Captain Henry Every—often spelled Jack Avery—the infamous "Arch-Pirate" whose actual, brutal exploits both inspired the Golden Age of Piracy and nearly brought the British Empire to its knees, is the inspiration for any pirate-themed adventure. Stripping away the romantic myths of Every reveals a dark history of global chases, royal espionage, and the ultimate blueprint for grittier, high-stakes tabletop campaigns.
Picture by Geo. S. Harris and Sons / Allen & Ginter - This file was donated to Wikimedia Commons as part of a project by the Metropolitan Museum of Art. See the Image and Data Resources Open Access Policy, CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=61133456
Far from a champion of the oppressed, Every spent his early career as a ruthless, highly capitalistic slave trader operating along the West African Guinea coast. He was notorious for flying friendly flags to lure unsuspecting African traders onto his vessel, only to kidnap them, throw them into his hold, and sell them into brutal bondage in the Americas. After spending months plundering vessels along the African coastline, the Fancy reached the Mandab Strait in August 1695. There, Every assumed command of a small, six-ship pirate flotilla that included Captain Thomas Tew’s Amity. Their target was the Grand Mughal's massive 25-ship treasure convoy returning from the annual pilgrimage to Mecca. On September 7, 1695, after easily capturing a smaller escort vessel called the Fateh Muhammed, Every’s squadron ran down the crown jewel of the fleet: the Ganj-i-Sawai.
This 1,600-ton flagship of Emperor Aurangzeb was armed with up to eighty cannons and guarded by four hundred musket-armed soldiers, making it a terrifying opponent. However, fortune favored the pirates when one of the Ganj-i-Sawai's own powerful cannons exploded, causing massive casualties and starting fires, while a broadside from the Fancy shattered the Mughal ship’s mainmast. Every's crew scaled the steep sides of the vessel, embarking on a brutal hand-to-hand combat that resulted in the most lucrative heist in maritime history, valued between £325,000 and £600,000—roughly $140 million in modern currency.
What truly elevated Every from a common criminal to a legendary archetype was his unprecedented vanishing act. Unlike his contemporary rivals who eventually met their ends on the gallows or died in bloody battles at sea, Every successfully escaped. Having slipped away from his pirate allies with the lion's share of the Mughal treasure, Every and the crew of the Fancy sailed across the Atlantic to Nassau in the Bahamas. There, they bribed Governor Nicholas Trott with a massive cut of their plunder—including fifty tons of ivory, one hundred barrels of gunpowder, and the Fancy itself—securing safe harbor and a temporary shield from justice. Eventually, Every dissolved his crew and vanished, possibly fleeing to Ireland under the alias Benjamin Bridgeman, leaving behind a cold case that would baffle historians for centuries.
This vanishing act had a profound psychological impact on maritime communities, single-handedly launching the Golden Age of Piracy. For the first time, piracy ceased to be viewed merely as a desperate, short-lived criminal enterprise that inevitably ended in execution. Instead, it became a highly seductive, achievable ticket to ultimate personal freedom and unimaginable prosperity. Underpaid, mistreated sailors who faced disease, starvation, and extreme corporal punishment in the Royal Navy and merchant service suddenly had a folk hero to worship. Street ballads and cheap pamphlets celebrated the exploits of "Long Ben," depicting him as a righteous rebel who had broken the shackles of state oppression. Every had demonstrated to the working-class sailor that a crew of determined nobodies could successfully mutiny against their officers, humiliate the richest empires on the globe, and strike life-altering wealth.
This espionage theory connects the elusive pirate to one of England’s very first state-directed spy rings operating under King William III. Every’s coded letter was addressed to a reverend at a London location that served as the home of the city's first public lending library—an institution established by Archbishop of Canterbury Thomas Tenison, a staunch Protestant heavily embedded in royal intelligence operations. Tenison was heavily involved in national intelligence, occasionally intercepting, opening, and decoding letters sent by Catholics. The network also allegedly included Daniel Defoe, the famous author of Robinson Crusoe, who was known to have operated in Cornwall as a deep-cover intelligence asset under the alias Claude Guilot. Defoe had been working in intelligence for King William III since 1692 and had actually invented a numeric code for sending letters, mirroring the coded nature of Every's letter.
