Sunday Sea Stories

Since my time is limited right now, but my curiosity continues at a pace, I'll try to update the Brethren on stories from history and around the web on Sunday afternoon. Nothing fancy of course, but hopefully a good read or two to start off your week.

First up, the awesome paintings above are from this article over at the UK Telegraph entitled "Historical Figures for the 21st Century." Of course there's Nelson as above, a little heavier due to his modern fate as a desk jockey but with a splendid prosthetic arm. Whatever would Emma say? Also in the mix are Henry VIII looking vaguely like Gerard Butler, his daughter good Queen Bess and a surprisingly hipster Will Shakespeare. Who knew?

Next, this little winner from NBC News. A women's group thought they were hiring an pirate expert to speak on the Golden Age. Instead they got a victim of modern piracy with a harrowing tale of survival. But, being a good sport, he did stay to judge the pirate costume contest after his lecture.

While not particularly related to seafaring per ce, this article from the NYT's continuing series on the Civil War should be of interest to anyone with a fascination for history in general and women's history in particular. Entitled "Rape and Justice in the Civil War", the author discusses the Leiber Laws and their application to Southern women attacked by Union troops; both free and slave.

On a modern note, USS Anchorage arrived on Tuesday in hers and my home city, Anchorage, Alaska, for her commissioning today.

Also of interest: On May 3, 1810, George Gordon Lord Byron along with his friend and marine lieutenant Ekenhead of HMS Salsette swam across the Dardanelles Strait.

Today, May 5, in 1828 the American Seaman's Friend Society of New York City was established. Their mission: to supply books via "floating libraries" to U.S. Navy and Merchant ships at sea. Also on this day in 1861 the U.S. Naval Academy moved from Annapolis, Maryland to Newport, Rhode Island for the duration of the Civil War.

And so I will leave you with a quote: The real difference between civilized and savage man consists in the knowledge of knots and rope work. ~ A. Hyatt Verrill

Seafaring Sunday: Close of the Quasi-War

February 3, 1801: The United States Congress officially ends the undeclared and entirely naval "Quasi-War" with France. The war encouraged America to rethink her position on embracing her own navy and made American privateering a staple which would continue though to the Civil War.

Header: U.S. Capitol building circa 1800 via Wikimedia

Booty: Documents Fit for a Pirate

So you've a pirate or privateer in the family (lucky you) and you're looking for just the right gift to put a smile on their face this holiday season. Clearly you enjoy seeing that golden tooth of theirs gleam. Well look no further, mates because Pirate Documents has absolutely everything you could want - and more.

Need an authentic letter of marque? They've got that. From the very early days of anti-piracy legislation in the 15th century to the Civil War, PD covers it all. An example of the handsome document purchased for me by the First Mate is featured above; it's probably very similar to the one acquired by my dear Uncle Renato for his schooner Spy.

Looking for ship's articles from the Golden Age of Piracy? You'll find that, too. Or how about maritime quotes? What says serious seafaring quite like having a quote from William Bligh hanging in your cabin?

But don't stop there. For the more quirky folks on your gift giving list you might consider a marriage license circa 1800, a vampire hunting commission, a pact with the devil from 1633 or - my new personal favorite, the Code Duello of 1777 which was generally recognized in Britain and the U.S. That's good stuff.

Click over and roam around Pirate Documents' wonderful site. I can personally vouchsafe the quality of the items they offer. Enjoy, and happy Friday!

Header: United States Letter of Marque c 1812 via Pirate Documents

History: The Naval Uniform

It may seem curious to some but it appears that the U.S. Navy, not her titanic mother the Royal Navy, was the first to standardize the dress of its able seamen. As early as the War of 1812, which occurred only a scant 36 years after independence was declared, U.S. Navy purchasing agents were ordering "cotton frocks" in standard blue and white nankeen, a type of cotton and wool blend. This at a times when the average sailor in European navies wore the clothes he climbed aboard ship wearing.

Over at the USSCM blog, Jack Tar offers an excellent example of the kind of naval uniform that became common after the Civil War. The little suit, which made it through a boiler explosion - as did young John T. Jefferson who was wearing it at the time - is curious not only for its survival but for its details. Sailors, who have always been handy with needle and thread, often embroidered their uniforms. Popular designs included natural items such as flower and vines (as on the front flap of Jefferson's trousers) as well as the almost obligatory stars. These were often placed on the shirt flap, which evolved into the familiar collar we know today.

Jack quotes Samuel Leech as an example. Leech was one of those much spoken of British deserters who served aboard USS Siren during the War of 1812:

I... adopted that peculiarity of dress practiced by American men-of-war's men, which consisted in wearing my shirt open at the neck, with the corners thrown back. On these corners a device was wrought, consisting of the stars of the American flag...

It is interesting to note that Leech considered this uniformity of gear a "peculiarity."

Out of these fledgling uniforms, certain myths have continued right down to our own time. The flap-front pant, which even the World War I recruit pictured above would have worn, had a different number of buttons depending on the era. Yet, a curious belief stems from the thirteen button pant. Per Peter H. Spectre:

According to the U.S. Navy, there is nothing to the rumor that the number of buttons (13) on enlisted men's flap-front trousers is in honor of the original 13 colonies. Rather, in the early 19th century there were 15 buttons, and 7 in the late 19th century; only when the flap front was enlarged - why? nobody seems to know - did the number of buttons become 13.

