Booty: A Toast!

To our ships, our choice and the bloody Spanish! ~ a toast attributed to Henry Morgan prior to setting out for Panama

Toasting prior to drinking in the 17th and 18th century was almost viral, particularly in the English speaking New World. French and Dutch visitors to English colonies complain incessantly about their host's habit of wishing good health to one and all. The really boorish part began when opinions were toasted and those already aglow with grog would assert the opposite until walking sticks, loggerheads or cutlasses came out and a beat down ensued. Some historians assert that liberty finally reigned in America at least in part due to this form of debate. "No taxation without representation", for instance, was a famous New England toast by the late 1760's.

Things were only different at sea in the sense that one could not get up and leave the tippling room, thus removing one's person from the argument. Your ship was your snuggery, and you were stuck with that annoying guy who insisted on toasting the Governor that hanged your uncle. Some Captains came up with parameters for toasting as early as the 1610s; no politics or religion allowed, etc. I doubt that stuck very well aboard a pirate, however.

The Royal Navy, though, was nothing if not orderly and by Nelson's time there were rules for toasting observed aboard all of His Majesty's ships and most privateers. The daily list goes like this:

Monday: our ships at sea
Tuesday: our men
Wednesday: ourselves (for who else will look after us?)
Thursday: a bloody war or a sickly season
Friday: a willing foe and sea room
Saturday: wives and sweethearts (may they never meet)
Sunday: absent friends

When the U.S. Navy got rolling in 1794 she kept that roster with only one change. Being more sanguine, the U.S. sailors toasted free trade and sailors' rights on Thursday. Huzzah!

Happy Friday, Brethren. If I may, a toast to last Wednesday and Triple P's 300th post:
I'm off to call Hell; I neglected to make a reservation!

History: Archimedes And His Death Ray

I love Mythbusters on the Discovery Channel. The only show I like more on D is Dirty Jobs. Seriously, Mike Rowe is the funniest guy this side of Eddie Izzard. But that's not what I'm here to talk about.

In this episode of Mythbusters, Jamie, Adam and a bunch of folks from MIT proved, to my satisfaction at least, that the old story of Greek philosopher/scientist Archimedes setting Roman ships on fire with a "death ray" made of parabolic mirrors just could not have happened. It became painfully obvious in the course of the show that the wall of mirrors spoken of in Medieval manuscripts would not have set fire to moving triremes; in fact it barely made a ship standing still smolder. All the same, there was no hint of what - if anything - the Greeks might have used instead. Now, Italian scientists think they know what Archimedes used to blow up the Romans during the siege of Syracuse circa 214 BCE.

This article, featured on MSN.com's Live Science, details the work of Cesare Rossi of the University of Naples. Rossi, a mechanical engineer, has determined that steam cannons firing hollow, clay balls filled with Greek fire were the probable weapons invented by Archimedes. The cannons could easily be made of wood (another fact proven by the Mythbusters) and a small amount of water (the article notes a tenth of a cup) could produce enough steam to send the gruesome projectiles toward the Roman fleet.

Unfortunately, just what Greek fire was is beyond the comprehension of modern science, which I personally find pretty cool. All the same, it was used to great success in military operations including naval battles and, as the article points out, was a favorite weapon of the Byzantine Empire. There's no reason to imagine that someone as smart as Archimedes would have overlooked it's potential in dealing with an invading flotilla.

Rossi and two military historians with the mellifluous names Flavio and Ferruccio Russo plan to attempt a recreation of Archimedes' steam cannons in the near future. This sounds like darn good times to me. Please film the whole process, gentlemen. What fun to see ancient cannons at work; though where you all will get the Greek fire is beyond me.

Finally, as the article notes, all of Archimedes' ingenuity was for naught. The Romans took Syracuse in 212 BCE and Archimedes was himself put to the sword. Another intellect lost to war. But those cannons still sound spectacular.

Ships: Gone But Not Forgotten

Continental Congress Ship Ranger was a ship rigged, three masted sloop of war of 308 tons. She was laid down in early 1777 at the Langdon Shipyard in New Hampshire. Very similar to sister sloops of war Providence and Boston, Ranger would probably have slipped through the cracks of history had it not been for her daring and controversial first captain: John Paul Jones.

Jones signed on to the Continental Navy as a lieutenant in 1775 after escaping punishment for killing a crewman while he was a captain in the British merchant marine. He had by then changed his name, adding Jones to his natal John Paul, and his capability and experience were very much welcomed in the infant navy of the Revolution. In 1777, Jones was promoted to commander and boarded Ranger. He took her to France where he captured his first English prizes, two merchants off Nantes.

Ranger was 116 feet in length on her gun deck and 34 feet in her beam with a draft of 13 1/2 inches. She carried 18 6 pound guns and a compliment of 140 men. She was perfectly fitted to an occupation of privateering being light, speedy and easy to maneuver.

