Sea Monsters: The Mermaid Song

One Friday morn when we set sail,
And our ship not far from land,
We there did espy a fair pretty maid,
With a comb and glass in her hand, her hand, her hand,
With a comb and glass in her hand.

And the stormy winds did blow,
And we jolly sailormen were up, up aloft,
And the lubbers lying down below, below, below,
And the landlubbers lying down below.

Then up spake the cabin boy of our gallant ship,
And a well-spoken boy was he,
I'va a father and mother in fair Portsmouth town,
And this night they will weep for me, for me, for me,
And this night they will weep for me.

Then up spake the captain of our gallant ship,
And a right good captain was he,
I have married a wife in fair Plymouth town,
And tonight she a widow will be, will be, will be,
And tonight she a widow will be.

Then up spake the cook of our gallant ship,
And a dirty old sinner was he,
I don't care a damn for the pots and the pans!
They may go to the bottom of the sea, the sea, the sea,
They may go to the bottom of the sea!

Then three times round went our gallant ship,
And three times round went she,
And she sank to the bottom of the sea, the sea, the sea,
And she sank to the bottom of the sea.

And the raging seas did roar,
And the stormy winds did blow,
And we jolly sailormen were up, up aloft,
And the lubbers lying down below, below, below,
And the landlubbers lying below.

This old sea song, whose origin remains in question, seems to imply from its title that sighting the mermaid at the beginning of the voyage is what doomed the song's ship. As any good seaman knows, this is surely a ruse. Leaving port on Friday was doubtless what actually did her in...

Header: Mermaids by George W. Maynard via American Gallery

Sailor Mouth Saturday: Wear

Today's word comes to SMS via a suggestion from my good mate and long time member of the Brethren, Blue Lou Logan (whose blog you really should be following). Wear came to his mind while reading a Booty post of two Friday's gone; the one about the sailing ship in the hair. The word, at this point in the evolution of sailing etymology, is sometimes said to be synonymous with veer. But that may be both an over and an understatement.

According to Webster's there are a staggering twenty-two definitions for the word wear - twenty-three if one counts wear and tear, which figures into the use of the word at sea. None of them address that use otherwise, however. Wear in all its forms seems to come from the Middle English weren which itself derived from the Anglo-Saxon werian: to wear as in to carry or have on the body or person.

At sea, a man may wear his slops and hat, but wearing is something the ship herself does. To wear - or wear round - the vessel is to put her head away from the wind in an effort to bring her around to another course. This maneuver is the opposite of tacking wherein the ship's head it brought up to the wind.

Admiral Smyth, in The Sailor's Word Book, brings the point home more specifically:

In veering or wearing, especially when strong seas render [tacking] dangerous, unseamanlike, or impossible, the head of the vessel is put away to the wind, and turned round 20 points of the compass instead of 12 and, without strain or danger, is brought to the wind on the opposite tack. Many deep-thinking seamen, and Lords St. Vincent, Exmouth, and Sir E. Owen, issued orders to wear instead of tacking, when not inconvenient, deeming the accidents and wear and tear of tacking, detrimental to the sails, spars, and rigging.

Readers of the Aubrey/Maturin series by the dear Patrick O'Brian will recall that Lucky Jack Aubrey was fond of the wear rather than the tack "when not inconvenient."

As Admiral Smyth notes, wear and tear is also a seaman's term indicating the deleterious effects of decay and stress on all of a ship from keel to cloud scrapers during the course of a cruise.

Wear - or veer - can also be used in relation to tension, particularly on a ship;s rope and cable. To wear a buoy is to let out line to which a buoy has been attached, slackening it as it goes. This is used to retrieve a ship's boat or an unfortunate mate who has gone overboard. The wearing cable is that one which is slackened during unmooring and to wear away the cable is to let is go slack and run out.

To wear and hall is a maneuver meant to concentrate the force of a number of men hauling on a rope. The cable is pulled taut and then allowed to slack three times before giving it a serious heave. One can imagine a repetitive shanty being sung to make sure the timing of that last pull was perfect. The wind can also be said to wear - or again veer - and haul; generally speaking she wears aft and hauls forward.

In common parlance, then, the word wear came to mean not only the maneuver but also to pay out, to turn, or to change. A man may wear his opinion, or he may wear of a prize.