Another patently ludicrous myth is noted by Jack. People - and unfortunately some writers of both nautical fact and fiction - persist in the notion that the three rows of white piping on the modern navy dress is to memorialize the "three great victories" of Admiral Horatio Lord Nelson. The same people will tell you that the black neckerchief is also a remembrance of his death at the Battle of Trafalgar.

Why anyone would imagine that remembering Nelson - a man who would have happily battled America on wave had he survived to do so - would be such a priority for the U.S. Navy is beyond reasonable thought. The piping is simply an extension of that itch to decorate that sailors seem to come by naturally. And what is less likely to show dirt than a black neckerchief?

Header: World War I U.S. Navy recruiting poster by Josef Pierre Nuyttens via Wikimedia

Seafaring Sunday: Prince of Privateers

October 7, 1864: USS Wachusette captures the Confederate commerce raider CSS Florida in violation of neutrality laws off the coast of Bahia, Brazil. Florida, whose short two year career had seen her bring in 33 Union merchant ships as prizes, was known as the Prince of Privateers. While being brought in to Boston Harbor, she was "accidentally" sunk off Newport News, Virginia on November 28.

Header: CSS Florida via Valor Art & Framing

Women at Sea: Rebel Rose

On Monday, Elizabeth Kerri Mahon tweeted about the death of today's angel in the home turned intelligencer. Elizabeth's blog, Scandalous Women, deals with ladies just like Rose O'Neal Greenhow and is well worth checking into. The experience was serendipitous for me as I was just finishing Ann Blackman's excellent book on the same subject Wild Rose: Rose O'Neal Greenhow, Civil War Spy. Though the lady was no seaman, she did cross the Atlantic in the service of her beloved Confederacy and she died - much like Margaret Fuller had a decade before - in the arms of the briny deep.

Rose O'Neal was born in Port Tobacco, Maryland just after the War of 1812, probably in 1817. Her given name was Maria Rosetta and her mother, Eliza, became a widow the same year little Rose was born. It is possible that Rose was orphaned or that her mother simply could not keep the family in tact after the death of John O'Neal. Either way, Rose was sent to Washington D.C. to lodge with and probably work for an aunt who ran an upscale inn at the Old Capitol building.

The Old Capitol had been a temporary home for Congress after the British burned most of Washington down. It was spacious, well appointed, and apparently a hub for the glitterati of Washington even after Congress moved on to their new digs.Growing up, Rose would meet Dolley Madison, the charming widow of one of the United States' greatest presidents, James Madison. She became particularly enamored of John C. Calhoun, the secessionist from South Caroline who was once Andrew Jackson's Vice President.

Though Jackson once regretted not shooting Calhoun, Rose fell under the old man's spell. She caught every word that dripped from his lips and picked up a deep and abiding hatred for the politics of the north. Rose O'Neal helped nurse Calhoun on his deathbed in 1850 and this seemed to seal her resolve to see the south as an independent nation "free of Puritan tyranny".

In 1835 Rose, who had by then become known around town as "Wild Rose" (Blackman says more for her complexion than any questionable behavior) married Robert Greenhow. A minor player in D.C. politics, Greenhow shared his young bride's southern sympathies. He also, apparently, was an ardent lover; the Greenhows would produce eight children in total. Their last child, and Rose's namesake, was born in 1854. Shortly thereafter, Robert Greenhow died.

Now thoroughly convinced that secession was necessary, Greenhow manipulated anyone in power who would listen to her into thinking her way. Attractive, charming and accomplished, Wild Rose Greenhow made her home a center of gracious entertaining in Washington. More and more secessionists were welcome there and it should have come as no surprise to anyone that Wild Rose easily converted from sparkling hostess to "Rebel Rose" the Confederate spy.

When war was finally declared, it was Rose who had a hand in the South's first major victory. General Pierre Gustave Toutant Beauregard - the Little Creole - would later credit Rebel Rose with supplying him the information he needed for his decisive win at First Manassas in July of 1861.

Rose continued her covert activities in Washington but could not escape the prying eyes of none other than Alan Pinkerton. She was arrested for espionage and placed under house arrest. She complained bitterly to anyone who would listen, particularly when she was moved to the now squalid Old Capitol building which the Union had converted into a prison. Nontheless her espionage continued; her youngest daughter was allowed to stay with her and Mrs. Greenhow hung a Confederate flag from her cell window. Mary Chestnut, the famous diarist, wrote snidely that "Mrs. Greenhow is not as put upon as she would have the people of Washington believe."

Though the appearance of a trial was staged by the Union, Rose was considered more of a liability as a martyr. She was released and sent to Richmond with the stipulation that she never return to Washington. She emerged from the Old Capitol with her Confederate flag worn as a shawl and her daughter, Little Rose, by her side.

Lauded as a hero, Rose was approached by the Confederate government to act as an ambassador to Europe. She was supplied with various contacts on the continent and in Britain. Rose shipped out in September of 1864 and made good use of the passage writing a memoir of sorts. My Imprisonment and the First Year of Abolition Rule in Washington was published in Britain, where it became a bestseller.

