum.

 

Quite often today, reenactors, students of authentic pirate portrayals of the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, aka the “Golden Age of Piracy,” and the makers of any television documentary or drama, or any film, about pirates who wants to be taken seriously will generally drop the pirate earrings and other pirate caricature, or at least minimize them. However, this practice, while avoiding “Hollywood” cliché, has one problem:

There were “Golden Age” seafarers who wore earrings.

The same goes for pirates of the “Golden Age” from circa 1655 to 1730.

As is the case with much of our perception of what is and is not correct and authentic about “pirates,” the myth or reality really applies much more broadly, to seafarers in general, and from there to the question of whether the myth or reality applies across the board to seafarers or only to a specific subset. For example, I was asked during a Reddit AMA a while back about the “crossing the line” ceremony originating from pirates. It doesn’t actually originate with sea thieves, but from mariners in general, unless all mariners were sea thieves. (Of course, some might argue that at least through the Middle Ages all seafarers were potential pirates…) Sea rovers may have practiced the various “crossing the line” ceremonies, just as seamen in general did, but it was foremost a maritime practice, not one specific to piracy. And I say various practices because there were different cultural practices, and different “lines” to cross as well.

So, put simply, were earrings a conventional part of pirate dress, or of maritime dress, in general during the period 1655 to 1730?

I’m going to keep the answer just as simple, for this is not the place to address the variety of seafarers, sea thieves, and their national and local customs and dress.

And the simple answer to both is…no.

Even so, many answers are really not so simple as they seem, and so it is with this one. There are three exceptions to the earring rule, and they apply not only to pirates and privateers, but to mariners in general.

 

Matelot de Brabant

“Matelot de Brabant / Brabantsche Schipper” by Bernard Picart, circa 1690 to circa 1733. Note the single pearl in the earring, common among Dutch seamen. Rijksmuseum.

 

First is the Dutch exception. Earrings were common in the mid to late seventeenth century and into the eighteenth on many Dutch seafarers, as is clear by the several images I’ve posted here. The seaman in the image above wears an earring in the left ear, and the seamen in the Dufart images below mirror each other, one in the left, the other in the right. From the images it’s impossible to tell if the Dutchmen are wearing an earring on the other ear as well.

 

Earring or Wisp of Hair

An earring or a wisp of hair? Dutch or possibly Norwegian seaman, late seventeenth century. Pas-keart van de Cust van Noorwegan by Joannes van Keulen.

 

So, if you want to be a sea rover and wear an earring and be historically accurate, be a Dutch pirate or privateer. That said, many serious pirate and privateer reenactors are opposed even to this out of concern that it gives the wrong impression: either in general, or because most of the early eighteenth century pirates were “Anglo-American,” or because there are only a “few” Dutch images of seafarers with earrings (although a “few” images would well suffice to support “facts” such reenactors are in favor of). For me, fact–truth–should outweigh this. First, given the large number of buccaneers or flibustiers of Dutch origin in the late seventeenth century, it would not be surprising to find earrings on some buccaneers. Second, not all of the early eighteenth century “Anglo-American” pirates were in fact British or Irish derived, and separate from them were French and Spanish pirates whose crews doubtless included some Dutch members.

 

Dutch Seaman 2

Detail of a Dutch seaman in Amsterdam dancing with a woman in celebration of the recapture of the city of Namur in September 1695. By Cornelis Dufart, 1695. Rijksmuseum.

 

Dutch Seaman with Rummer

Dutch seaman with a rummer (Dutch roemer, a large drinking glass). Note the obvious earring. Jacob Gole, after Cornelis Dusart, after a fairly similar illustration lacking knife, pipe, and earring by Abraham Bloteling, 1670 – 1724. Using other artist’s and engraver’s illustrations as templates was common. Rijksmuseum.

 

Second is the fop exception. Through much of the seventeenth century, including the last quarter, and into the eighteenth century some French fops, and some English onesas well for they generally followed French fashion, were in the habit of wearing an earring, perhaps even one in each ear. The common assumption is that men’s earrings in England and Scotland went out of fashion after the death of Charles I, but this is not entirely the case. They became less popular, and were restricted largely to the foppish gentleman and would-be gentleman–a more restricted group of “gallants” than in the first half of the century.

