The National Museum of the Royal Navy in Portsmouth guards a remarkable piece of seafaring history: a genuine pirate flag seized in 1790 by Admiral Richard Curry off the North African coast. In a world where most pirate standards were cheap, single-use cloths that disintegrated long before the 19th century, this flag survives as a concrete glimpse into the visual language of piracy. Its presence on display invites visitors to imagine the grim showdown that produced it, and to contemplate why such a relic is counted among only two or three surviving authentic pirate banners worldwide.
A rare capture from the North African coast
The flag’s journey began when Admiral Curry intercepted a marauding vessel during a routine patrol. The prize was a weather-worn but still vivid banner, lifted from the hull of a pirate ship and hauled aboard as evidence of victory. Because pirate flags were designed to be disposable—often woven from the cheapest canvas available—their survival for “two and a half centuries” is virtually unheard of. Historians estimate that merely two or three authentic examples exist today, and the Portsmouth specimen is one of the most celebrated among them.
Colors, symbols and their messages
Contrary to the familiar black field with a white skull and crossbones, early Jolly Rogers were frequently dyed a deep blood-red. This striking hue was deliberately chosen to broadcast a single, terrifying promise: no quarter will be given if the target did not surrender immediately. The phrase, recorded in contemporary naval reports, signaled that the pirates preferred to kill rather than capture. Even the iconic skull-and-crossbones motif has a bureaucratic origin; it was borrowed from ship-log notation, where a skull marked a death on board. Such visual shorthand turned a simple piece of cloth into a psychological weapon, instantly communicating intent across the waves.
Pirate-inspired pride in the Royal Navy
The story of the flag does not end in the 18th century. During the First World War, Admiral Sir Arthur Wilson dismissed submarine warfare as an “underhanded” activity fit only for pirates, famously declaring that vessels that attacked unseen were no better than marauders. Rather than accept the insult, British submarine crews embraced the comparison. Starting in 1914, they began to fly their own versions of the Jolly Roger stitching symbols onto the fabric to record successful patrols, torpedo strikes, and enemy ships sunk. Each addition—be it a dagger, a torpedo silhouette, or a star—served as a personal log of achievement, turning an enemy’s slur into a badge of honor.
Submarine patrol markings
These hand-sewn emblems evolved into a proud tradition that persisted long after the war, cementing the flag’s place in Royal Navy folklore. The practice linked the daring, clandestine nature of early piracy with the modern, covert operations of submariners, highlighting a continuity of maritime audacity. Today, the Portsmouth flag stands as a tangible reminder of that lineage: a relic of a 1790 encounter, a symbol of 18th-century terror, and a touchstone for 20th-century naval bravery.