Curiously, European states that were vehemently anti-slavery welcomed Rose with open arms. She met Queen Victoria and was received by Napoleon III and Empress Eugenie. When she packed up to return to the South aboard the Confederate merchant ship Condor, she apparently carried agreements of concord from both England and France. She also carried a large amount of gold in bar form. Though this is sometimes said to be her royalties from My Imprisonment... it was more likely covert funding for the Confederate cause from European governments.

Condor had a rough crossing that only got worse when she reached the coast of North Carolina. Spotted and chased by USS Niphon, Condor ran aground near Cape Fear. Alarmed at the prospect of being captured, Rose packed up her papers and her gold and demanded that Condor's captain send her ashore in one of the ship's boats. Unable to resist Rebel Rose, the captain sent her out into a raging storm in what probably amounted to no more than a dinghy. The boat was quickly swamped and overturned within sight of the beach. Weighed down by her gold, Wild Rose O'Neal Greenhow drown in the cold Atlantic Ocean.

Her body was recovered not long after the tragedy in October of 1864. An apocryphal story is told of a rebel soldier finding the body, taking the gold bars and heaving Rose back into the sea. When he learned whose body he had defiled, he returned the gold and hanged himself. Even so, it does not appear that the European gold was ever found.

Rose was buried with full military honors. Her tomb's inscription proclaims her as "a bearer of dispatches to the Confederate Government." As Michael Farquhar noted in his September, 2000 article on Rose, "Her death had the epic touch in which she herself would have glorified."

Header: Rose Greenhow via House Divided via Library of Congress

Ships: Yet More Mystery

Yesterday's post focused on a curious little ship that had been washed up on an Alabama beach. The ship, which actually has more the appearance of a ship's boat, was speculated about in the Yahoo! online article linked to.

Another supposition about the mystery boat has been put forward both by Yahoo! and by this article in The Portland Press Herald.

Evidently the wreck is well known to locals, particularly one Michael Bailey, as the schooner Rachel. Bailey, who is an historian for the Fort Morgan Society, first noticed the ship in 1979 after hurricane Frederick. From the article:

"I saw 20th century features and thought it could be from 1900s," he said. "I found an Army Corps of Engineers s shipwreck study that had a description of The Rachel and learned it was built in Mosspoint, Miss. at the De Angelo shipyard."

According to Bailey, Rachel was bound for Mobile from Cuba and she wrecked in 1923, during prohibition. He calls speculation that she might have been smuggling alcohol "not impossible" given the era and her course. If all these indications are indeed true, this would mean that the little ship that hurricane Isaac brought to light is more likely a rum runner than the Confederate ship Monticello.

The Portland Press piece also gives some hint as to why the ship has not been moved. Her location, which keeps her covered by water aside from after major storms, may be preserving her more thoroughly than any museum could. What it does not explain is why we are left with speculations over "20th century features" rather than actually dating the ship with the extensive tools available to modern archaeology.

Many thanks to eagle-eyed member of the Brethren Bob, who mentioned the second Yahoo! article in his comment yesterday.

Header: Schooner at Sunset by Charles Henry Gifford via American Gallery

Ships: A Mysterious Situation

The apparently burned-to-the-waterline hulk above is a strange artifact which hurricane Isaac brought to an Alabama beach. The mysteries surrounding this little piece of history are numerous, but one in particular seems to be the proverbial elephant in the room.

As noted in this article from Yahoo! online, the boat is thought to be the Monticello, a Confederate blockade runner that plied her trade in smuggled goods along the shores of Mobile Bay. Most probably, her demise came at the hands of Admiral David Farragut when he "damn the torpedoes!" -ed his way into the last stronghold of the Confederate Navy in 1864. The other likely end for her was being burned by her owners and abandoned in their effort to avoid prosecution by the Union invaders. A classic story that has seen many a ship or boat sacrificed to the needs of her crew.

On the other hand, as the article goes on to say, the ship may be another kind of more recent smuggler. That boat might be a rum runner from that disastrous era the U.S. now refers to as "prohibition." In this scenario the boat - nameless in this case - would have also been destroyed by those using her to smuggle hooch. Once again, to reduce their chances of being caught by the authorities.

These are the two most likely, and probably most colorful, possibilities for the origin of this relic. But, to my mind, they are not the most head-scratching. From the article:

This is actually the fourth time parts of the wreckage have become visible over the years, after it firs made an appearance following hurricane Camille in 1969. It reappeared in 2004 after hurricane Ivan and again in 2008 after hurricane Ike.

As a student of archaeology, I am hard pressed to imagine why this fascinating artifact of American history is left to quite literally rot and simply be speculated on by tourists and online journalists. Evidently, though, that is the only thing we can think of to do as far as this little time capsule is concerned. The article ends with a quote from the Meyer Vacation Rentals Facebook page:

This is the most visible it has been in recent years. Eventually the shifting sands will pull it back under the beach, where it will slumber until another storm is powerful enough to bring it back to the surface.

Brilliant!