 

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“John Hardman the Famous Corncutter.” Hardman was a specialist in corns and bunions, and it is speculated, given the royal device hanging from his waistcoat, that he may have worked on King William III’s feet. Little is known about Hardman, and at least one early nineteenth century writer suggests he was Dutch given the English royal arms he is wearing (the author notes the large number of Dutchmen in London during the reign of William III), but possibly due in part as well to his mustache and earrings, and quite possibly because the author did not want to recognize an Englishman as a possible mountebank. Even so, it remains possible that Hardman was merely a flamboyant Englishman. Although the name’s roots are Germanic, it was and is a fairly common English surname. Note the long earring. British Museum.

 

References to earrings on men in the second half of the seventeenth century include a letter written by George Fox (of the Society of Friends, or Quakers) in 1654, but not published, I don’t believe, prior to the 1690s: “a company of them playing at bowls, or at tables, or at shuffle-board; or each taking his horse, that hath bunches of ribbons on his head, as the rider hath on his own (who, perhaps, hath a ring in his ear too)…” This isn’t too long after the execution of Charles I, when we might still see earrings (and which many secondary texts say is about the last time Englishmen wore earrings), and is at the beginning of the Golden Age of Piracy, assuming a start date of 1655 with the capture of Jamaica.

 

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Henri de Lorraine, Count of Harcourt (1601-1666), known as “le Cadet la Perle” due to his bravery in battle. Earrings were quite common on military men in England, Scotland, and France in the first half of the seventeenth century, and on artists and others as well: a 1650 self-portrait of Rembrandt shows him wearing a pearl earring and a self-portrait of Ferdinand Bol shows him wearing a small gold hoop. Print by Nicolas de Larmessin, 1663. British Museum.

 

Louis Roupert LR

Goldsmith Louis Roupert, 1668. Print by Louis Cossin based on a painting by Pierre Rabon. Rijksmuseum.

 

Similarly, note the illustration below. Published in 1653 as part of an appendix satirizing the English gallant and his ostentatious dress and body ornamentation, it does prove that even at this date some English gallants still wore not only one, but two earrings at times. The author, Dr. John Bulwer, compares earring-wearing and other ostentation to that of foreign savages and heathens, or even to pre-Christian Britons, and appears to approve only of plain sober dress, as one might expect during the Age of Cromwell–up with the cropped Roundheads, down with the long-haired Royalists! “Children of vanity” is Bulwer’s disparaging, if also accurate on occasion, term for those who excessively ornament themselves. He also mocks gallants for wearing patches, starched collars (yellowed in fact with starch), flowing locks, mustaches, and so on. He is no less sparing of women. Curiously, Dr. Bulwer’s portrait shows him with flowing locks, a mustache, and goatee.

 

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Illustration from “An Appendix of the Pedigree of the English Gallant” in Anthropometamorphosis: Man Transform’d: Or, the Artificiall Changling by John Bulwer. London: William Hunt, 1653. Dr. Bulwer’s work Anthropometamorphosis, in which he details the great variety of body ornamentation worldwide, is extraordinarily detailed for the era, sophisticated even by modern standards, even if more than a little bit patronizing. Dr. Bulwer is perhaps best known for proposing a system of sign language for the deaf.

 

 

Moving on to William Wycherly and The Plain-Dealer (one of my favorite plays), with a reference to the jewel in the ear and gunpowder spot on the hand, circa 1673, in the middle of the age of buccaneers. Originally I had considered the possibility that this might refer to the sea captain and not the fop, but other instances (George Fox above, for example), plus a re-reading, plus the opinion of a professor emeritus of seventeenth century English literature, have persuaded me that fops wore earrings more often than we think (the professor thought so, by the way)—enough to be an obvious reference for the audience. We’ll deal with gunpowder spots in another blog soon.

Head now to The Works of Mr. Thomas Brown: Amusements Serious and Comical, a comical and satirical group of works published in 1700, and we have the following: “I had honestly, deserved a better Reward than a Patch-box, a Toothpicker, and a small Ear-ring amounted to, and therefore need not disquiet my self upon that Score.. Thus you fee, Madam…” The gentleman has received several useful implements (but not what he was seeking) from his inamorata: an ear picker to clean his ears, a patch box for patches (fops wore them), and a single earring. The last might be simply a love token, but to what end if it can’t be displayed–worn, that is?

