Excerpts from The Pirates Caesar pt. 2: The Pirate Box
(Author’s note: Every story appearing in the “Excerpts from The Pirates Caesar” is fiction. Because the book itself is fiction. There may be some, incredibly limited, connection to men who existed in history, but these pirate stories are written for a fun tie in to the Junior Rangers Investigative Club Novels. Basically: don’t get it twisted. Nothing below is fact.)
An Excerpt from the The Pirates Caesar, by William T. Howard. Published in. 1968
The Pirate Box
Top Down picture of the Pirate Box on Marble Countertop. cir. 1957
About a decade ago, I was able to impress upon my father a deeper respect for antiquities and historical relics. Fresh out of college, with a degree in history and anthropology, I convinced him to invest a small portion of Trident Shipping’s capital into establishing an antiquities shop on Flagler Street in Miami. With Trident’s primary focus on shipping and imports, and an ancient Howard family legacy of association with pirates, and later colonial smugglers, I intended to leverage that link, by focusing on maritime and early colonial artifacts.
It became impossible to stick to such a limited focus, but I still managed to develop a reputation for the identification, analysis, and pricing of objects associated with the marine and salvage history of Florida. Over the years, everything from small caches of Spanish silver coins, to large cannon pulled from shipwrecks made their way into my shop. And I was known to deal fairly with each object, providing curious visitors with the probable history of family heirlooms, and prospective sellers with interested buyers while establishing a fair price. Which is perhaps why I caught the attention of a working man who had just stumbled upon a fascinating find in downtown Miami.
This was how I found myself in temporary possession of a true relic of Southern Florida Pirate History. It was another day at the shop, I had just arranged the purchase and shipping of several antique cannon from the lesser-known, failed, French colonies of Florida. The cannon had been recovered from a wreck near St. Augustine, and were soon to be put on display upon the lawn of a wealthy tire manganate with Huguenot ancestry, and I was just putting the final paperwork into the box of the last gun when I heard the bell ring at the front of my shop.
It was after standard business hours, (I kept my shop open late for just such visitors,) and I was the only one in house, so I left my tender, and moved to the front. The man standing in the doorway was still dressed in grease stained coveralls, suggesting that he had just gotten off of work. He had, clutched in his hands, an old mahogany box. “I’m looking to find out what these are, and possibly to sell them.” He stated, gently, placing the box on my sales desk.
I expected a collection of family heirlooms, perhaps some jewelry, or watches. “I am happily to appraise the items, but dependent upon what they are, you might get more for them from the pawn shop down the street.” I told the man
“No. This is for you.” He insisted.
I opened the box, expecting to be disappointed. But, instead of old necklaces, rings and maybe an antique pocket watch, I was surprised to find a different collection. The interior of the box was lined with an old blue linen. (It looked Indigo dyed.) Arranged in the box were several distinct items: A small but ornate dagger, several antique coins, and, most impressively, two documents bound with string. Both the dagger and the coins showed sign of age, the silver was mostly black, and the iron was rust spotted, yet there was gold trim on the dagger’s handle, and there was a single gold coin shining brightly.
Original photo of Pirate Box, open, Cir. 1957.
“Where did you get this?” I asked the man to explain his collection.
He told me that he was a plumber, working on a large project downtown. (Which explained the coveralls.) They were building a new structure upon the foundation of a much older Miami building. “I found this inside a strange looking rock in the old foundation.” He explained. Of course, I suddenly had questions about the ethics of his find, but I reserved those, because I was curious about the material in front of me.
“May I examine them?” I asked. And with his permission, I donned a pair of satin gloves, and lifted each object out of the box. The dagger had the proper heft of an older naval weapon, although I could not determine the make. The silver coins were tarnished, but I could tell from their irregular shape and the few letters I could make out, that they were Spanish reale cob coins hammer struck. “These were minted in the New World before the 1730’s I told them man.” The gold coin was circular, with a much more professional mint.
“This gold escudo was minted in Spain, and was probably brought to the new world and used in trade. You can see that it was machine minted.” It also had a recognizable text, “1682, in the name of Charles the Second. That was last of the Happsburg monarchs in Spain.” I explained. “Although the coin could have made it’s way to America any time after that.
