Sailor Mouth Saturday: Steer

Most of us are familiar with today's word. We steer our cars, our bicycles, our skateboards, our lives; and steer at sea has similar meaning. Not surprisingly perhaps, it has different ones as well.

Steering, according to the oft-quoted Admiral Smyth, comes from the Anglo-Saxon word steoran. To quote the Admiral once again:

The perfection of steering consists in a vigilant attention to the motion of the ship's head, so as to check every deviation from the line of her course in the first instant of its commencement, and in applying as little of the power of the helm as possible, for the action of the rudder checks a ship's speed.

Thus a skilled helmsman is capable of keeping a ship at her optimal speed while staying on her optimal course. A helmsman might also be called a steersman for this very reason. As an aside, the word for helmsman in French is timonier, from the French word for helm: timon. Thus in the Cinque Ports era and somewhat beyond, the word timoneer might be used for the steersman.

To steer large is to allow her to go free or to steer her loosely. To steer her small is the opposite; as the Admiral puts it "to steer well and within small compass, not dragging the tiller over from side to side." To steer her course is to go with a fair wind, allowing it to move the ship along on her charted course. Steerage way indicates the ship has enough room to use her helm effectively for steering.

An old, and the Admiral notes incorrect, term for studding sails is steering-sails.

Steerage, that fateful term so familiar to many an American whose ancestors came over in it, originally meant the act of steering. Steerage, when one spoke of the decks of a fighting ship, often referred to where the mechanisms of the helm worked their way to the tiller. Thus, the deck below the quarter and immediately before the bulkhead of the great cabin was steerage. Sometimes, the Admiral's cabin on the middle deck of a three-decker was known by this name. When passenger ships came into vogue in the late 19th century, steerage acquired its less-than-savory reputation as the lowest deck before the bilge where the least of the passengers were crammed together like the rats among them. It is only one such as Jame Cameron, in his high fantasy film Titanic, who would have the temerity to portray this steerage as the most delightful and carefree deck aboard a liner.

And finally, on a similar note, there is the word steeving, which applies to the painting above. In this now mostly archaic form of rigging, the bowsprit's angle was some 70 or 80 degrees above the horizon. This made it a proper mast upon which a sail could be rigged as shown.

And with that, I wish you a happy Saturday once again and all steerage way upon your cruises, Brethren.

Header: HMS Surprise by Randal Wilson via NAVART

History: Why Turn Pirate?

Yesterday marked the two hundredth anniversary of the beginning of the War of 1812.  On June 18, 1812, the U.S. declared war on Britain specifically to protect "free trade and sailors' rights."  The issue was Royal Navy harassment of both U.S. merchant ships and naval vessels as well.  The famous Chesapeake/Leopard affair of 1809 saw James Barron's USS Chesapeake fired on and boarded by HMS Leopard.  In the fray, some American sailors were "pressed" into Royal Navy service after being erroneously identified as British citizens and deserters.  These kind of incidents continued to happen until the outcry from the common sailors and their families was enough to cause Congress to make the difficult decision to go to war once again with the mighty British Empire.

The issue of ill treatment aboard Royal Navy and British merchant vessels was a long standing one and it was arguably one of the primary causes for the rise in piracy that led to the early 18th century "Golden Age" of same.  What happened aboard ship, though technically governed by Admiralty Law, was almost entirely hinged on how sane, rational and humane an individual captain and his officers might be.  Knowing that ultimate power corrupts ultimately, one can easily imagine how bad things could become afloat if the governor of your little wooden world was a sadist.

All it took was for an officer or captain to decide they had it in for a man and things could turn ugly.  As Gaile Selinger, pirate historian, notes, history is full of stories of men being permanently crippled or dying due to seemingly unfounded harsh treatment aboard ship.

Men could be chained below decks and held indefinitely, sometimes with very little or no food and water.  Sweating was a popular punishment as well, with various ways devised to work a man quite literally to death.  Men might be forced to climb up and down the rigging, hour upon hour, until the simple fell to their death.  Hugh Pigot, the famously cruel captain of HMS Hermione, would effect this punishment and, once the man dropped over of exhaustion, have him tossed into the sea dead or alive.  On other occasions men were forced to run around the deck to the same end.  Pirates notoriously adopted this form of torture, adding the pricking with sharp objects shown in the engraving above.

Boys were sometimes made to sit at the main masthead as punishment for an infraction, sometimes as simple as misspelling a word in a letter home.  They might be left up there for days; if they fell asleep and tumbled to the deck, so be it.  Men were also similarly tortured by being hung from the top.  Battered against the hardwood of the mast and exposed to the elements, death would often result.

