Sailor Mouth Saturday: Make

According to Admiral Smyth in The Sailor's Word Book, you can't get much more seaworthy in the word department than make. The simple definition of "to make", as given by the Admiral, says it all:

Is variously applied in sea-language.

And even that is an understatement. Ships, for instance, can make headway - advance through the water - make lee-way - drift to leeward according to their course - make stern way - retreat - make sail - increase the number of sails for increased speed - and so on.

A ship in dirty weather, as she rocks and pitches and particularly if she leaks, is said to be making bad weather (as if she were responsible for what she faces). A leaky ship is also said to make water, as apposed to take on water which is done when replenishing casks of the fresh variety. A slender thread separates the two terms, but an author using one for the other can be the death knell of otherwise impressive nautical fiction.

Make comes in the form of orders. Make ready! Prepare for what is about to occur. Make a lane, there! A bosun's order indicating that, as the Admiral defines it:

... [the crew at muster] should separate, to facilitate the approach of any one whose name is called.

And the now familiar "Make it so" of "Star Trek" fame which, unfortunately, was too often used incorrectly by Captain Picard. The order was given specifically to confirm the time given to a commanding officer by the officer of the watch, be it sunset, sunrise or the all important noon when the ship's day officially began.

Make fast meant to fasten something and was generally used for securing rope or cable.

Makes was used when referring to something coming in: the tide makes, the ship makes, the officer makes, etc.

A making iron is a caulking tool for finishing a seam of caulk. Making off was a whaling term for cutting up the blubber of the animal so that it would fit down into the ship's hold.

To make the land is to finally catch sight of it; that "Land, ho!" moment so popular in movies. A ship can make free with the land as well, which indicates coming very close to the shore - at times a little too close. Needless to say, this terminology carried over to activities in port, where a sailor - like the men-of-war's men in the above illustration - could make free with the ladies.

Happy Saturday, Brethren; may Saint Olga, in her goodness, intercede for you when your ship makes weather.

Header: "Men of War bound for the Port of Pleasure" late 18th century illustration via Wikimedia

Booty: Get Kraken!

With these Holiday gift posts, I generally try to keep my recommendations to vendors and items that I am familiar with and/or have had contact with myself. I have not, however, recommended gifts handmade by a family member. There's a first time for everything.

Today's unusual and delightful trove of goodies comes from Brigit's Knits. This Etsy showcase is owned and operated by 15 year old entrepreneur Brigit, who also happens to be my daughter. Brigit offers a wide variety of sea creatures from the gorgeous (and completely safe to cuddle) jellyfish shown above to hermit crabs (no terrarium or feeding required) starfish and sea stars and, of course, the now infamous Kraken shown at the sidebar along with a host of others.

All of Brigit's creations are hand knit by her. They are all free of small attachments (buttons, pins, etc.) so they are perfect for very small people. Brigit has other outlets, local consignments - she is featured at Sweet Adeline's here in Anchorage - and bazaars so her creatures are circulating far and wide. Just ask Captain Swallow and the lovely QM Seika - they took their Kraken and octopus on a whirlwind tour of the Big Easy last spring. Good times.

Please pop over and browse Brigit's offerings. Shipping is free in the U.S. but she also offers international shipping at a charge. Every dime earned goes into her college fund, and that warms a pirate mother's heart as you can well imagine.

Also, feel free to pop over and "like" Brigit's Knits on Facebook.

Happy Friday, Brethren! I hope it's warm and sunny where you are and if not, well, there's always grog.

Header: A jellyfish handmade by Brigit of Brigit's Knits

Ships: Historical Turning Point?

Or simply fair practice? These are the questions those of us with an interest in marine history have to ask ourselves - and will no doubt speculate upon for years to come - as the case of the Spanish treasure ship Nuestra Senora de las Mercedes now comes to its inevitable conclusion.

La Nuestra, whose name means "Our Lady of the Mercies" in English, was sunk by the British off the coast of Portugal in the Battle of Cape Santa Maria on October 5, 1804. She lay below wave, without any serious attempts by the Spanish government to locate her, until 2007. In that year she was discovered, claimed and excavated by the marine recovery company Odyssey Marine Exploration.

Odyssey, who has worked with various governments in the past including the U.S. and Britain, has also been vilified by others. One Odyssey team was famously - and publicly - fired upon by the French navy. The entire event was captured on film for a piece on The Discovery Channel. Odyssey's most pivotal stand off with any government came when Spain claimed the excavation of La Nuestra to be an "expoliation" or illegal grab of the country's "historical artifacts." Spain filed a suit in U.S. court and a judge in Florida's Federal Court of Appeals ruled that all artifacts attached to La Nuestra officially belonged to Spain.

The enormous trove, which included gold and silver coins in the hundereds of thousands as well as jewelry, religious statuary and furnishings, was officially handed over to Spain by Odyssey in February of this year.