Finally weir is a very ancient English word for any form of seaweed, where mermaids and fishes play.

Happy Saturday, Brethren, and a thankee to Lou for the timely suggestion.

Header: Barquentine Mercator wearing to starboard; picture c 2007 via Wikipedia

Sea Monsters: A Mermaid off Devon 1812

The head [of the mermaid], from the crown to the chin, forms rather a long oval, and the face seems to resemble that of the seal, though, at the same time, it is far more agreeable, possessing a peculiar softness… The upper and back part of the head appeared to be furnished with something like hair, and the fore part of the body with something like down, between a very like fawn and a very pale pink colour, which at a distance had the appearance of flesh, and may have given rise to the idea, that the body of the mermaid is, externally, like that of the human being… From the waist it gradually tapered so as to form a tail, which had the appearance of being covered with strong, broad polished scales, which occasionally reflected the rays of the sun in a very beautiful manner... ~ Jean Toupin writing about his experience on a sailing cruise off Devon, England in August of 1812


Header: Surprising Catch by Gil Elvgren c 1952

Booty: A Mermaid Anatomy Lesson

She had a voice of silver and lips of coral red; She climbed the dolphin-striker and she kissed the figure-head ~ Crosbie Garstin


The above quote refers to the type of fantasy mermaid that sailors have exchanged stories about probably as long as they have put boats in the water. A completely different, and far more clinical, view of these much storied merfolk is offered by modern artist Walmor Correa whose mermaid illustration appears at the header.

Correa, who is a native of Brazil, became interested in art through science. He developed a fascination with anatomical and wildlife drawings and, after finding he had a rich talent with pencil and pen, developed a style all his own. His work is a surprising combination of the kind of studies found in the classic Grey’s Anatomy and the timeless renderings of San Domingue Creole John James Audubon. Correa focuses on such things as odd combinations of species – birdlike rodents, for instance – and crypto-zoological studies. He has even done anatomical pieces based on Marvel Comics characters. He is a prolific artist who has been producing beautifully detailed works of both quirky and disturbing fantasy for over a decade.

Two of my favorite pieces by Correa focus on mythical beasts of the sea. The first is, of course, the delicately detailed mermaid pictured above. The most surprising points of the seemingly post-mortem study, to me at least, are her human lungs and the detail on the lower left showing how she would carry a child in her womb.

The second is of a Brazilian creature known as an Igpupiara or Ipupiara. According to MythBeasts, this is a seal-like mercreature that was first spotted off Brazil in the 16th century. This type of merfolk is without the scales of a mermaid and has webbed fingers. As Correa presents it, Igpupiara’s internal organs differ considerably from the mermaid’s; even the detail of its mouth and glottis on the right are unfamiliar.

You can see more of Walmor Correa’s intriguing if often unsettling work here as well as at his official website. Pleasant dreams…

History: Bayou Hoodoo And Maroon Songs

Last Thursday we talked about seafaring and piratical Saints, those bastions of old Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy that so pissed off the original Protestants. We also talked about similar holy people in the Islamic world. The "Old World Saints" if you will.

In the New World, however, sailors in general and pirates and privateers in particular came into contact with a far more varied realm of religious thought. Many towns didn't have churches, or if they did they were shy a priest, rabbi or minister. Prayer outside of established Spanish colonies came to be more of a personal experience. And aboard ship or in some lonesome cay or bayou where goods could be dropped off and your vessel could be hauled up for a careening, the locals - if there were any - might introduce a seaman to a whole new religion.

It should come as no surprise that pirates, who were generally a mixed bag of outlaws in the first place, gravitated to the "exotic" religions being practiced in secret on plantations, in runaway camps and at sea. These were the roots of what we know today as Voudon (Haiti), Voodoo/Hoodoo (Southern U.S.), Candomble (Cuba), Santeria (Brazil), and many others throughout the Americas. Like that favorite pirate stew salmagundi, they are a heady mix of African animism, Native American spiritualism and Catholic ritual and imagery.