The general malevolence of Royal Navy officers toward common seamen can be summed up in the writings of one of their own, Nathan Uring, who called sailors "... unthinking, ungovernable Monsters... when there is no power nor laws to restrain them."  Even writers of nautical fiction who hold the Royal Navy dear had to concede that trouble could arise at least now and then.  Patrick O'Brian has Jack Aubrey's usual coxswain, Barrett Bonden, aboard another ship at one point in the Aubrey/Maturin series.  When Bonden requests a transfer to HMS Surprise, he is given the ridiculous punishment of 500 lashes for his trouble.  Needless to say, Captain Aubrey takes immediate action.  Unfortunately, most sailors weren't so lucky.

Given all this and more, it seems a simple thing to imagine why a man would turn pirate.  Better to take your chances on your own, and not have as much worry about torture, denied pay or lack of shares in a prize.  At least you knew what you were getting into: a short life, but a merry one indeed.

Header: Pirates "sweating" a prisoner, 19th c engraving via Photographers Direct

Movies: Jack Aubrey Commands

Over at The Dear Surprise, Monday saw The Dear Knows posting a thesis on leadership theory entitled “Mastering Leadership Reflexes: A Case Study of Captain Aubrey”. Of course, all it takes is the last two words of that title to get any O’Brian fan going. Needless to say I read the whole thing. Twice.


The paper is fascinating as a stand-alone evaluation of Russell West’s 2004 piece “A Reflex Model of Leadership Development” published in the Journal of Religious Leadership. It layers the groundwork of West’s theory with the command skills of the fictional character John Aubrey, RN as portrayed, not in O’Brian’s fiction, but in the movie Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World.

Before I go any further, I feel compelled to point out that the co-authors of the thesis are all members of evangelical Christian churches. Though it is not my habit to discuss my personal feelings on religion here at Triple P, I must say first and foremost that this was a stumbling block for me in evaluating the material. I could not, in all fairness, get past the thought that the examples and information put forth would be used to manipulate people into a devotion to a business model that wears the vestments of spirituality. This is purely an honest, upfront admission on my part so that anyone reading my analysis will know that I come to the material with a bias.

Well, more than one bias if I’m honest. The authors rely entirely on Jack Aubrey the character as portrayed in the Peter Weir film. There is no reference to O’Brian and certainly no reference to the historical accuracy which was so important to that author. I won’t go through the piece line-by-line as that would be a crazy insult to the Brethren, but allow me to point out a few issues which jumped out at me.

A specific juxtaposition is made by the authors under the heading of “The Ethical Consideration Reflex.” Here they point to Aubrey’s ability to “… make right choices in ethically muddled situations…” One is the scene where in able seaman Worley is lost over the side of Surprise during a storm. Part of a mast is torn away and it begins to drag the ship down, as the line in the movie says, “like a sea anchor.” Aubrey makes the decision to cut the mast’s rigging, freeing the ship but dooming Worley to death by drowning. The second is Aubrey’s decision to suspend the pursuit of Acheron in favor of making landfall so that his friend, Stephen Maturin, can be saved vis-à-vis removal of a bullet from his abdomen.

These “right choices” are perhaps not so black and white outside of the context of the movie – particularly in the second case. While saving the many over the one is an almost textbook military leadership choice, saving the personal friend over duty, ship and crew is quite another thing. This is not, one must be thankful to say, a choice that Aubrey was required to make in O’Brian’s series but it is a choice faced by military leaders throughout history. Would John Aubrey, however fictional he may be, have made the choice of friend over duty? We probably would like to think that the answer would be yes but, based on the historical record, it is more likely “maybe.”

Another glaring issue for me was the authors argument under “Collaborative Reflex”, wherein they assert that Aubrey “develops camaraderie with his executive team…” and “… creates an environment in which [the crew] work together using their individual strengths and abilities to accomplish a common goal.”

Indeed, and again on the face of it, Aubrey is a cheerful “friendly” leader, willing to allow men to do what they are best at without hovering while showing compassion in times of injury, illness or death. Unfortunately this is not as uncommon, historically speaking, as the authors might like to imagine.

Aside from the likes of captains such as Bligh and Pigot, who created hells afloat, most naval leaders were and are aware of the confinement of their situation. There truly is nowhere to go in the middle of the ocean and it is not only the leaders but the men who must trust in and encourage one another in order to ensure that everyone not only gets home safe, but successful as well. Making repairs at sea, changing approach rather than sticking to “orders”, promoting or disciplining individuals as necessary and so much more would have not only been required but expected.

