The Pirates, the Curse, and the Hanging Tree of Key Marco

The pirates were indeed in Southwest Florida and their drunken antics were obvious.”

Before it was Key Marco, it was Horr’s Island, but before Captain John T. Horr came and settled on the ancient shell mounds that are modern-day Key Marco, dark deeds were afoot that still haunt the hills south of Marco Island.

Since the early 1700s, the old Spanish charts directed mariners to Caxambas as a place to find fresh water and careen and repair ships. According to legend, a nest of pirates found the sheltered coves and rising shell mounds at Key Marco to be the perfect haven for launching attacks on merchant vessels sailing down the coast from Tampa and New Orleans.

The pirates at one time were apparently a hundred in number and were so successful in their bloodthirsty endeavors the U.S. Navy was given orders to seek out this southwest Florida band of cutthroats and place a torch to the ramshackle village that was apparently flourishing just to the north of Cape Romano.

The pirates were not ignorant to the Navy’s intentions, because with every new captured ship, stories of naval searches along the southwest coast became commonplace and troublesome. The concerned pirates held counsel and soon afterward, two cannons were set atop the highest shell mound and pointed seaward. The buccaneers were confident the navy would never find them hidden behind the ancient shell mounds or that a few well-placed cannon shots would discourage any unwelcome invaders.

As the seasons passed and as the pirates continued to plunder, the owners of the lost ships and cargo began screaming their protests. The presence of pirates in southwest Florida was unacceptable, the merchants reasoned. “Why is the powerful U.S. Navy having trouble dealing with a bunch of murdering scallywags?”

After another year of the skull and crossbones flying atop the marauding schooners in the Ten Thousand Islands, a special task force of Marines and U.S. Navy was underway to hunt down the offending pirates and take no prisoners.

As the tale is told, when the Navy did approach from Key West, a fleet of three ships was hidden over the horizon as smaller vessels went searching ashore among the beaches and the mangroves to ferret out the mysterious buccaneer base.

With a full moon rising and bringing in a flood tide, six Marines made landfall on the largest of the islands and the big beach at San Marco. Under cover of darkness, the Marines made their way through mosquitoes and mangrove thickets until they saw a rising glow coming from a neighboring island.

As the Marines cautiously advanced, they saw from across a waterway the pirate village that many believed was actually in Cuba. The pirates were indeed in southwest Florida, and their drunken antics were obvious. Four shallow-water schooners were at anchor beside a rising shell mound and several blazing fires. Moving between the fires and staggering under the moonlight were the pirates of San Marco. The buccaneers, encouraged by the full moon, were well into a rum-fueled wild boar feast alongside several women who might have been captives from looted ships.

The next day, the Marines returned in their longboats to the offshore ships and made their report. At sunset, an overwhelming company of naval forces and Marines attacked and found the pirates still groggy from the previous night of bootlegging antics.

There was never a shot fired from the pirate cannons, because most of the San Marco pirates were either slain in a brief battle or were seen escaping into the mangroves. After a day of searching, six of the surly buccaneers finally became captives and were standing in judgment before the U.S. Naval Commander.

As the moon once again began to rise, and as the women watched with the Marines and the naval officers, six hangman’s nooses became a makeshift gallows atop the stout branches of an ancient gumbo-limbo tree. 

After the campfires were a flicker and casting dark shadows, the captive pirates struggled against their bonds. With the full moon as a witness and watching from above, the naval commander’s judgment began to cry into the night.

“By the order of the power invested in me by the U.S. Navy,” the naval officer declared, “for crimes of piracy, kidnapping, and murder, I hereby order you all . . . hung by the neck until you are dead. May God have mercy on your everlasting souls.”

“A word in your ear, my Lord,” The eldest of the Key Marco pirates warned as he stared down the much younger commander. “Afore you be hanging us, there is something you all should know. My bullyboys and me have had a parley. We be takin an oath and a conjuring to come back to this island long after we be dead and gone. We’ll gladly go as prisoners; and you’ll be free of our curse, but if you hang us here on this foul old tree, all six of us—sure as the moon rises—will come back to haunt you and yours forever.

Although the young naval commander shivered with gooseflesh, as did the women and most of the marines, the nooses were soon affixed and tight on the captured pirates of San Marco. Before they were all dead and hanging together on the island—that is now Key Marco—a shadow crossed the moon and an owl began hooting an inquiry. 

The moon that rose that night was the moon of All Hallows Eve, and to this day, when the October moon rises over Key Marco, the lights of a pirate campfire can sometimes be seen dancing around the old hanging tree…even if there is no fire.

Rumors persist that the hanging tree and the pirates of Key Marco did exist, along with a pirate’s mark carved into the largest gumbo-limbo tree on the highest ground on Captain Horr’s island.

Happy Halloween, Collier County!

Tom Williams is a Marco Islander and the author of two books: Lost and Found and Surrounded by Thunder—The Story of Darrell Loan and the Rocket Men. Both books are available on Kindle and Nook.