I say Catholic not because Protestants didn't own slaves. But these religions tended to thrive in places where Master followed the Roman religion. Catholics rarely paid attention to the religious feelings of local Natives or slaves. If the heathens went to church now and then, good enough. On the other hand, Protestants felt a moral obligation to convert the godless and keep them away from their soul-withering Devil worship. Lest we forget, Tituba the preacher's slave was the first witch named at the Salem trials.

Out of this melting pot bubbled a slew of appropriate spirits for seamen to devote themselves to and many did so with gusto. In Voudon, the lwa (or loa which roughly translates to spirit) of the seas were a married pair, Agwe and La Sirene (shown above on a hand-sequined prayer flag or drapeau). Agwe, who was frequently represented by the Catholic Saint Ulrich, was a sailor and Admiral. He was a favorite of most Haitian seamen and one legendary privateer at the very least - Dominique Youx of Baratarian fame - was devoted to Met Agwe. La Sirene the mermaid, sometimes shown as Stella Maris or Saint Martha, was invoked to prevent drowning and, along with her husband, for safe passage.

In Santeria, Yemaya was the queen of the seas. She was represented as the Virgin Mary and her statue was often kept aboard even the smallest fishing vessels for protection. Conversely, the married pair Oya and Shango were favorites of the bloodiest brigands. Their anger was thought to manifest itself in lightning storms and the St. Elmo's fire we discussed last week was believed to be their way of ensuring pirates that their ship would find a fat prize. Some legends say that Francois L'Olonnais invoked the pair as did Black Caesar who was one of Edward Teach's lieutenants. They are frequently prayed to in their Catholic guises of St. Barbara and St. James.
In New Orleans, where what Americans now call voodoo came with Haitian refugees and intermingled with the local hoodoo to become something similar to and yet different from Haitian Voudon, Baron Samedi reigned supreme. One of the three major Ghede Barons (as shown above in a painting by Voodoomama) that ruled the land of the Dead, Baron Samedi has become the official lwa of the Crescent City. Stories are told that Marie Leveau, the famous Voodoo Queen of New Orleans, introduced Jean Laffite to the Baron. Laffite, who is himself a folk hero in the bayous, became so devoted to the lwa that their personalities intertwined. Like Baron Samedi, Laffite became sophisticated, charming, amusing, uncanny and wildly successful. It wasn't until he lost the Baron's favor that Jean Laffite was finally overcome. It certainly fits the tale that Laffite, who angered the Lord of the Cemetery, has no known final resting place.

Of course the stories go on and on, multiplying in the warm, tropical breezes and humid cypress swamps. But we'll stop here for now. The legendary heroes of freebooting around the world probably each had their own God or Saint. Who they all were, we'll never know. But some of the folktales will always fascinate, and make us wonder.

Sea Monsters: "Looking Earnestly On The Men"

Most people don't think of mermaids as monsters, per ce. In fact, mermaids have morphed in popular culture from uncommunicative, blond haired harbingers of storms at sea to red haired moppets who want only to walk and talk just like humans. (Who remembers that The Little Mermaid died in Hans Christian Anderson's story? Me too!)

Seafaring lore is full of stories of merfolk, though. Up until the Enlightenment, merpeople were taken as fact and there were actually two classifications in Ancient and Medieval science: the one with the human torso and the tail like a dolphin and another that looked entirely human but was seen too far away from shore to be a person out for a swim. Both were considered relatively benign except if hooked or caught in a net. Then there was their singing. The mermaid's song called up storms, and ships would hurry to safe harbor if one of their company claimed to hear one or more of the female merpeople singing.

Merfolk, as reported by sailors in particular, seem to be curious about humans although there is never any mention of spoken communication between the species. They would swim to boats and stare up at the men on board as if they couldn't quite figure out what the hell had invaded their territory. An account from Henry Hudson's log kept during his second search for the Northwest Passage is almost ubiquitous:

This morning, one of our company looking overboard saw a Mermaid, and calling up some of the company to see her, one more came up, and by that time she was come close to the ship's side, looking earnestly on the men.

The mermaid, claimed to have been seen clearly by able seaman Robert Raynar and Thomas Hilles in the forenoon watch, was described as the usual: human in appearance "from the navel upward" with a tail "like a porpoise". It should be noted that there is no reason to believe either or both sailors were drunk, the first grog ration not being served out until dinner, which would be had after noon. As John Michael Greer says in his 2001 book Monsters: An Investigator's Guide to Magical Beings:

If Hilles and Rayner had reported any other kind of marine life, it's worth noting, their report would be accepted as valid evidence by modern scholars without a second thought.

