Florida’s coastline has long been a magnet for treasure hunters, history buffs, and, let’s be honest, anyone who’s ever daydreamed about stumbling upon Pieces of Eight while digging in the sand. Central to these tales is the story of the 1715 Spanish Treasure Fleet, also known as the Plate Fleet. This fleet’s misadventures off Florida’s coast have left a legacy of sunken riches and countless stories. To this day, treasure hunters and metal detectorists alike search for lost gold and jewelry, and from time to time, they find it.
The Golden Age Of Piracy
The Golden Age of Piracy wasn’t just a convenient title cooked up by history buffs—it was a real period, spanning roughly from 1650 to 1730. It was when the pirate profession boomed, much like tech startups in the early 2000s, except there were cutlasses and rum instead of apps. With cannons and swords. This era stretched across the Caribbean, the southeastern coast of North America (yes, including Florida), West Africa, and the Indian Ocean. If there was sea trade, pirates were casing the joint.
Most of the action centered in the Caribbean and the Atlantic coastlines. Spanish treasure fleets were regular targets. So were British, French, and Dutch merchant ships. The waters between the Bahamas, Cuba, Hispaniola, and the Florida Keys might as well have had “Pirates Welcome” signs floating in them. Nassau in the Bahamas even became a kind of pirate republic, complete with elected captains and loose rules—think of it as a floating Vegas with sabers.
The pirates themselves weren’t all former navy men turned rogue, though plenty were. Edward Teach (Blackbeard), Henry Jennings, Calico Jack Rackham, Anne Bonny, Mary Read, and Bartholomew Roberts were just a few of the better-documented characters. These weren’t just drunk sailors with eye patches; many ran disciplined (if illegal) operations, complete with their own pirate codes, forms of democracy, and, occasionally, terrifying fashion choices.
Privateers: Pirates For Hire
Now, let’s talk privateers. They were basically pirates with a business license. Governments would issue something called a letter of marque, which gave ship captains permission to attack and plunder enemy ships during wartime. If you were a privateer, you were technically doing it for your country. If you were a pirate, you were doing it for yourself. But the line between the two was about as thin as a strand of seaweed. Many privateers continued their business well after the war ended, without bothering to hand in their resignation letters—thus becoming pirates in practice, if not at first in intent.
As for why the whole thing fizzled out by the 1730s—several reasons. First, the major naval powers (Britain, Spain, France) got tired of losing ships, cargo, and colonial control to scruffy freelancers. They ramped up their anti-pirate campaigns, sent warships to hot zones like the Bahamas and the Carolinas, and began offering pardons to pirates who would retire early.
Spoiler: many took the deal. Those who didn’t, like Blackbeard or Charles Vane, usually ended up very dead. In the case of Blackbeard, he lost his head in battle off of the coast of North Carolina:
“Maynard and Teach themselves two begun the fight with their swords, Maynard making a thrust, the point of his sword against Teach’s cartridge box, and bended it to the hilt. Teach broke the guard of it, and wounded Maynard’s fingers but did not disable him, whereupon he jumped back and threw away his sword and fired his pistol, which wounded Teach. Demelt struck in between them with his sword and cut Teach’s face pretty much; . . . one of Maynard’s men being a [Scottish] highlander engaged Teach with his broad sword, who gave Teach a cut on the neck, Teach saying, well done lad, the highlander replied, if it be not well done, I’ll do it better, [and] with that he gave him a second stroke, which cut off his head, laying it flat on his shoulder.”
The Boston News-Letter
As if dying in battle wasn’t ignominious enough, Blackbeard’s head was placed on a pole overlooking the southern end of the Chesapeake Bay for several years as a deterrent to any current or future pirates.
Secondly, peace broke out in Europe for a while. Fewer wars meant fewer privateers, which meant fewer people sliding into piracy as a post-war career move. Third, colonial governments tightened up their defenses and cracked down on pirate-friendly ports. Nassau was taken back. Pirate havens turned into naval outposts. The fun was over.