Header: Monticello (perhaps) via Yahoo! online via Meyer Vacation Rentals on Facebook

Seafaring Sunday: An End of Long Strife

August 26, 1865: The Civil War ends with the U.S. Navy at its highest numbers to the day: 600 ships and 58,500 sailors.

Header: Battle of Mobile Bay by Xanthus R. Smith c 1890 via Wikimedia

Seafaring Sunday: "Damn the Torpedoes!"

August 5, 1864: Union Navy Rear Admiral David Farragut wins the Battle of Mobile Bay, closing down the last Confederate port on the Gulf Coast.  He famously tied himself into the rigging of his ship during the action to guide his fleet through Confederate torpedoes and uttered the memorable line “Damn the torpedoes!  Full speed (or go) ahead!”

Header: World War I U.S. Navy recruiting poster featuring Farragut at Mobile Bay from the author's collection

Sailor Mouth Saturday: Let

Let is a word heard aboard ship in conjunction with an order, more often than not.  But it is also the first three letters in one of our favorite terms here at Triple P: letter of marque.  More on that in a minute.

Let draw was the order to let the sails draw wind over the lee-side when tacking.  Let go and haul, a similar order, meant it was time to haul the head yards around by the braces to facilitate tacking.  This might also be verbalized as afore haul .  Let run was an order to cast a boat off and let fall to drop a sail in preparation for setting it. 

Let fly is sometimes used in nautical fiction and movies as an order to reveal a ship's true colors or, more commonly, to fire cannon.  This was in fact an order to quite literally let go of or drop a rope.  Let drive is a more period accurate order for firing the guns up until the late 19th century.

To let out a reef, sometimes to shake out a reef, is to untie the points to allow more sail to catch the wind.  Let pass is an order or, in some cases, simply a allowance for one ship to pass another.  This was usually an issue of hierarchy; a commodore's ship would pass a ship carrying only a captain, while a rear admiral's or admiral's flag would pass the commodore's ship.

Let go under foot was a maneuver specific to the dropping of a ship's anchor while she is still moving.  Admiral Smyth describes it in The Sailor's Word Book:

An anchor is often dropped under foot when calm prevails and the drift would be towards danger.  To drop an anchor under foot, is to let it go and veer a little of the riding cable when the coming home, or parting of the one by which she is riding, is feared. 

All navy ships kept and continue to keep what was known as a letter book.  This held copies of all letters and orders written by the captain for the duration of any given cruise.  This would document the captain's performance should any irregularities be found or reported upon returning to port.

A letter of marque, also appropriately referred to as a letter of reprisal or a letter of marque and reprisal is every pirate's fondest dream.  Issued by governments during war time, this document made legal the taking of enemy ships as prizes by any ship holding one.  According to what we might today refer to as international law governing the granting of letters of marque, no ship could hold more than one letter of marque at a time, and only ships from the enemy country state on the letter of marque could be legally taken.  These ships would need to be brought to the home port of the letter of marque ship to be libeled by a court of law.

In practice, of course, the gray area between which ships were legal prizes and where and how they had to be libeled became very broad indeed, particularly during the age of great revolutions.  Roughly from 1775 to 1825, and most noticeably in the Americas, who was a pirate and who was a legal privateer became more of an issue of government opinion than international law.  Because of this, most governments discontinued the practice of issuing letters of marque and reprisal by the mid-19th century.  The last great surge of privateering occurred during the American Civil War, largely because the Confederate States had no navy and needed to rely on private ship owners carrying Confederate letters of marque for such duties.

And that is a good place to let today's post go, so to say.  Happy Saturday, Brethren; swift chases and fat prizes may you always find.

Header: A particularly lovely Caribbean sunrise via our mates the Under the Black Flag team

History: In the Caribbean Sea

Mustered and inspected the crew. At 9 A.M., sent a boat on board of a Spanish schooner twenty days from Boston, bound to the port of San Domingo. Received some newspapers by her as late as to the 13th inst.


Soon afterwards another sail was discovered to leeward, beating up the coast. Ran down for her, and when within proper distance hoisted United States colors. The stranger responded with the same; whereupon, in accordance with our usual practice, we hoisted our own colors and fired a blank cartridge.

This hove her to, when we sent a boat on board of her. She proved to be the barque Parker Cook, of and from Boston. This was a very timely capture as we were running very short of provisions, and the prize was provision-laden. Got on board from her a quantity of pork, cheese, crackers &c.

~ Captain Raphael Semmes aboard the Confederate raider Alabama, November, 1863

Header: Alabama pursuing clipper ship Contest, Nov, 1863 by Tom Freeman via Delaware River Gallery

Ships: America's Flagship

NOLA Navy Week is approaching fast, and in a curious coincidence (or if I am less humble a case of great minds thinking alike), the inimitable Edward Branley came out with an excellent piece on USS Wasp yesterday. That just as I was preparing this post on another ship in the United States Navy’s early fleet: USS Constellation. Though it does not appear that Constellation will be among the 10 tall ships featured at the event beginning April 17th, she is certainly among the brightest lights in navy history.


Constellation was named not for any group of stars in the sky but for the 13 stars in the blue canton of the first U.S. flag. She was the first of the navy’s original six frigates to be launched, on March 27, 1794, and the first to be commissioned. She also was the first ship to see action in the first war participated in by the U.S. as a country, and the first to take a prize. A lot of firsts, and that said without hyperbole.

