be worth a ransom. Neither did he indulge in fatted calf-killing when the wanderer returned: Frobisher appears to have been denied both his share of the expedition’s profit and his back pay. A mutual good-riddance ensued.
A cloud cloaks the activities of the masterless Frobisher for the next few years, although there are some hints that he undertook another two voyages to Guinea, possibly in command. Whether or not he did, he drew the conclusion that piracy paid better and was less dangerous than attempts at semi-legitimate trading. Maybe, following his treatment, he harboured a desire to revenge himself on the merchant class who had considered his life as of so little value, in much the same way as Drake swore to be revenged on the Spanish after their treachery at San Juan de Ulua. Maybe, as a young man who could handle a ship but very little else, he followed a logical career progression. Whatever his reasoning, for the next decade Frobisher was a pirate and, being Frobisher, he made a shambles of it.
The young pirate’s initial plan does seem to have been based on a good idea. In company with the notorious pirate Henry Strangways (how did they meet?) it seems he intended to make a raid on the fortress store at São Jorge da Minas, the layout of which he would have known in great detail. Still, it was not the best-laid plan and it was totally upset when in September 1559 Strangways was brought before the Admiralty Court, accused of planning this very endeavour. On this occasion the hardened pirate might have considered himself unlucky, not only because accusations of conspiracy were more frequently linked to treasonable plots than plundering expeditions, but also because the subtle difference between breaking trade embargoes and raiding a friendly nation’s warehouses was a distinction based on political expediency, rather than illegal activity. Had the plan remained concealed and a richly rewarding raid taken place, there would have been every possibility that the right size bribe in the right podgy palms would have allowed the miscreants to escape unscathed. In the dock, Strangways laid the blame for the plan on his young friend, a ploy that earned him his pardon. After that one appearance in the court record, Frobisher exits the stage yet again making his next appearance in a farce performed in 1563.
By this time he had returned to Yorkshire, where his brother John had part-ownership with a John Appleyard of the modestly named ship John Appleyard aka Bark Frobisher (presumably depending whose turn it was to command). Appleyard had obtained letters of marque issued by the French Huguenot leader, the prince of Condé, which probably licensed the holder to seize only French Catholic vessels. Few pirates, many of whom could claim to be illiterate, took notice of the fine print in their authorisations, even when the caveats were backed up with the requirement to post a bond, in this case of about £50, as a guarantee of good behaviour. The Appleyard letters ordered the captains of this three-ship group not to ‘robbe, spoyle, infest, trouble, evil intreate, apprehende, ne take any Portingales, Spaniardes, or any other persouns whiche be in league and amitie with her majestie’, an undertaking that they felt would be more honoured in the breach than the observance.
There is a good indication of the company that Frobisher brothers had been keeping of late, in that their fellow commander was Peter Killigrew, a member of the piratical princes of Cornwall who dominated seaborne crime in the West Country from their stronghold of Pendennis Castle, with the added aura of untouchability that came with the appointment of Sir John Killigrew as the commissioner for piracy in Cornwall
The three ships sailed south in March and in May entered Plymouth Sound to dispose of the cargo legally taken from five French Catholic vessels. Immediately things began to unravel, for the goods were seized, the Admiralty Court justifying this action by accusing Martin Frobisher of aiding and abetting another pirate, Thomas Cobham, in a fierce fight against a Spanish ship, Katherine. Cobham claimed that he had always suspected his target to have been French and thus was quite at liberty to show his gratitude to Frobisher for Anne Appleyard’s assistance by rewarding that skipper with a part of the prize cargo of wines and tapestries, some of which was disposed of at Baltimore in Ireland, before the ship returned to Plymouth to sell the rest.
Unfortunately, the pirates’ actions had sparked off a diplomatic row. The tapestries had been sent by the Spanish ambassador in London, Guzmán de Silva, as a gift to Philip of Spain; more unfortunate still was that this was also a period in Elizabeth’s roller-coaster relationship with Spain in which she was favouring appeasement. The pirates and their plunder were both seized, with the former being sent to London under escort.
In London the brothers gave a good account of themselves, and they and their French prizes were freed. However, in their absence John Appleyard’s agent, the well-connected Thomas Bowes, had travelled to Plymouth and, quoting Privy Council authority, removed Katherine’s wine from bondage and disappeared with both the wine and, possibly, the tapestries. All was unravelling for the brothers who, no sooner than they were released, found themselves cited in a lawsuit for the recovery of the wine, instigated by their one-time partner, John Appleyard. Unable to produce the barrels, they were flung into Launceston Jail on 15 July, from where they were sent to London in September to appear before a sympathetic Privy Council, who once more ordered their release.
Not so their casual acquaintance, Cobham. On being apprehended he was taken to the Tower to endure the harshest of punishments. This began with him being stripped and hung upside down so that the soles of his feet could be beaten, a most painful torture. Then he was spreadeagled on the filthy cell floor with a sharp stone under his back and a heavy round of shot placed on his stomach. This excruciating punishment, coupled with starvation rations, would have brought about his certain death, had not friends in high places (the family name gives an indication as to whom they were) pleaded successfully for his release. Yet again it was not the seriousness of a crime that had dictated the severity of the sentence, but to whom the miscreant could turn to for support.
Undeterred by their lucky escape, the now impecunious Frobishers reverted to their chosen career and it was not long before their practice of non-selective prize-taking was again being brought to the attention of the courts. In May 1565 they were named as the plunderers of a cargo of cochineal being carried in the Spanish ship, Flying Spirit. Escaping judgement, they amassed sufficient ill-gotten funds to purchase their own craft, the 100-ton Mary Flower, a ship in which Frobisher staged one of his several fiascos.
Frobisher joined his new command on Tyneside in September. By then she had been made seaworthy and just needed victualling, a master and crew, and a fair wind to waft her southward into the predatory shipping lanes. The victualling took some time to complete, probably because of a lack of ready cash, and it was not until late December that she slipped down to the sea on the outgoing tide.
Frobisher had prepared a plausible cover-story to mask his intentions, telling the authorities that his destination was Guinea, although a crew of just thirty-six would indicate that he was not making any allowance for the high death-rate that this destination inevitably inflicted.
Not that he was going to experience such mortality. Off the Humber, Mary Flower was pounded by a storm so fierce that she lost both her sails and her masts, and only Frobisher’s skill in beaching her on the sands near Scarborough saved the crew from drowning. Once beached, the brothers’ penury resulted in their being detained, for they had insufficient funds to pay for either the ship’s repairs and refloating, or to meet the demands of creditors who had travelled down the coastal road to pay them a visit. The result was that the ship was impounded until some outstanding debts were settled.
Then, with beer, bread, biscuit and beef embarked and paid for, officers from the Court of Admiralty turned up and took Martin Frobisher into custody for questioning. Very sensibly John Frobisher did not wait for him to return, but floated off, only to meet more stormy weather. Records show that he passed into the Thames in May – the voyage from Tyneside having taken four and a half months to accomplish. What happened thereafter is not recorded but the Admiralty judge, Dr Lewes, was not convinced by Martin Frobisher’s explanation as to his lawful intentions. An attempt was made to frame him for the seizure of the Flemish ship White Unicorn, whose path approximated to that taken by Mary