The man did not seem much interested in the history. “So, how much are they worth, and what will you give me for them?” The plumber asked. Then he quoted an astronomical price.
I explained. '“I can give you the worth of their metal, but I’m going to need to know more before I can tell you the value of these artifacts as antiques. May I open these.”
The last two objects I had left to investigate were the two rolled papers bound with twine. The man gave me permission, and I untied them. The first was a map. “Looks like Biscayne Bay to me.” The plumber said. He must have previously opened the documents, which was surprising given that the twine binding them nearly disintegrated in my fingers. I had to agree that the map did resemble Biscayne Bay, except that the scale was off, and although there were landmarks scattered about the solid ground, there was not a key, or any navigational aids.
The second paper was even more intriguing. On one side there was a flow of words written in Spanish, French, and another language I could not immediately identify. On the other was a much more delicate letter, written in an elaborate script, and all in Spanish. The most significant aspect of the letter, (without any translation) was the signature. Large enough to to put John Hancock to shame, was a singular name: Caesar.
“Caesar.” I read aloud. “That’s interesting. I looked up to the man. “What do you know about the history of Biscayne Bay?” I asked.
“There were a whole lot of shipwrecks.” The man said. “I thought this might be some treasure cache, or smugglers box.”
'“It could be.” I rolled out the map, placing it beside the letter. “But there is another option. If you ever sail the islands around here, you might come across charts marking the channels between the islands.” I told him. “And one of the channels is named Caesar’s Creek.” I pointed to the location on the map, or the probable location, since the map was so poor. “Inside Caesar’s Creek, there’s Caesar’s Rock." I pointed to the signature on the letter. “They were both named for a pirate rumored to have set up camp in Biscayne Bay.” I tried to gage the man’s response, but found myself sorely lacking in facial interpretation.
“Do you think this might have belonged to that pirate?” The man asked. He glanced at the map. “Is that a treasure map?”
'I don’t know.” I answered. “I will need to do more research before I have any answers for you. Do you mind if I photograph all of this? It will help with my research.” The man agreed, and as I set up my camera, I couldn’t help but feel excited about the possibility presented by such a find. There were a lot of unanswered questions. The pirate named Caesar pre-dated Miami, so how had a box, map, and letter with his name on it found it’s way into the foundation of an building from a later era.
How had this plumber really come into possession of such an object? Was it even real?
I photographed all of the objects. Wrote out a catalogue. Then I re-bound the two notes. I tried to convince the Plumber to leave the box in my care. Research would be easier with the coins and letters in my possession, but he had been acting different from the moment I had mentioned the box’s potential pirate origins, and he refused to part with it—even with a promissory note and receipt for twice the estimated value of the objects within.
“Come back in two weeks, I’ll have a better estimate of the value, and we can discuss then if you would like to find a buyer, or what else you can do with these novelties.” I told the plumber as he left with haste. I knew where to start, getting the letter and the poem translated. From there: attempting to place the coins, or identify the map. I would, following this encounter do much more research into the Pirate(s) named Caesar. Hence this book. And much of what I learned has made it’s way onto these pages.
However, the box left forever.
I am fortunate to have these photos, (see below) because the plumber never returned. I can only speculate about why that may be. Perhaps, impatient to make money from the box, he did sell it to the pawn shop down the street. It’s also possible that, upon realizing that he was holding a treasure map, the man decided to keep it to himself, and look for the treasure on his own. But these speculations hardly matter.
For a brief time, I held in my hand a relic of pirate antiquity, and whether it was true or not, it kicked off a decade of research, which lead to the shocking discovery that there were two Pirates, both named Caesar, to have sailed the waters of Biscayne Bay, and ultimately lead me to write this book.
I still wonder about the map, and the letter, and the other relics, but even without them, there is a wealth of historic potential contained in within that old mahogany box. I have dealt with many artifacts in my time operating this antiques shop, but by far it was one of the most fascinating objects to have come, however briefly, into my possession.