“The tame Parrots we found here were the largest and fairest Birds of their Kind that I ever saw in the West-Indies. Their colour was yellow and red, very coarsely mixt; and they would prate very prettily; and there was scarce a Man but what sent aboard one or two of them. So that with Provision, Chests, Hen-Coops, and Parrot Cages, our Ships were full of Lumber…”

–William Dampier, Voyages and Discoveries, 1729

“Oost Indise Bootsgezel / Matelot Revenu des Indes” (“Dutch Seaman Returning from the East Indies”) by Abraham Allard, Amsterdam, circa 1675 to circa 1725 but probably after 1700, quite possibly around 1710 when Abraham took over from his father Carel. Although the seafarer lacks a wooden leg, earring, or eye patch, he does display several of what we commonly consider to be myths or clichés–or facts–about pirates and seafarers in general. He holds, if not a true parrot, then at least a cockatoo, probably a white cockatoo, from Indonesia. He smokes a pipe, a monkey is getting into mischief in the seaman’s sea chest by pulling a hammock out, and jug of liquor is at the seaman’s feet.

The opening quotation is in reference to a small buccaneering raid on Alvarado on the Mexican coast in 1676. So, clearly at least some pirates did have parrots, although most of these birds were probably intended as plunder to be sold in Port Royal, Jamaica.

The ultimate origin, though, of pirates and parrots is the common one: the lure of exotic animals, the seaman’s access to them during his travels, and the market for them in Europe and the American colonies. It was therefore not at all unusual to find exotic birds and primates (other than humans, of course) aboard ships headed back to Europe, nor was it unusual for people in the American colonies to keep them as pets, as did many Native Americans. Seamen were the best-placed Europeans to acquire them.

The description below is but one of many typical merchant voyages, in this case described by the Italian Capuchin monk Denis de Carli during his 1667 voyage from Bahia de Todos os Santo, Brazil, to Lisbon, Portugal.

“The ship was like Noah’s ark, for there were aboard it so many several sorts of beasts, that what with the noise, and the talk of so many people as were aboard, we could not hear one another speak. The loading was a thousand chests of sugar, three thousand rolls of tobacco, abundance of rich wood for dying, and making of cabinets, elephants teeth; besides the provision of wood, coals, water, wine, brandy, sheep, hogs, and turkeys: besides all this, abundance of monkeys of several sorts, apes, baboons, parrots, and some of those birds of Brasil, which they call arracas [the urraca, or plush-crested jay].

And not just parrots and parakeets! Former French corsaire, now private ambassador, Jean Doublet was entrusted in 1705 on his voyage home from Havana, Cuba to France with a cage containing thirty “partridges” (“perdrix”) described as having yellow eyes with a red ring around them, blue heads, and a black and white shield on the breast. The bird has been difficult for me to identify, but the Cuban Blue-Headed Quail Dove is a very likely candidate, for only the red and yellow is missing; Doublet may have mixed up the eyes with another bird. He was also entrusted with a cage filled with small curious birds called “maryposas” (almost certainly Painted Buntings, which go by the same name today in Cuba, i.e. Mariposa or Butterfly) and “azulettes” (probably the Indigo Bunting).

The Padre Eterno, a Portuguese galleon or carrack (the latter word was only occasionally in use anymore), whose keel was laid down in Brazil in 1659. At 2,000 tons she was one of the largest ships of her time–perhaps only two of her era were larger. Father Denis de Carli traveled on a similar but smaller ship. From Allain Manesson Mallet, Description de l’Univers, 4 vols. (Paris: Denys Thierry, 1683), vol. 1:257.

Drawing of a late eighteenth century Dutch East Indiaman with a pair of bird cages at the break of the poop deck. In the left is what appears to be a small parrot. The ship clearly appears to be sailing in fair weather. From “Dekzicht van een Oostindiëvaarder met stuurman aan het roer, Jan Brandes, 1779 – 1787,” in the Album van Jan Brandes, deel 1, Rijksmuseum.

Exotic birds, parrots in particular, along with monkeys have long been associated with the tropical Americas and are often depicted in representative or allegorical images of the peoples, fruits, and animals from this part of the world.

Native Americans of the Tupinamba tribe dancing. Note the parrot and monkey, which are not only historically accurate but also symbols to Europeans of exotic places. In this case, the parrot and monkey may have been pets or otherwise part of the immediate fauna. Watercolor by John White, late sixteenth century. British Museum. Compare with the image of the Dutch seaman with parrot and monkey above and below.