Taking this espionage hypothesis to its most extreme and absurd conclusion, some literary theorists have proposed that Henry Every and Daniel Defoe were not merely compatriots in the same spy ring—but were, in fact, the exact same individual. Proponents of this theory suggest that Every, having returned to England under a deep-cover identity provided by the Crown, utilized his unparalleled maritime experience and firsthand knowledge of the high seas to write some of the English language’s earliest adventure novels. This theory points to Defoe’s unusually detailed and intimate knowledge of pirate tactics, geography, and slang in works like The King of Pirates, suggesting that these texts were actually romanticized, autobiographical accounts penned by the Arch-Pirate himself.
When historians strip away the thick layers of propaganda, the romanticized myth of the "armed harem girls" collapses into a story of valor and tragic slaughter. The women who took up arms aboard the Ganj-i-Sawai were not passive, cowering captives handed weapons by a cowardly captain. They were the Urdubegis—highly trained, elite female warrior guards assigned to protect the Zenana (the sequestered imperial quarters) of the Mughal court. Commonmly of Habshi, Tatar, Turk, and Kashmiri origin, these elite guards did not observe traditional purdah and were highly proficient with lances, bows, and firearms. They accompanied the royal court on mobile excursions and sieges. During Every's attack, the Urdubegis stood as the final line of defense for the royal passengers. Rather than bumbling ineffectually, they fought a desperate, bloody hand-to-hand combat on the decks that raged for hours before being overwhelmed by the invaders.
There were serious consequences. The furious Emperor Aurangzeb retaliated by seizing English factories and closing vital trading ports across India. The British crown, desperate to protect the East India Company's highly lucrative trade monopolies, had to make several concessions while at the same time not appearing soft on piracy. To save face, propaganda at the time used deeply condescending tropes to depict the Mughal Empire’s flagship crew as inept, "evidence" that is still used today by proponents of the "Every was a spy and national hero" camp.
Your Turn: How have you incorporated "pirate kings" in your campaign?
Picture by Geo. S. Harris and Sons / Allen & Ginter - This file was donated to Wikimedia Commons as part of a project by the Metropolitan Museum of Art. See the Image and Data Resources Open Access Policy, CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=61133456
Pirate?
The legend of Henry Every began with a bold act of maritime theft that secured his place in pirate infamy. Born near Plymouth in Devon, England, Every served in the Royal Navy before organizing a successful mutiny aboard the privateering vessel Charles II in May 1694 (the captain was sick from drinking so it was a bloodless takeover), renaming the formidable 46-gun warship the Fancy.Far from a champion of the oppressed, Every spent his early career as a ruthless, highly capitalistic slave trader operating along the West African Guinea coast. He was notorious for flying friendly flags to lure unsuspecting African traders onto his vessel, only to kidnap them, throw them into his hold, and sell them into brutal bondage in the Americas. After spending months plundering vessels along the African coastline, the Fancy reached the Mandab Strait in August 1695. There, Every assumed command of a small, six-ship pirate flotilla that included Captain Thomas Tew’s Amity. Their target was the Grand Mughal's massive 25-ship treasure convoy returning from the annual pilgrimage to Mecca. On September 7, 1695, after easily capturing a smaller escort vessel called the Fateh Muhammed, Every’s squadron ran down the crown jewel of the fleet: the Ganj-i-Sawai.