In construction and size, Constellation did not differ vastly from her five sister frigates. She was heavy hulled, made of the white oak that could only be found in North America and that so confounded the United States’ enemies at sea. Fans of the movie Master and Commander will remember the discussions about “Yankee built” Acheron, with Tom Pullings remarking “you have to wonder about her hull.” Such was the case with most of the frigates that came out of the shipyards on America’s Atlantic coast at the time.

Constellation was built in Baltimore, displaced 1,265 tons, was 41 feet at her beam and 164 feet in length. She carried a compliment of 340 men and 36 guns. She was a fast sailer too; the crew of the French ship La Vengeance, whom she defeated in a 5 hour firefight during the Quasi-War, nicknamed her “Yankee Racehorse.”

Thomas Truxtun, a leading light in the new navy, was Constellation’s first commander and he whipped her crew into shape immediately. Truxtun was a veteran of the Continental Navy and he held dear the Royal Navy traditions of honor, conduct, gunnery and – where necessary – discipline. He expected great things of himself, his crew and his ship, and all delivered.

Truxtun and Constellation won the first battle in the United States’ so called Quasi-War with France. The war began in 1798 and was almost exclusively engaged with issues of free trade on the high seas. On February 9, 1799, Constellation defeated and captured the frigate L’Insurgente, said to be the best sailer in the French navy. Coincidently, yesterday’s subject, brilliant naval leader David Porter, was aboard Constellation as a Midshipman at the time.

Constellation continued her successes, serving admirably in both Barbary Wars and the War of 1812. In 1840 she circumnavigated the globe, and became the first U.S. ship to enter ports in China. Here she helped to facilitate the tea trade that would see clipper ships following in her wake for decades to come.

Back home, time was beginning to tell. Constellation was now almost 60 years old and an overhaul was out of the question. She was broken up, but some of her timbers were used to build a sloop of war in 1854. Given the same name, this ship saw action not only in war but in humanitarian efforts as well.

In the 1859, Constellation was put on the West African station where she was tasked with intercepting slave ships, freeing the people therein and breaking up the African slave trade. The History Channel has an excellent documentary available on Constellation’s West African mission. After service as a Union vessel in the Civil War, she was sent to Ireland with humanitarian aid for those stricken by the famine. You can read more about that at the Naval History Blog.

Sloop of war Constellation was eventually used exclusively as a training ship and she is now permanently docked in Baltimore where she is a maritime museum. A subsequent aircraft carrier, port of call San Diego, was also named Constellation.

The true flag ship of the original U.S. Navy thus lives on, not only in memory but in service as well. As President Ronald Reagan told her crew in 1981: “Let friend and foe alike know that America has the muscle to back up its words, and ships like this and men like you are that muscle… you are America’s Flagship.”

Header: USS Constellation by Antoine Roux c 1805

People: A Buccaneer at Heart

The old saying about greatness can be applied to pirates, too. Some are born, some are made and some have the mantel thrust upon them. Today’s subject was neither alive during the Golden Age nor, in the end, much of a seaman. But his life bares all the earmarks of any raider, from Viking to buccaneer. And most of it was thrust upon him.


Lee Christmas was born at the end of an era in a place that was fading away. He came into the world in Livingston Parish, Louisiana in a plantation house on the Amite River, February 2, 1863. The world he was born into was doomed by changing attitudes and the rigors of war, and the Christmas family fell – had in fact already fallen – on hard times as Lee grew to manhood.

There does not seem to be anything of delusion in Lee’s approach to life, however. Far from mourning the wealth he might have inherited, Christmas as a young man went forth to find adventure, first on the water. He apprenticed with bargemen on the Mississippi and eventually graduated to operating a tug boat on Lake Pontchartrain. Never a strikingly handsome man, Christmas all the same was full of charm and a quirky sense of humor that either endeared him to his fellows or put them off, depending on the man. He was driven to succeed, and when the opportunity arose to get in on the ground floor with the Illinois Central Railroad, Lee jumped at the chance.

He became a brakeman and by the 1880s was instrumental in the building of railroad lines in Louisiana, Kentucky, Mississippi and Texas. He was a force in the booming railroad industry, and worked as an engineer aboard a train that ran regularly between Memphis and New Orleans, where he lived.

In 1891 everything changed in the worst possible way for Lee Christmas. Some sources, like Herman Deutsch in his book about Christmas, The Incredible Yanqui, claim that the hard-drinking Louisianan was hitting the sauce at the throttle. His employer, on the other hand, said Christmas had been on duty – and awake running his locomotive – for over two days straight. Either way, Lee fell asleep in his speeding train and hit another engine head-on.

When Christmas recovered from the awful accident he found he had been bared from returning to his job while the incident was “under investigation.” With no means of support and bills to pay, Christmas tramped around Texas and Louisiana doing odd jobs with his hands. At last, in 1894, he was called back by the railroad but just when he could see his life returning to normal his former employer threw him for another loop. The now-required company physical found Christmas to be color blind; the railroad would not rehire him.