Typical European use of parrots and monkeys as symbols of exotic lands, in this case Florida. Late seventeenth century, Rijksmuseum.

Parrots as Pets in the Old World

In Shakespeare we see just how common parrots had become in England, and for that matter, in Europe in general: “That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman!” exclaims Henry, Prince of Wales, in The First Part of Henry the Fourth. Below are a few images from the late seventeenth century of people posing with parrots, a quite common practice–at least for those who could afford portraits and parrots. The exotic birds were often given as gifts: diarist and naval administrator Samuel Pepys noted that Master-Shipwright Phineas Pett gave one as a gift to “my Lady Batten.”

The parrot appears to have a chain tether. Nicolas Bonnart, 1687, Paris. LACMA.

A parrot removed from its cage. Caspar Netscher, 1666, British Museum.

A parrot on a perch. Jan van Somer, circa 1670 to 1680, British Museum.

Robinson Crusoe

Published in 1719, The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, of York, Mariner, by Daniel Defoe re-established what was already fact: that some seamen did in fact keep parrots as pets. Robinson, plaintively calling to himself after two years marooned on the island, is answered by his parrot, Poll (Polly, anyone?), feared lost during the shipwreck. The fictional shipwrecked mariner, likely inspired by marooners Alexander Selkirk and Will (or William), a Miskito Native American, captured two more parrots and taught them to speak as well. The marooners who inspired Defoe were each associated with sea roving: Selkirk was a self-marooned privateer, and Will was an accidentally marooned “striker” (a hunter and fisherman) in a buccaneer crew committing piracy (ergo, a pirate crew).

Illustration by N. C. Wyeth for a 1920 edition. In 2015 the painting sold for $353,000.

Treasure Island

But it’s the trope of pirates and parrots we’re really concerned with for the moment, and the modern association of parrot with pirate, as opposed to parrot with common seaman, or even parrot with privateer, is almost entirely due to Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island, specifically to Long John Silver and his parrot Cap’n Flint, who would often scream, “Pieces of eight! pieces of eight! pieces of eight!”

But because of the modern cliché of the pirate and parrot, no matter how accurate, some pirate television dramas, reenactor groups, and video games may choose to avoid it altogether. Black Sails did, for example (full disclosure, I was the historical consultant for the show for all four seasons). That said, this can be a bit confusing: Black Sails was set as a prequel to Treasure Island, the book that did much to create the pirate and parrot image. It comes down to a question of balance between accuracy and audience perception. I remain convinced that it is possible to quash cliché with historical accuracy without losing the audience.

So, how prevalent was the pirate with parrot in reality? Probably as common as that of the seaman his parrot, as least among pirates who visited regions where parrots were native, or captured ships with them aboard.

A plate from the 1911 Scribner’s edition of Treasure Island, illustrated by N. C. Wyeth. The edition and illustrations have been reprinted many times.

Pirate with parrot, in The Black Pirate (1926). Screen capture from the Kino Blu-ray.

(And Monkeys, Too?)

So back to the beginning with another version of the image at the top of the page. But it’s the monkey we’re interested in now, and clearly monkeys were associated with seamen for the same reason parrots were.

“Matelot Revenu des Indes” (“Sailor Returning from the Indies”) by Pieter van den Berge circa 1694 to circa 1737, probably after Abraham Allard above although it could be the other way around. The image is reversed from the Allard, and the jug has been replaced with what appears to be a liquid-holding box. This image alone should suffice to prove that seamen traveling to the Indies, East or West, were associated with exotic birds and other curiosities.

So, did pirates have pet monkeys? Probably some did, given the mariner’s access and the popularity of monkeys. Certainly, at least one sea rover is confirmed as having a monkey aboard: a young Barbary macaque was aboard the French privateer Dauphine when it wrecked in Saint-Malo in 1704, as marine archaeology has demonstrated.

Remains of the Barbary macaque discovered in the wreck of La Dauphine, 1704. From Les épaves corsaires de la Natière. Archéologie sous-marine à Saint-Malo.

Pet Monkeys in the Old World

Monkeys were popular pets in Europe, thus the maritime trade in them. They were often fitted with a belt around the waist in order to keep them on a tether or leash as necessary. This may have been done shipboard as well–it would save waiting for the monkey to get hungry before it came down from aloft.