The idea of camaraderie was a feature of Jack’s personality as penned by O’Brian. He was very much a captain who needed a particular friend like Stephen Maturin. In stark contrast, and to stay within the realm of fiction, C.S. Forester’s Horatio Hornblower is very much “the man alone.” He may consult and dine with his lieutenants, but in the final analysis he will decide the fate of his ship and her souls. I wonder what the authors of this piece might make of Hornblower as his leadership style in the BBC dramatizations of Forester’s works relates to West’s theory.

Of course there is so much more to consider but I may already have worn out my welcome. Click over and read the piece yourself. If you’re so inclined, let me know what you think. I’d particularly like to hear from you O’Brian scholars; you know who you are.

Header: Russell Crowe as Jack Aubrey in Master and Commander

Booty: For Sale: One Pirate Ship

If you’re like me, you have dreamed of owning, and in particular sailing, a fully-rigged, accurate-to-every-detail replica of your favorite pirate ship. Some may wish for Drake’s Golden Hinde, others might long for Black Bart Roberts’ Revenge, Sam Bellamy’s Whydah or Blackbeard’s Queen Anne’s Revenge. Or is a privateer more to your liking; John Paul Jones’ Bonhomme Richard, or a handsome frigate like the dear Surprise perhaps? For me the dream will always be Renato Beluche’s brig General Bolivar, the quintessential Gulf privateer.


Dreams like this are a wonderful way to pass a quiet moment but, for most of us at least, they will remain as formless as the ether. For those of you who are in all seriousness, though, there is a ship in the style of Henry Morgan’s Oxford currently available for sale.

As this listing at Maritime Sales online indicates, the ship is a 90 foot, Santa Maria style galleon complete with kitchen, bathrooms, electricity and a diesel engine. It is outfitted as our seafaring ancestors could never have imagined. Her commission is out of Honduras and according to the listing she can comfortably float 78 hands; pirates not included.

Clearly this is the ultimate fantasy. Her lines are unfortunately wide and her below decks look more like a summer camp cabin than a proper place to hang a cot. I’d hate to be in one of those beds in a high sea; in fact, I’m sure no one would be in them for long. But that’s not the point. This is like owning a floating bed and breakfast, and it can all be yours for the reduced price of $750,000 U.S.

Something to contemplate on this, the first of three Friday 13s in 2012.

Header: Pirate ship via maritimesales.com (click the link above for more pictures)

Books: Ship of Dreams

This post was actually supposed to appear yesterday, on O’Brian’s birthday proper, but due to extreme weather here in the sub-Arctic it is showing up a day late.


The provenance of December 12th was discussed in brief yesterday, with one of my favorite little scenes from the 20 plus series of books by Patrick O’Brian sometimes referred to as “The Aubreyad”. I find that title is a bit pretentious but, in all honesty, I don’t think O’Brian ne Russ would. He strikes me as the kind of guy that sort of thing would appeal to.

I racked my brain for a post that would fit the occasion and then the best idea of all fell into my lap as I was just about to give up and write about jib sails. Why not review, in brief, my very favorite book from the series which I have just recently finished rereading? Thus, I offer my take on Patrick O’Brian’s HMS Surprise; there will be spoilers.

HMS Surprise is the third book in the series and when it opens the key involvement in all of the books – the close personal friendship between Captain John “Jack” Aubrey and Doctor Stephen Maturin – is well established. One of the most attractive things about the Aubrey/Maturin series is these two gentlemen’s fraternal love for one another. Even when they are about to come to blows, we know without doubt that they still have each the other’s back. O’Brian makes you wish that you had a friend like Aubrey or Maturin, particularly in times in your life when you don’t.

Jack’s command, the sloop of war Lively, has been involved in the capture of a Spanish treasure fleet and the debate at the Admiralty is what to do about this. Spain is not yet a British enemy, and therefore the ships in question cannot properly be libelled as prizes. This means that the Admiralty and the government, not the crews involved in the action, stand to gain the most financially. We are privy to this discussion and to the unfortunate name dropping of the First Lord who indicates Stephen Maturin is a British spy during the course of the debate.

Given that the Napoleonic Wars are in full swing, this is a dangerous misstep on the part of the Admiralty lord, particularly since quite literally even as he speaks Maturin is on a covert mission in Southern France. When Jack and the crew of Lively put in to pick Stephen up, they are informed that he has been captured by the French and – to the seamen’s horror – is being tortured for information. There is not a moment to lose as Jack, Barret Bonden, Preserved Killick, Tom Pullings, William Babbington and a handful of others attack and kill the French in their dungeon, freeing Stephen from an intricate device whose application permanently – if only partially – impairs the use of his left hand.