This 1,600-ton flagship of Emperor Aurangzeb was armed with up to eighty cannons and guarded by four hundred musket-armed soldiers, making it a terrifying opponent. However, fortune favored the pirates when one of the Ganj-i-Sawai's own powerful cannons exploded, causing massive casualties and starting fires, while a broadside from the Fancy shattered the Mughal ship’s mainmast. Every's crew scaled the steep sides of the vessel, embarking on a brutal hand-to-hand combat that resulted in the most lucrative heist in maritime history, valued between £325,000 and £600,000—roughly $140 million in modern currency.
King?
In the immediate aftermath of the heist, the streets of London were flooded with sensationalist broadsheets and theatrical adaptations that reframed this act of mass violence as a romantic comedy. The contemporary public hungered for tales of Every’s theatrical genius, transforming the mutineer into a brilliant Pirate King. Popular plays of the era, most notably Charles Johnson’s 1712 The Successful Pyrate, depicted Every under the romantic alias Arviragus, ruling over a utopian pirate kingdom in Madagascar.What truly elevated Every from a common criminal to a legendary archetype was his unprecedented vanishing act. Unlike his contemporary rivals who eventually met their ends on the gallows or died in bloody battles at sea, Every successfully escaped. Having slipped away from his pirate allies with the lion's share of the Mughal treasure, Every and the crew of the Fancy sailed across the Atlantic to Nassau in the Bahamas. There, they bribed Governor Nicholas Trott with a massive cut of their plunder—including fifty tons of ivory, one hundred barrels of gunpowder, and the Fancy itself—securing safe harbor and a temporary shield from justice. Eventually, Every dissolved his crew and vanished, possibly fleeing to Ireland under the alias Benjamin Bridgeman, leaving behind a cold case that would baffle historians for centuries.
This vanishing act had a profound psychological impact on maritime communities, single-handedly launching the Golden Age of Piracy. For the first time, piracy ceased to be viewed merely as a desperate, short-lived criminal enterprise that inevitably ended in execution. Instead, it became a highly seductive, achievable ticket to ultimate personal freedom and unimaginable prosperity. Underpaid, mistreated sailors who faced disease, starvation, and extreme corporal punishment in the Royal Navy and merchant service suddenly had a folk hero to worship. Street ballads and cheap pamphlets celebrated the exploits of "Long Ben," depicting him as a righteous rebel who had broken the shackles of state oppression. Every had demonstrated to the working-class sailor that a crew of determined nobodies could successfully mutiny against their officers, humiliate the richest empires on the globe, and strike life-altering wealth.
Spy?
While traditional historians have argued that Every either died penniless in the gutters of London or lived out his days in quiet Irish obscurity, a wild theory has emerged. Shipwreck explorers and researchers Dr. Sean Kingsley and Rex Cowan argue in their work, The Pirate King, that Every's disappearance was actually a highly sophisticated extraction coordinated by the British Crown. The primary evidence is a previously misfiled, partially coded letter dated December 1700, written by "Avery the Pirate" from the port of Falmouth in Cornwall. Written partially in a numeric code utilized by contemporary diplomats and intelligence assets, the dispatch suggests Every had traded a portion of his massive plunder for a royal pardon and was actively working "with noe suspicion upon any Account" to protect Protestant England.This espionage theory connects the elusive pirate to one of England’s very first state-directed spy rings operating under King William III. Every’s coded letter was addressed to a reverend at a London location that served as the home of the city's first public lending library—an institution established by Archbishop of Canterbury Thomas Tenison, a staunch Protestant heavily embedded in royal intelligence operations. Tenison was heavily involved in national intelligence, occasionally intercepting, opening, and decoding letters sent by Catholics. The network also allegedly included Daniel Defoe, the famous author of Robinson Crusoe, who was known to have operated in Cornwall as a deep-cover intelligence asset under the alias Claude Guilot. Defoe had been working in intelligence for King William III since 1692 and had actually invented a numeric code for sending letters, mirroring the coded nature of Every's letter.