Pet monkey wearing a belt. Flemish, seventeenth century, British Museum.

Cavalier wooing a woman, with monkey in the background. Note the belt and chain on the monkey. The image may have inspired a scene between d’Artanan (Michael York) and Milady (Faye Dunaway) in Richard Lester’s The Three Musketeers (1973). Circa 1640 to 1660, artist unknown, British Museum.

A cavalier-ish woman smoking a pipe and drinking wine, with a monkey in the background. , Circa 1630 to 1640, artist unknown, British Museum.

Monkeys in Pirate Films and Other Media

Monkeys, being active, cute in an impish way, and generally in trouble, not to mention with a historical basis at sea, not to mention part of the crew, so to speak, of at least one privateer crew and probably of a fair number, are perfect for Hollywood piratical swashbucklers. That said, they haven’t been much used in them, but then it doesn’t take much for an association to get started and soon enough a cliché to develop. The most noted, of course, are King Charles in Cutthroat Island (if nothing else, Geena Davis looked swashbucklingly effective in the role of Captain Morgan Adams, and the soundtrack is excellent), and, far more well-known, Jack in the Pirates of the Caribbean films.

Pirate monkey memes are common, the Monkey Island games riff on pirate monkeys although without much emphasizing them, and even Firelock Games has, purely for fun and originally introduced as an April Fool’s joke, added a “Blunder Monkey” figure as a stretch goal for the Blood & Plunder’s “No Peace Beyond the Line” Kickstarter, albeit an historically accurate one. (Again in the interest of full disclosure, I’m the historical consultant for Firelock’s Blood & Plunder.)

Monkey from Douglas Fairbanks’s 1926 The Black Pirate. The scene shows pirates drawing lots for the monkey, primarily because audiences expect pirates and monkeys (and also in this case to set up a later drawing lots scene). Screen capture from the Kino Blu-ray video.

Not quite a pirate film but it might as well be, The Sea Hawk starring Errol Flynn has a scene in which a monkey appears in part for comic relief, in part to further the plot by putting Capt. Geoffrey Thorpe in better graces with his queen. In the script the monkey is named only as “Thorpe’s monkey.” The film’s plot was based on Rafael Sabatini’s novel in name only. “Sea hawks” became the name for the English privateering “sea dogs,” rather than for an Englishman turned Barbary corsair, and the film became an allegory for the need to fight Nazi Germany set in the Elizabethan era, with a heroic English queen and her privateers on one side and a rapacious Spanish king and his clearly perfidious minions on the other.

“King Charles,” the monkey belonging to Capt. Morgan Adams in Cutthroat Island, largely used for comic relief.

“Jack” the monkey, generally the pet sidekick of Captain Barbossa, in the Disney Pirates of the Caribbean films. Likewise largely for comic relief, the monkey does have an occasional small part to the play in some of the plots, such as the plots are.

The “Blunder Monkey” from Firelock Games. Quoting Alex Aguila, one of the co-founders of the company: “This incredibly detailed replica of an actual Mayan Howler Monkey God statue from Copan, Honduras can be used as an objective marker for Blood & Plunder. It is an exclusive miniature from our “No Peace Beyond the Line” Kickstarter that will never again be offered . It is not too late to pledge and take advantage of free exclusives. Just go to www.firelockgames.com for more information. Enjoy!”

A Scots Highlander, a Sword, and a Parrot…

I’ll end with a humorous anecdote, which may be apocryphal, regarding a Scotsman and a parrot in London. I can date it no earlier than 1749 and cannot say whence came the abusive bird originally, but it does illustrate the general prevalence of the birds everywhere:

“An honest Highlander, walking along Holborn, heard a voice cry, Rogue Scot, Rogue Scot; his northern blood fired at the insult, drew his broad sword, looking round him on every side to discover the object of his indignation; at last he found that it came from a parrot, perched in a balcony within his reach; but the generous Scot disdaining to stain his trusty blade with such ignoble blood, put up his sword again, with a sour smile, saying, “Gin ye were a man, as ye’re a green geuse, I would split your weem.”

The Menagerie by Melchior d’Hondecoeter, c. 1690. The painting hung over the door to King William III’s private apartment. Rijksmuseum.

Copyright Benerson Little 2017. First posted September 10, 2017. Last updated 2 April 2022.