Lively returns to London, where Stephen spends his recovery time teaching Jack’s coxswain Barret Bonden how to read. Jack, meanwhile, is in dire financial straights. To such a degree, in fact, that he is arrested and carted off to debtor’s prison. This is a catastrophic turn of events for his love life. The young woman he hopes to marry, Sophia “Sophie” Williams, has a shrew of a mother that will not allow her to wed unless her groom is “comfortable”. An indebted sailor is not at all to Mrs. Williams’ taste and Sophie is forced to start shopping about elsewhere. Very Austen-esque indeed.

Stephen, returned to good health, jumps to Jack’s aid with both feet. Through his association with the powerful Sir Joseph Banks, Stephen sees to it that some of the Spanish treasure finds its way into Jack’s pockets. This allows Aubrey to pay off at least a few debts, putting him back in the hunt for Sophie’s hand. Stephen’s behind the scenes maneuvering also wins Jack command of the titular frigate that will be his favorite ship throughout the series. Surprise is given a mission to transport a new ambassador via India. Before they leave, however, Stephen manages to arrange a secret meeting between Jack and Sophie at which they promise not to marry anyone but each other.

The voyage to the East Indies is arduous, with a long stint in the Equatorial doldrums in the Atlantic that finds many of the Surprises sick with scurvy. A quick stop in Brazil to replenish fresh food and water solves the problem, but more trouble is on the way. The ambassador, Arthur Stanhope, becomes debilitated due to seasickness. Upon arriving in India, things look up, but the unfortunate Mr. Stanhope will eventually die despite Stephen’s best efforts.

Surprise is in need of a refit and port becomes home for some weeks. While Jack and the crew are busy with their ship, Stephen wanders the local streets and markets, befriending a lower caste girl named Dil. He also, very unexpectedly, runs into his true heart’s desire, Sophie Williams’ cousin Diana Villieres. Unlike Sophie, Diana is a widow and is unfortunately free with her virtue – if she had any to begin with. She has been stringing Stephen along since Post Captain, even going so far as to have a brief sexual liaison with Jack. Not surprisingly she is in compromising circumstances in India, being “kept” by a wealthy merchant named Richard Canning. It should be noted that Sophie and Diana are the archetypes of the two kinds of women to be found in the series – and in O’Brian’s novels in general. Sophie represents the noble, but very frigid, wife who has every potential to become a shrew, while Diana is the manipulative sexual predator who happily eats men for breakfast.

When Maturin and Canning meet the two become enraged with one another over Diana, whom Stephen has asked to marry. After young Dil is killed in the streets over a set of silver bangles given to her by Stephen, the doctor falls into despair. He takes his rage out on, not Diana who will not commit to him, but Canning. A pistol duel is arranged and, though Stephen is shot in the ribs, he kills Canning outright. This only increases his guilt as he realizes that Diana now has no one to take care of her, Stephen being in dodgy financial circumstances himself.

Surprise, which has in the meantime driven off a squadron of French ships bent on capturing a flotilla of British East Indiamen loaded with specie, is now ready to sail and Stephen, his situation deteriorating, offers Diana conduct to England aboard her. Jack, who is leery of Diana with good cause and desperately worried for his good friend, will not allow it. Diana will have to book passage aboard an East Indiaman.

Stephen is violently ill with fever caused by the ball lodged in his chest and – as in the scene from the movie Master and Commander – operates on himself with great success once Surprise arrives at a little island in the Indian Ocean. It is here, while recovering, that Stephen finds and collects the tortoise he will christen testudo Aubriae in recognition of his friend. The poor old turtle is seasick the entire way back to England.

When Surprise reaches Madeira, where Jack and Stephen were to rendezvous with their ladies, there is nothing for our heroes but disappointment. Sophie has returned to England, although she leaves word for Jack that her promise of marriage is still firm. Stephen, on a much less cheerful note, finds that Diana has again chosen the life of mistress over wife. She has left Madeira for the United States with the shady if decidedly rich Henry Johnson.

The book, which has so many favorable things occur for Jack – particularly at sea – has a decidedly down ending. Though both Jack and Stephen are on the rise as far as their careers, their personal lives are in shambles. Once again O’Brian, in a not very subtle way, reminds us that women are bad news and the only happiness for any true sailor is at sea. All that said, the rich tapestry of people and places offered by HMS Surprise makes all the disappointment well worth the while. And then too there’s always the next book The Mauritius Command; what ever might be in store for us there?

Header: Current paperback cover of HMS Surprise with painting by Geoff Hunt