Taking this espionage hypothesis to its most extreme and absurd conclusion, some literary theorists have proposed that Henry Every and Daniel Defoe were not merely compatriots in the same spy ring—but were, in fact, the exact same individual. Proponents of this theory suggest that Every, having returned to England under a deep-cover identity provided by the Crown, utilized his unparalleled maritime experience and firsthand knowledge of the high seas to write some of the English language’s earliest adventure novels. This theory points to Defoe’s unusually detailed and intimate knowledge of pirate tactics, geography, and slang in works like The King of Pirates, suggesting that these texts were actually romanticized, autobiographical accounts penned by the Arch-Pirate himself.
The Real Every
Crucial to these stories was the heavy romanticization of the capture itself. Standard European accounts claimed that the Ganj-i-Sawai was guarded by a collection of armed harem girls, painting the captain as a coward who armed armed harem women in desperation to fight against European buccaneers. These narratives popularized the highly fictionalized notion that Every had captured and married the Mughal Emperor's beautiful daughter, escaping to live as a sovereign monarch of a distant paradise.When historians strip away the thick layers of propaganda, the romanticized myth of the "armed harem girls" collapses into a story of valor and tragic slaughter. The women who took up arms aboard the Ganj-i-Sawai were not passive, cowering captives handed weapons by a cowardly captain. They were the Urdubegis—highly trained, elite female warrior guards assigned to protect the Zenana (the sequestered imperial quarters) of the Mughal court. Commonmly of Habshi, Tatar, Turk, and Kashmiri origin, these elite guards did not observe traditional purdah and were highly proficient with lances, bows, and firearms. They accompanied the royal court on mobile excursions and sieges. During Every's attack, the Urdubegis stood as the final line of defense for the royal passengers. Rather than bumbling ineffectually, they fought a desperate, bloody hand-to-hand combat on the decks that raged for hours before being overwhelmed by the invaders.
There were serious consequences. The furious Emperor Aurangzeb retaliated by seizing English factories and closing vital trading ports across India. The British crown, desperate to protect the East India Company's highly lucrative trade monopolies, had to make several concessions while at the same time not appearing soft on piracy. To save face, propaganda at the time used deeply condescending tropes to depict the Mughal Empire’s flagship crew as inept, "evidence" that is still used today by proponents of the "Every was a spy and national hero" camp.
The Pirate King in Your Campaign
Every haunts just about every major media about pirates, from Pirates of the Caribbean to Black Sails. The artistic licensed that glamorized his life makes him a perfect choice for a pirate-themed campaign.- The Lost Trove of the Arch-Pirate. The PCs embark on a classic treasure hunt inspired by Treasure Island, but with a mechanical twist. Instead of a simple map, the clues are written in a complex, numeric cipher modeled after the Falmouth dispatch. Deciphering the coordinates requires a series of checks, with each failure attracting the attention of rival bounty hunters or colonial authorities.
- Race Against the Zenana. The adventurers are hired to track down the surviving members of a notorious pirate crew who are hiding in a remote coastal town. However, they are caught in a high-stakes, three-way race. A vengeful, highly disciplined squad of elite Urdubegis is hunting the same crew to reclaim their stolen imperial relics, while the agents of the local Empire seek to capture the pirates to secure their own political trade monopolies.
- The Crown's Double Agent. The party is recruited by an eccentric, high-ranking religious authority to work alongside a brilliant but bumbling local author who is actually a deep-cover royal spy. This spy, secretly a retired pirate captain using an alias, tasks the party with intercepting coded letters from foreign agents. The players must navigate a web of royal intrigue, state espionage, and moral ambiguity, deciding whether to protect the Crown's secrets or expose the spy's bloody past.
Pirates, Pirates, Every-where
By all accounts, Henry Every was a deeply flawed and very lucky man. Whether he's a brutal pirate, national hero, or secret spy is largely filtered by the biases of those interested in telling his tale. In that regard, including him in a fantasy campaign just continues the tradition that started the moment he disappeared.Your Turn: How have you incorporated "pirate kings" in your campaign?
