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Return to Treasure Island and the Search for Captain Kidd

I first saw Île Sainte-Marie from the wing seat of a French turboprop owned by Air Madagascar, an airline with the well-deserved nickname "Air Mad." As the plane began its descent from the west, it dropped through mounds of cumulus clouds before leveling off a few hundred feet over the choppy waters of the Indian Ocean. A few seconds before touchdown, the pilot caught sight of the air sock on the side of the runway -- the one near a small herd of zebus being tended by a young boy -- and decided the wind was blowing the wrong way. He chose to land from the east instead.

He pulled back on the stick and pushed the throttle forward; the airplane rose, rapidly ascending over the island. Even though the ground flew by fast, it wasn't difficult to see why this had been such prime real estate for the pirates of the East Indies. The runway that we had opted out of seemed to be cut from a lush canopy of foliage, bordered by trees so heavy with fruit they leaned toward the center of the landing zone. We zoomed over an aqua-blue lagoon crisscrossed by graceful wooden pirogues. Farther out into the Indian Ocean, a reef spanned the length of the island for as far as I could see. Surf pounded the reef's ocean side -- waves that started in Australia nearly five thousand miles away and rolled unhampered across the third-largest ocean in the world.

The plane banked hard and began a steep descent. Although these aeronautic gyrations were apparently normal on this route, in the United States they would probably qualify as evasive maneuvers.

"Now we're flying," said my son, Brandon, a professional skier with a lust for tight turns and steep drops.

The plane righted itself quickly and came in on the short runway. With skillful braking and reverse thrusting, it stopped just before the beach.

"That was thrilling," said Jeff Denholm, a diver, surfer, and triathlete from southern Maine who had lost his right arm in an Alaskan fishing-boat accident. "One of the scariest things I've done this year."

The steward popped open the door, and hot tropical air immediately spilled into the cabin. I took a deep breath and relaxed. The other passengers were unfolding from the tight seats, gathering their carry-on luggage from the overhead compartments, and heading for the open rear door. I sat quietly and let the moment settle in, thinking about the circumstances that brought me here to a place that one historian has called "the only pirate island in human history." I can't believe it, I said to myself. I am actually here. One step closer to finding Captain William Kidd's flagship, a monument to one of history's most misunderstood rogues.

For years I had been compiling a file on Kidd. Though his reputation suggests him to be the most notorious and feared pirate of all -- "a nondescript animal of the ocean," said a later biography -- my research showed that he didn't truly become a pirate until late in his life. To American colonists of the 1690s, Kidd was a pillar of society, a loyal supporter of the king of England and a good seaman who used his skills to steal from enemies of the Crown.

About his early life little is known. He was born 1654 in Dundee, a Scottish seaport. His father was a sea captain who died when Kidd was very young, leaving his family in great poverty. Kidd's ability to navigate and write well indicate that he somehow received a good education. He went on to serve in the Royal Navy, probably as a petty officer. Later he became respected as a privateer, a sea captain who was authorized by his government to rob the ships of the enemy, in this case the French. Kidd was good at what he did. Royal governors in the Caribbean commended him for his fighting abilities, and an English captain familiar with Kidd testified years later at his trial that he "was a mighty man in the West Indies."

Kidd became such a man in New York, too. Rewarded for his bravery at sea, he went on to live in the colonies, where he amassed considerable wealth and respect. His marriage to a wealthy widow gave him higher social standing and added more heft to his bottom line. Kidd became known as one of the movers and shakers of New York City. He owned docks, several town houses in what is now the Wall Street area, a farm in northern Manhattan, cargo ships and businesses. He even helped build Trinity Cathedral next to the site of what would later become the World Trade Center.

Kidd was wealthy, secure, and respected in 1696 when, at the age of forty-one, he agreed to become a privateer for a partnership of businessmen headed by an English lord. Even King William III joined the venture, an act he would later regret. Kidd's goal, as stated in a commission from the king, was to rob French ships and capture pirates who had been plaguing English shipping in the Indian Ocean.

To enable him to carry out his mission, the partnership built the Adventure Galley, a hybrid fitted with sails and oars and thirty-four cannons, and the first ship ever built by the British to hunt pirates. Rated at 287 tons, she was light and fast. The oars gave her an extra edge by increasing maneuverability and allowed her to pursue prey on a windless sea.

With a strong ship, a good crew, and financial backing from England's nobles, Kidd seemed to have had everything he needed in order to succeed as a privateer. But appearances were deceiving. After months at sea Kidd realized that he would never make as much money as he had initially thought.