Jones continued his European cruise into 1778, taking prizes or burning British ships as he went. He tried to burn a flotilla in Whitehaven harbor but the mission failed. He then attempted to kidnap the Earl of Selkirk from his home on St. Mary's Island. The idea was to hold Selkirk and exchange him for American prisoners being held near Plymouth but the Earl was away. Jones' men did take the family silver but, after buying it from his crew, Jones returned the silver to Countess Selkirk in a famously chivalrous gesture.

Almost immediately after this incident, Ranger met and engaged HMS Drake off Belfast Lough. (The picture of that action above is taken from Ranger's website.) The two ships were well matched in size and armament but Ranger's maneuverability and Jones' handling of her won the day. After an hour long battle at close range, Drake's rigging was literally torn apart and her captain was dead. She struck to Ranger and Jones limped her into the French port of Brest where she and her crew were exchanged for the 200 Americans at Plymouth.

Jones stayed in France to become Captain of the Bonhomme Richard and Lieutenant Thomas Simpson took command of Ranger. She sailed back to America with Boston and Providence where she arrived in October of 1778. She was back at sea by February of 1779 and involved in actions that resulted in the capture of 18 enemy ships over the course of that year. Using lovely Tybee Island as a base, Ranger, Providence and Boston assisted in the defence of Charleston.

When the city fell, however, so did Ranger. On May 11, 1780 she, along with her old companions Providence and Boston, was captured by the British. She did short duty as HMS Halifax but was sold out of the service at the end of the Revolution. CS Ranger ended her days, most unfortunately, as an inglorious British merchant working the India trade.

Gone she may be but never forgotten; USS Ranger is a favorite name for line of battle ships in the U.S. Navy. We still have not yet begun to fight.

Seafaring Sunday: Rockets Red Glare

In September, 1814, a 35 year old lawyer named Fancis Scott Key was sent aboard HMS Tonnant, at anchor in Chesapeake Bay outside of Baltimore, Maryland. Key's mission was to negotiate the release of American prisoners held by the British during the War of 1812. Unfortunately for Key, the British were about to attack the city. On September 13th, he was "detained" by his hosts and forced to watch the battle from the deck of HMS Surprise. As we now know, he saw the fifteen stars and fifteen stripes waving over Fort McHenry when the sun rose on the 14th. He wrote his poem The Defence of Fort McHenry then and there and, in 1931, it was adopted as the official anthem of the U.S.A.

O! say can you see by the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming,
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there;
O! say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

In answer to your question, Mr. Key: hell yes! Happy Birthday to the U.S. and happy Sunday to all.

Picture: U.S. ensign aboard USS Texas.

Sailor Mouth Saturday: Ensign

Today, at least in general parlance, English speakers say the word "ensign" in reference to a rank in the military. This is not incorrect in any way. In the army, an ensign is a junior ranking military officer. Originally, these guys were infantry men and it is from among the ensigns that a man was designated to carry the colors. The seagoing use of the word may be the reason for that.

Originally, ensign was spelled and pronounce ancient and it was simply a ship's flag. Before nations were terribly identity conscious, the ancient was essentially a signal flag. A jolly roger, for instance, could honestly be called an ancient.

All that changed with the primacy of the British Royal Navy. Some time in the late 17th or early 18th century an ancient or ensign came to mean the flag, usually of considerable size, flown at the stern of a commissioned ship to indicate her nationality. These flags, prior to mass production in mills which began in the first quarter of the 19th century, were made by hand and terribly expensive. Flying them was a far less frequent affair than modern cinema would like us to believe. There were only certain times one could technically run up their ensign, and they usually involved engaging an enemy.

Ensigns, in larger navies such as the Royal and French and later the U.S., could also be different colored flags used to designate squadrons of a fleet. A good example in Nelson's Royal Navy would be the blue, white and red squadrons, each with their own Admirals, Rear-Admirals and so on. Nelson, for instance, was a Rear-Admiral of the blue squadron or, as it would have been expressed then, Rear-Admiral of the Blue.

So there you are, Brethren. Fly your ensign with pride. I'll see you tomorrow for Seafaring Sunday.

Booty: Embarassed By History

Let us imagine, on the Friday of Independence Day weekend here in my country, that something quite horrific happened in Boston Harbor a few months ago. Let us also imagine that the something in question was caused by the combined errors of a British multi-million dollar company and the U.S. Federal Government. For the final twist to our fiction, imagine the Boston Board of Tourism putting out a poster with the famous picture above faithfully reproduced upon it. The caption superimposed thereon reading:

This Isn't The First Time Boston Has Survived The British

Would anyone, I wonder, even bat an eye? Would Americans themselves have called it offensive and demanded that Boston Tourism pull their heads out of their collective ass and pull the add campaign as well? Or would there be hearty chuckles about tea parties and freedom and "What would John Adams have said?"