Devastated to once again be without income, Christmas managed to hear about the new railroad systems in Central America. Banana plantations, most of which were connected in one way or another to the U.S. company then known as United Fruit, needed their produce transported to the coasts and supplies – including huge blocks of ice – brought back up the mountains. No one would turn away an experienced engineer for a little problem like color blindness. Christmas booked passage on a steamer out of New Orleans and arrived in Puerto Cortes, Honduras late in 1894.

Christmas settled into the routine of engineer fairly quickly. The tiny train on its rickety tracks was no where near the mighty engine he had once piloted, but the work was steady until a pivotal moment in Christmas’ life happened at a gorge known as the Laguna Trestle in the Honduran mountains. The date was April 14, 1897. Christmas’ train was flagged down by revolutionaries with guns who commandeered both engine and engineer. At first, it seems that Christmas had no intention of joining the revolutionaries but, when government forces arrived to do battle, Lee Christmas took the gun the men in his engine had given him and fought along side them. On that day, the man from the Amite River went from locomotive engineer to politician and warrior.

Christmas switched camps often; in 1899 he was working for the Honduran government but by1903 he was again on the side of rebel leader Manuel Bonilla. Christmas adopted a persona of careless ferocity; he continued to drink hard, made a name for himself in Honduran capital San Pedro Sula’s brothels and chewed glass.

When Bonilla tried to encroach into Nicaragua in 1907, Christmas found himself exiled to Guatemala. It was here that he met the United Fruit company’s Central American agent Samuel Zemurray, known – in some cases affectionately, in others sarcastically – as “El Amigo”. While the documentation is slim, it is generally assumed that Christmas was in some way involved with, and probably in the pay of, United Fruit and their bid to monopolize the banana plantations of the region.

From this point on, Christmas’ exploits, either with or without Bonilla, would be heavily armed with guns provided by Zemurray. The famous Battle of La Ceiba in January of 1911 saw Christmas battling Honduran government forces with the aid of U.S. Army Colt machine guns. He used the guns to support rebel infantry in such an innovative way that his tactics would be studied by European and American generals, and used to great success in World War I. Bonilla’s rebels won the day and he resumed control of the government. Christmas was a hero until 1913, when Bonilla’s death changed the political climate overnight. Christmas was again sent packing, this time to Nicaragua.

Lee dropped out of sight, but landed on his feet. For nearly eleven years he worked with Zemurray, manipulating governments and economies in Central America. Rumors swirled in the states and elsewhere that Christmas had become emperor of some banana republic or other or that he was fighting with Zapata in Mexico. One thing we know with certainty thanks to letters home to friends; he married a local girl, Ida Culotta, in Puerto Cortes in 1914.

Lee Christmas was not a healthy man, however. The ravages if a tough life and a tougher lifestyle took their toll. Sick with tuberculosis, Christmas returned home to New Orleans in the early 1920s. He died there on January 24, 1924. The memory of his fascinating life faded quickly as the 20th century pressed on, but his legacy remains in odd corners like this one. Lee Christmas’ life is the story of a man who, if born in the Great Age of Sail, would surely have given Morgan or Roberts a run for their money.

Header: Lee Christmas in cavalry fatigues courtesy of the Marion Samson Collection, University of Tennessee, Knoxville

Ships: Six Frigates

The United States Navy was reestablished by order of Congress in 1794. Since the Continental Navy had been largely a privateer operation, and the ships that she did have had been sold after the Revolutionary War, the fledgling navy had no ships of her own. Secretary of War Henry Knox proposed that six heavy frigates be built. They should be both strong of hull and fast sailors, something not often seen at the time. And they needed to be ready as quickly as possible given naval threats not only from England and France but from Barbary corsairs as well.


Joshua Humphreys was given the task of designing the ships. Although he is generally credited with their building as well, in fact five other ship builders had a hand in overseeing their execution along with Humphreys. As Ian W. Toll notes in his excellent book on the birth of the U.S. Navy Six Frigates, Knox had the foresight to suggest to President Washington that the building of each ship be completed at different dockyards on the Atlantic Coast. This would not only insure quicker build times but also pump money into local economies which were lagging after the war. Washington agreed immediately and construction was approved in April of 1794.

USS Chesapeake was built at Gosport, Virginia by Josiah Fox. Launched in August of 1799, she would achieve notoriety in the Chesapeake/Leopard Affair. HMS Leopard fired upon Chesapeake in 1807, ostensibly because Commodore James Baron refused to comply with a search request. Baron, his guns unready for a fight, struck almost immediately and would be vilified for his action – or inaction – for the rest of his life. Chesapeake, of 36 guns, would go on to be captured by HMS Shannon during the War of 1812. When she was broken up in 1820, some of her timbers were used to build Chesapeake Mill in Wickham, England.

USS Congress was built at Portsmouth, New Hampshire by James Hackett. Also a 36, Congress was launched at the same time as Chesapeake. She served on the Mediterranean Squadron and in the West and East Indies. She became a receiving ship in 1824 and was broken up ten years later.