By the time the 1740s rolled around, piracy had largely moved elsewhere—or gone underground. The so-called “Golden Age” had ended, but its stories, scandals, and shipwrecks left a mark, especially in places like Florida where the coastline still whispers about hidden gold and ghost ships.
The Spanish Treasure Fleet
The Spanish Treasure Fleet of 1715—also known as the 1715 Plate Fleet—met one of the most disastrous ends in maritime history, especially if you’re the kind of person who likes your gold dry and above sea level.
In the summer of 1715, Spain was finally catching up on its treasure shipments. War had delayed earlier convoys, so this fleet wasn’t just carrying one year’s worth of loot—it was hauling several years’ backlog of New World riches. Think gold coins, silver ingots, emeralds, pearls, Chinese porcelain—basically a floating Brinks truck times eleven.
Wikimedia Commons
The fleet left Havana, Cuba, on July 24 under the command of General Don Juan Esteban de Ubilla. It was made up of twelve ships, eleven of which were Spanish, and one French tag-along, Le Grifón, which had better instincts than the rest of the convoy. Or at least, better luck.
Just a week after setting sail, on July 31, the fleet sailed straight into a hurricane off the east coast of Florida. It was the meteorological equivalent of a sucker punch. The storm destroyed eleven of the twelve ships, slamming them against reefs and scattering debris and treasure along 80 miles of coastline near present-day Vero Beach, Fort Pierce, and Sebastian Inlet.
Roughly 1,000 sailors died in the wrecks. Survivors established makeshift camps ashore near present-day Sebastian and tried to salvage what they could. The Spanish launched official recovery operations almost immediately, but word of the wrecks—and more importantly, the treasure—spread fast.
Enter The Pirates
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That’s when pirates like Henry Jennings entered the scene. Jennings and his men raided the Spanish salvage operations, stealing tens of thousands of pounds worth of recovered treasure. This piracy kickstarted a whole new chapter in Florida’s criminal history and led to the unofficial naming of that stretch of land: the Treasure Coast.
Treasure Coast salvage really took off in the 1960s thanks to Kip Wagner, a retired contractor who teamed up with former NASA engineer Kip Kelso. They started the Real Eight Company and used homemade equipment to locate and retrieve hundreds of thousands of dollars in treasure. Their finds included coins, silver bars, navigational instruments, and jewelry. Without them, Florida might still be one giant stretch of “maybe.”
Blackbeard’s Florida Keys Hideaway
Blackbeard, whose real name was Edward Teach—or Thatch, depending on which historian you ask—didn’t exactly keep a low profile. Known for his theatrical appearance and equally dramatic tactics, he operated all over the Caribbean and the southeastern U.S., including the Florida Keys. While his stomping grounds were more famously the Carolinas, he treated the Keys like his Airbnb when the heat got too real up north.
He often used the Keys for strategic reasons. Their maze of shallow passages, hidden coves, and coral reefs made for perfect hideouts and ambush points. Blackbeard didn’t need a GPS; he had instinct, a fast ship, and a knack for knowing where treasure-laden Spanish vessels liked to pass. Historians believe he occasionally anchored in the Keys to refit and restock, especially after tangling with Royal Navy ships or rival pirates.
The Florida Keys also played host to some of Blackbeard’s more entrepreneurial side gigs. He allegedly collaborated with other pirates like Charles Vane and Benjamin Hornigold to seize sloops coming through the Straits of Florida. These weren’t just any boats—these were Spanish, British, or colonial ships heavy with cargo and light on firepower. For Blackbeard, it was less piracy and more hostile logistics management.
There’s even mention that Black Caesar, a pirate of African descent who had his own hideout in the Keys, joined Blackbeard’s crew aboard the Queen Anne’s Revenge. This partnership extended the Captain’s influence in the region. When Blackbeard eventually met his end in 1718 in North Carolina, it marked the end of an era. But his brief escapades in Florida added to the Keys’ growing reputation as a pirate playground.
So, if you’re ever kayaking around the mangroves in the Lower Keys and hear what sounds like cannon fire or a man shouting in a vaguely British accent about rum, don’t panic. It’s probably just your imagination—or history echoing a little louder than usual.
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