My personal guess is the latter, because the U.S. loves her Revolution dearly and will gleefully wipe Britain's face with it even coming up on two hundred and fifty years later.

Now, change the picture, switch to the War of 1812 and drive on down to New Orleans:
NOLA tourism pulled this add due to extreme pressure not from Britain, but from the U.S. in her many permutations. For some reason I cannot understand, my country would just as soon forget our second War for Independence as learn from it and remember those who fought and died. The Battle of New Orleans in particular gets short changed due - I personally believe - in large part to the cultural mixed bag of men and women who stood on the earthworks at Rodriguez Canal and preserved the infant U.S. My ancestors included.

Would the campaign have fared better if the picture had been of FEMA trailers and the caption had read:

This Isn't The First Time New Orleans Has Survived The Federal Government

Either one, after all, would be perfectly accurate.

The Boston Massacre via Boston Tourism Guide; New Orleans Poster via Blog of New Orleans

Home Ports: The City Of Brotherly Love

When we are asked to think of freebooting ports, most imagine tropical breezes, palm trees, green water and white sand. It's doubtful that anyone in a general mix of ten people would have William Penn's charter city pop first and foremost into their minds. Too bad, really. There's a reason Philadelphia has been called by some historians "the New Orleans of the north", and it wasn't just her many drinking establishments (more, during the late 18th and early 19th century, than any city in New England) that spawned that moniker.

The land that now occupies the sprawling city of Philly was once occupied by the great Delaware Nation. In the 1620s Cornelius May arrived from Holland and built a fort on the bay of Swanendale. This place became a magnet for Nordic European settlers and by 1640 the area was burgeoning with Dutch, German and Swedish immigrants.

The English, who firmly believed that New England was no New Holland, started making inroads into the area as early as 1642 but it wasn't until 1682, when William Penn arrived with his charter, that the place became a holding of Britain. Given his charter to settle the New World as payment of a debt owed to Charles II of England, Penn was a devout Quaker with a vision. He imagined a Utopian city with broad streets, public parks, and neat housing with gardens and orchards on the private lands. He originally referred to it as a "City of Neighborhoods" but eventually settled on the hybrid Greek name Philadelphia.

From the beginning, Philadelphia's large port was a magnet for trade. People and goods came in on ships and the same cargo went out. In the early days from around 1700 until the 1720s, trade with the West Indies boomed. Rum, indigo, sugar and, slaves sailed in on tall ships from every friendly nation. Queen Anne's war in the 1710s halted much of this trade and the economic depression that followed made the city realize that independent action was needed. Small docks and boatyards sprang up. Freebooting, at first disguised as fishing or even whaling, began in earnest and the pirates in question smuggled rum first of all.

The beauty of Philadelphia as a smuggling port was it's complete lack of organization. The town fathers, too busy with civic duties to trouble with what went on over the water, did not create a central governing body for ships and goods going in and out of the port. Docks and warehouses were privately owned, an ideal situation for piracy. Well to do citizens formed "guilds" which would issue patently illegal "commissions" for freebooters who would then share profits with the investors. It was great good times until that pesky Revolution got in the way.

But Philadelphia and her people were resourceful and when the Continental Congress began handing out letters of marque in their own back yard, many of the former freebooters jumped at the chance. Because of the blockades imposed by the British, and the physical situation of her port, Philadelphia never became the privateering magnet that places like Boston and Baltimore developed into. Her port continued to grow, however, and it was from Philadelphia that Commodore David Porter sailed in 1821 to meet his Mosquito Fleet in the Florida Keys and stamp out Caribbean and Gulf piracy once and for all.

During the Civil War, Philadelphia's industrial complex and shipping capabilities contributed a great deal to the Union cause. Her now regulated dockyards shipped out men, ammunition, provision and in particular uniforms. Her newly established U.S. Naval Yard turned out sturdy ships. She was home to privateers with legal Union commissions as well as Naval heroes such as David Farragut and his brother David Dixon Porter.

Into the 20th century, Philadelphia continued to be a port of trade and a supplier of ships. The U.S. Naval Yard on Hog Island built warships for both World Wars, as did some of the privately owned yards close by. Unfortunately, her old docks and warehouses were gone by this time, but she is still an active and capable port city to this day.

Philadelphia's sailing history is often lost in a tourist's hurry to take in Independence Hall, Betsy Ross' House, Ben Franklin and George Washington memorabilia and cemeteries chock full of founding fathers. But believe me, it's worth a look at the port, the docks and yes, the cemeteries. Much of America's seafaring history still resides in Philadelphia. And some of her heroes do too. Stop by Woodland Cemetery while you're there and give my best to Stephen Decatur and David Porter. Separately though; they didn't like each other very much. So much for brotherly love.