USS Constellation was built at Baltimore, Maryland by David Stodder. She carried 36 guns and was launched in September of 1797. She famously captured the French man-of-war L’Insurgent during the Quasi-War, making her the first American built ship to win such a victory. She would go on to duty in the West Indies and on the African Station hunting slavers until she was broken up in 1853. Some of her timbers were used to build a second Constellation; she is now in dry dock and functions as a museum.

USS Constitution was built at Boston, Massachusetts by George Claghorn. Old Ironsides, as she became known, was a true 44 launched in October of 1797. Her greatest victories were achieved during the War of 1812 when she captured the British ships Guerriere, Java, Cyane and Levant. She was marked for breaking in 1830 but, saved by popular outcry, she is now the oldest commissioned vessel afloat.

USS President was built at New York, New York by Forman Cheeseman and launched in April of 1800. Of 44 guns, she served on the Mediterranean Squadron and in the War of 1812 when she was captured by HMS Tenedos after suffering severe damage from running aground. Her captain, Stephen Decatur, struck to the British but it was soon revealed that the Battle of New Orleans had been won by General Jackson the same day. The war was over. Though the British paroled Decatur and his men, they kept President as prize. She was broken up in 1817.

USS United States was built at Philadelphia, Pennsylvania by Joshua Humphreys. Launched in May of 1797 she also carried 44 guns. She captured HMS Macedonian in the War of 1812 and was commissioned into the Confederate States Navy during the Civil War. She was scuttled in 1862 but raised again after the war. Her repair was never properly finished and she was broken up in 1865.

Header: Battle Between USS United States and HMS Macedonian by Thomas Birch

Home Ports: Brooklyn Navy Yard

The old Navy Yard on Wallabout Bay has a unique and colorful history dating back to the original Dutch settlement of New Amsterdam. The story goes that Sarah Rapelje, perhaps the first European born in North America, came into the world here in a place the local Lenape natives called Rennegachonk. A few years later her relative, Walloon, bought a 300 acre parcel on the bay from the Lenape and called the area Waal Boght; Bay of Walloons. The name passed into English as Wallabout, and the area above it, even before then, became known as Brooklyn.


Ship building proper did not begin in the area until after the American Revolution. In 1781 John Jackson bought land from one of Rapelje’s descendants, Cornelius Remsen, and set up a shipyard on the marshy, narrow bay. Jackson’s first major commission came after the Irish rebellion in 1798, when the U.S. was again mounting a naval force to deal with the pirates of the Barbary Coast. USS Adams, a frigate of 28 guns, was built and launched that same year. She would remain in commission until her destruction during the War of 1812.

The government purchased the yard from the Jacksons in 1801 and the first Commandant, Jonathan Thorn, was appointed in 1806. Ship building was a major undertaking for the U.S. at the time as her navy was considerably short of vessels, particularly when compared to the might of sheer numbers mounted by the Royal Navy. The Navy Yard thrived although much of her work was piecemeal with parts sent to other ship builders for finishing ships. In fact, aside from the disappointment of the Fulton Steam Frigate that made only one short voyage in 1814, the yard did not turn out a fully constructed ship until 1820. USS Ohio was launched from the yard that year.

In 1830 Commodore Matthew C. Perry became attached to the Navy Yard; he would serve as Commandant from 1841 to 1843. The Commodore had a hand in encouraging both good health and education at the yard. He was instrumental in the building of the Naval Hospital in 1837 and he instituted the Naval Lyceum at the yard. This sort of evening extension college for sailors, officers and hands at the yard welcomed famous speakers of the day and turned out the Naval Magazine, first published in 1836. Frequent contributors included Perry and author James Fennimore Cooper.

Granite dry docks were added to the yard and by 1851 there were three such in service. The third was built using the first steam powered pile driver in the U.S. The yard was an active Union hub during the Civil War, turning out the ironclad USS Monitor. The Naval Laboratory at the yard also supplied the vast majority of medicines for the Union Navy.

The Naval Yard continued to thrive throughout the 19th and 20th centuries, turning out such famous ships as USS Maine (the “Remember the Maine!” of the Spanish-American War), USS Arizona, USS Missouri and the super carriers USS Saratoga and USS Constellation. It was not until 1966 that the yard officially closed. Her over 150 years of service made her one of the longest working Naval Yards in the country and the oldest continually running industrial operation in the State of New York.

The Brooklyn Naval Yard is now owned by New York City and operates as a thriving industrial park that hosts companies as varied as design firms, a medical lab and even a sugar manufacturer. But what of her long seafaring history; something like that should never be forgotten.

As noted in this article from the New York Times online, the City of New York agrees. On Friday – Veterans Day – the Brooklyn Navy Yard Center at Building 92 will open to the public. The museum has been billed, according to the article, “… as a bridge between the once heavily fortified naval hub and the surrounding neighborhoods that have seen generations pass without a glimpse behind the gates.” More than that, the museum will stand as a link between America’s seafaring past and future.