Compellingly put. But what about the old story of seals, manatees or dugongs being mistaken for mermaids? I suppose that a lubber by land might mistake a curious seal or manatee for a woman with a tail... I suppose. Experienced sailors though, unless they were stupid hallucinating drunk, would certainly know the difference. Then, too, there is the reality that the documentation of mermaid sightings comes overwhelmingly from the North Atlantic. Only seals and whales populate those cold waters.

Am I saying merfolk are real? Not at all, but it's something to ponder. The ocean still has her secrets. And that's what makes it fun!

History: "...A Woman Uncovering Her Body"

The old canard (which by the way means "duck" in French, so I'm always particularly tickled by its usage in English - as always, words don't have to make sense to be fun!) is that sailors despise a woman aboard ship. We've certainly seen that women went to sea long before modern navies got over their squeamishness and put women solidly among many a crew, but how each individual mate on each individual ship felt (or feels) about it is open to speculation. The story is women brought trouble, caused jealousies and infighting and could lead to the very worst possible outcomes. Patrick O'Brian uses this premise in more than one of his Aubrey/Maturin novels to great success. "The Far Side of the World" in particular features a love triangle between the gunner, his nubile wife and an older midshipman that has the most tragic of consequences.

Interestingly, the superstition included a clause that stated a naked woman aboard ship brought good luck and protection to the barky. Hmm. Sounds like sailors thinking wishfully, doesn't it? Well, maybe, but...

In 77 AD Pliny the Elder wrote in his voluminous "Natural History" that "...out at sea, a storm may be lulled by a woman uncovering her body..." How handy is that? One has to wonder if Roman ships kept a woman below to climb up on deck and reveal her charms when the weather turned awkward. I know more than one of you is liking that idea. But no, they didn't do it that way as a rule. Instead they invoked the female force of protection at sea less literally, and many still do today.

The Goddess of the Double Axe worshipped at Knossos in ancient Crete with her breasts bare was not only the Great Mother in that culture but the protector of ships at sea. The Egyptian Isis (Au Set in the ancient language) was considered a universal protector of ships and shipping. When her worship spread across the Mediterranean, Roman, Greek and Carthaginian ships were routinely named for her and small amulets with her name were worn by seamen. The Norse goddess Frigg, wife of Odin, was called upon by all who went to sea for safety and good hunting.

To this day, Catholic sailors have a special affinity for the Virgin Mary. Fishing villages in southern Europe and South and Central America almost uniformly feature a church dedicated to Mary, many of which have small chapels or altars set aside for sea goers and their families. Stella Maris - The Star of the Sea - is Mary's incarnation as the queen of the oceans and in Haitian Voudon her counterpart is La Siren, the mermaid who will grant safety on the water or entice people to a watery grave.

Ships were routinely named Mary, Maria, Marie or any combination that included the Virgin's name. Columbus famously had his Santa Maria and the Spanish Armada that had such bad luck against Elizabeth of England's sea dogs contained at least ten ships with Maria in their name. Pirates and privateers were no exception, and in the early 1800s the Gulf of Mexico was jam packed with ships named Santa Maria, Maria Corazone and Estrella de Mar. In fact, Mary's name even includes the Latin word for sea.

Finally, the rage for female figureheads with one or both breasts bared may stem from the idea of the female body calming the waves. Before the 17th century, figureheads tended to be mythical or known animals. Lions and rams were popular, but so were dragons and griffins. As the Reformation marched across Europe, though, the attachment to the Virgin for protection at sea waned, particularly in northern Europe and North America. It doesn't seem like much of a coincidence that by the 18th century ships - even those with names that weren't feminine - had female figureheads. Though the form of invocation had changed, our superstitious mates were loath to give up their goddess.

Aside from all that, figureheads were and still are beautiful pieces of the woodworker's art. Many port cities have mariners' museums and a trip to one of the larger ones will probably bring you face to face with some of these delightfully fanciful figures. Check them out if you have a chance, Brethren. What is more inspiring than standing next to history?