That French fops wore them is uncontested. By way of a nautical example, in 1704 the comte de Forbin, a famous, and arguably quite pompous at times, commerce-raiding French naval captain refused passage to a French monk who had been authorized travel from Livorno, Italy to France aboard the French warship by Cardinal de Janson. The monk wore a single gold earring with a large pearl, and Forbin specifically notes his foppish airs, that is, that he acted like a “petit-maître“–a fop or dandy. There were at the time a fair number of priests and monks as addicted to trappings of the flesh as to world beyond, if not more. In any case, it didn’t help that the monk was “haughty and arrogant.” In fact, it was probably this behavior that set Forbin off. But the captain’s reply to the monk was that the cardinal’s order said nothing about giving passage to a monk wearing an earring and giving the airs of a fop–so get off my ship.

In sum, if you want to be a sea rover with an earring but don’t want to be Dutch you might considering being a bit of a fop. This isn’t so very far-fetched, for their are examples of pirates wearing jewelry in a fashion that might be considered foppish. Quoting from The Golden Age of Piracy: The Truth Behind Pirate Myths, an overly fashionable pirate “might wear a ‘necklace of pearls of extraordinary size and inestimable price, with rubies of surpassing beauty’ as Captain Nicolas Van Horn did, or a gold chain with a ‘gold toothpicker hanging at it’ as Captain John James did (and many of his crew also wore gold chains), or a ‘gold chain round his neck, with a diamond cross hanging to it’ as Captain Bartholomew Roberts reportedly did.” (Citations to the quotations above can be found in the endnotes to The Golden Age of Piracy. The quotation is from the prologue.)

Even so, I do tend to agree a bit more with reenactors who object to this exception out of concern for the wrong impression. That said, I still would not be surprised to find a foppish pirate wearing an earring. Devotees of the early eighteenth century Anglo-American pirates will argue quite factually that most were seamen. This doesn’t alter the fact that there may have some foppish seamen–I’ve known some modern ones who’d fit this description, although they’re in the minority–and there were a few non-seamen as well who might fit the fop bill, including the dilettante pirate Stede Bonnet. In my experience, both in studying seamen of the past as well as having known and worked with many modern seamen–naval, commercial, tall ship–during my life, mariners as a group are not homogeneous even though they may express attributes common to their profession. In other words, they too have personalities and often express them through their clothing, hair, and other body ornamentation.

Timucuan cacique

Detail from a late sixteenth century watercolor of a Timucuan casique of Florida, by John White. Note the large “earring” or ear piercing. Such ornamentation was common among Native Americans. British Museum.

The third exception is that of Native Americans, Africans, and mixed races. This should be an obvious exception, but the fact that it is so often overlooked strongly suggests an ethnocentric–that is, a “white-centric” or “Euro-centric”–bias in the view of piracy and of the maritime in general. A fair number of English, French, and Dutch pirates and privateers, although not the majority, were non-white. The majority of Spanish pirates and privateers originating in the Caribbean were non-white. Many of these seafarers of color, particularly those of full African and Native American blood, probably wore earrings in one form or another.

 

 

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Painting by Mexican artist Miguel Cabrera, circa mid-eighteenth century. The man is wearing an earring. The wearing of earrings among blacks and many men of mixed races was also common in the seventeenth century as well.

 

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An African with a sword, quite possibly a West African slave trader. Seventeenth century. Sotheby’s.

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Dutch school, a Moor, possibly a West African slave trader, smoking a churchwarden pipe. Seventeenth century. Christie’s.

 

Many period descriptions and images of Native American males mention or show earrings. Africans, and those of African descent, in European and American context in the seventeenth century are often shown wearing earrings, typically a single one. A large number of seventeenth century Dutch paintings show black servants and slaves wearing earrings, as does a painting of black Moor in North Africa and as does one of a possible West Indian slave trader.

One final note:

Earrings were a fashion statement!

Seamen of this era, including sea rovers, did not wear them to improve eyesight, pay for a funeral, or for any other nonsensical reason, no matter how reasonable such myths may seem when un-examined or otherwise taken at face value. Unfortunately, in spite of the wealth of accurate information readily available on the Internet, it has paradoxically fostered, or perhaps enhanced is more accurate, an intellectual laziness and willingness to believe anything in print.

 

Copyright Benerson Little 2017. First posted July 2017. Last updated January 8, 2018.