On display are such diverse items as the 22,500 pound anchor from the amphibious assault ship Austin, a model of USS Maine and a pipe recovered from the ill-fated USS Arizona, sunk during the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941. There are also exhibits focusing on the bay and Brooklyn itself. A copy of Walloon Rapelje’s 1637 purchase agreement with the Lenape is on display. The women who worked at the yard during World War II, who won the right to a man’s hourly wage of $1.14 have their own niche, too. There are also artifacts from the brothels and ale houses that serviced the yard in the early to mid-19th century, many of them located on Vinegar Hill. Though Daniella Romano, the center’s curator, notes in the article that the “entertainment area” of the Hill was “… the Barbary Coast of New York… Brothels, gambling houses and brawling” I think she may mean the “Port Royal of New York.” Barbary, though full of fierce corsairs, was not noted for its booze, brothels or gambling.

For a long and productive history, the Brooklyn Navy Yard is well remembered. So too are the ships she produced, the people who produced them and, certainly most of all, those who served aboard them.

Header: Circa 1851 engraving of the Brooklyn Naval Yard and Wallabout Bay from the Brooklyn Navy Yard website

Sailor Mouth Saturday: Waist

For those of us who pour over nautical fiction, words like waist and waisters come up a good deal. What they are referring to may not be so readily discernable. That said, I fully imagine that the Brethren have no trouble with them but educating a green hand is what we’re about around here, right mates?


The Sailor’s Word Book defines waist as:

That portion of the main deck of a ship of war, contained between the fore and main hatchways, or between the half-deck and galley.

While the right Honorable Admiral Smyth’s book generally deals with men-of-war, explaining the focus of that excerpt, most ships of one or more masts have what is referred to as a “waist”; that is, literally the middle of the ship or midships.

It probably goes without saying that the waist, like any other portion of a ship, comes with its own accoutrement, if you will allow. Thus there is the waist anchor, a spare stowed in the ship’s waist. Waist boards are the notches wherein a ship’s gangway can be secured. Waist cloths are the canvas that cover rolled up hammocks, particularly when preparing for battle. They are often painted to match the ship’s hull colors or chequering. The waist rail is the molding on a ship’s side. A waist tree, more commonly referred to as a rough tree, is an unfinished mast or spar stored in the waist. This is brought out, finished and set as a replacement when a mast is shattered, broken or lost.

And waisters? Well, much as their name implies, these are lubberly or elderly crewmen stationed in a ships waist where they could haul on ropes, swab decks and stay out of the way of able seamen at work. Though not as offensive as lubber, being called a waister is no compliment to a true seaman.

Happy Saturday, mates. I hoist a cup of grog to you one and all, and wish you fair winds and following seas until next we meet.

Header: An August Morning With Farragut by William Heyshand Overend c 1883 (working the great guns in the waist of future Admiral David Farragut’s flagship during his Civil War assault on Louisiana and yeah, that’s him out there on the rigging; he was his father’s son through and through)

Seafaring Sunday: Lights and Links

July 10, 1808: the first stone is laid for the Inchcape Light (or Bell Rock Light) at the treacherous entrance to the Firth of Forth in Scotland.

Around the web, other interesting points of note from this week in history include the beginning of the Jeannette Arctic Expedition at The Naval History Blog, the story of Union hero William Tillman from the Civil War at Almost Chosen People, and - also from NHB - the first prize taken by former U.S. merchant Delaware in the Quasi-War with France.  Enjoy!

Header: Inchcape Light via Wikipedia

History: Blockade Runner or Racketeer?

The area around the Island of Bermuda is full of shipwrecks, many of which can be enjoyed by divers visiting the Caribbean (for a short list of same, click here). One of the most famous is the British built Mary-Celestia. MC was a two paddlewheel steamer out of Bermuda who was chartered by the Confederacy to run blockades at ports like Charleston and Savannah. The ship brought in much needed ordinance as well as food and medicines. A recent discovery aboard her, however, may point to the carrying of contraband as well – with or without the knowledge of her officers.


This article from the Bermuda Sun online tells of a small case containing five bottle of wine found wedged up near Mary-Celestia’s bowsprit. As all of her official cargo was removed from the site years ago, this find is particularly curious. What was the wine doing in the bow, away from the cargo holds and the galley?

Some theorize that a warrant man – perhaps the bosun – stashed it away for his personal use. The fact that MC wrecked in 1864 points to another possibility, however. As the article notes, at that point in the war anything but arms and munitions would have been considered frivolous cargo for a blockade runner. But the price for such niceties would have been exorbitant in the beleaguered southern states of the era. Did someone of Mary-Celestia’s crew stow the wine with the plan to sell it at their destination, thus turning a tidy personal profit? As James Delgado, the director of the Maritime Heritage Program for U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Admin points out in the article: “People have always traded illicitly when there is a profit to be made.” The Laffite brothers could not have put it more eloquently.

The next step is to bring in experts to identify the wine itself, thus determining its value. Unlike the famous French champagne found in the Baltic, however, it does not appear that anyone will be sampling the vintage any time soon. When and if they do, I’ll post an update.

Header: Paddlewheel blockade runner Lady Davis, who was similar to Mary-Celestia

Seafaring Sunday: Alabama vs. Kearsarge

June 19, 1864: The Confederate privateer Alabama was sunk off Cherbourg, France during an engagement with USS Kearsarge.  The English yacht Deerhound rescued several of Alabama's crew including her captain, Raphael Semmes.

Header: Capt Raphael Semmes and his Lieutenant aboard Alabama via Naval History Center