While, on the face of it, this seems only fair, the ruling of the Florida judge could effectively sound the death knell for exploration of the kind Odyssey is so very expert at. Why should Odyssey or any other company spend their own money amounting to millions of dollars to locate, identify, excavate, clean et cetera any ship and its cargo when the ultimate outcome will yeild them zero in the way of profit? We are none of us prepared to work that hard for "free." Risking life and limb to bring forth the world's maritime history should have some pay off, shouldn't it?

Meanwhile, imagining that government's like Spain's would be willing to partner with companies like Odyssey is most probably a pipe dream. Where, just exactly, would the money come from? There's a reason why Odyssey is out finding shipwrecks and the many governments who can claim them as artifacts are not.

It is far easier to pounce in a court filing after all the hard work is done. A judge in Florida has made it possible for any other country to do the same thing. Precedent, legally speaking, is precedent.

On a final note, this very brief article from ABC News makes it quite clear, without coming out and saying so, that Spanish authorities basically have no idea what they will do with their haul. At this point, some of the artifacts will be put on display. From there, it appears to be anyone's guess.

Header: Four Frigates Capturing Spanish Treasure Ships October 5, 1804 by Francis Sartorius c 1807 via Wikipedia

Women at Sea: Ferocious Saint

The life story of Olga of Kiev, who is now a Saint and "equal-to-the-apostles" in the Orthodox Church is about as far from what we imagine as "saintly" as one can get. Her ferocious treatment of the people who murdered her husband and her repeated grabs for land, wealth and slaves are at best unapettizing to the modern sensibility. But she was, beyond all that, a shrewd businesswoman, a capable leader and a woman - very much to her credit - who would protect her child and his entitlements at all costs.

Olga, or Helga in her people's native Norse, was born in the late 9th century to a tribe known as the Varyag. This was the early Russian word for Vikings and little Helga showed the heart of a Norsewoman from the very beginning. Married to Prince Igor of Kievan Rus at a young age, the alliance was intended to benefit both Helga's Viking father whose holdings appear to have been in modern-day Ukraine and the Kievan empire. Prince Igor's father, Prince Rurik, was just as much a warrior as Helga's Viking kinsmen; expanding his territory seems to have been his one occupation.

The absence of Prince Rurik left Igor and Helga, now Olga, in charge of the Kievan kingdom and they seem to have been well suited to the organization of a pivotal capital. In particular, both of the young monarchs were favored by the Kievan army making them virtually invulnerable to the oddly prevalent palace coupes of the day. It was a delightful 30 years of marriage and rule that produced a number of children. The name of only one has come down to us in the Primary Chronicle (which you can find, at least in part, online at the University of Washington website). This was Igor and Olga's son and heir, Svyatoslav.

Tragedy struck in 945 when Igor, now sole Prince of Kievan Rus, was out collecting tributes (essentially taxes in the form of coins, foodstuffs, textiles and slaves) among the Drevlyans. When he informed this conquered tribe that their taxes had gone up, the leaders of the group summarily executed their Prince.

Olga, now a middle-aged matron with a good bit of leadership experience and a large army behind her, hardly flinched when the rather forward Drevlyans showed up asking for her hand in marriage. The ambassadors sent to Kiev by the tribe wanted Olga to marry their Prince, Mal, and thereby take over the profitable Kievan holdings. A nod from Olga brought her elite guard down on the presumptuous Drevlyans who were corralled and buried alive in the Princess' back yard.

Thinking fast, Olga sent off a message to Prince Mal. She informed him that his ambassadors had insulted her. Not necessarily dismissing the marriage proposal out of hand, she asked that the Prince simply send his "best men" to discuss terms. Mal, clearly not one to understand tactics and/or blinded by greed, did as Princess Olga asked. When the Drevlyans arrived in Kiev, Olga graciously suggested that they cleanse themselves in her own personal bathhouse. This next wave of ambassadors accepted and, no doubt to their horror, were locked in tight. The bathhouse was then set on fire, immolating Prince Mal's "best men."

At this point the Princess, whose capacity for revenge and iron-willed intention to protect her son's birthright seem to have had no check, packed up a longboat and sailed off to the capital city of Drevlya. There she was welcomed by Prince Mal and she pretended that all had been arranged as far as their marriage. She also acted shocked that the Prince's ambassadors had not yet returned. Be that as it may, Olga insisted on hosting a feast for Mal and all his nobles. She had brought a Kievan wine in great vats that they simply must try. Try they did, to a point of falling-down drunkenness. And then Olga's faithful army descended on Mal and his Drevlyan nobles, killing some 1,000 of them.

Olga had something of Vlad the Impaler in her - or perhaps he had her in him; some historians say they were related by blood. She went out to the inhabitants of the largest Drevlyan city and told them that she did not fault them for the crime committed against her family. In fact, she would lower their tribute to the entire sum of one pigeon and one sparrow per family. Overjoyed, the Drevlyans happily complied, pulling sparrows and doves from the eaves of their wooden homes and the perches in their wooden pigeoners. When all the birds had been collected, Olga waited patiently until nightfall. Then she ordered her army to strap flaming tinder to each bird's feet and release them. As the birds returned to their nests, the city exploded in flames hotter than the sun. Olga took those who escaped the conflagration back to Kiev as slaves.

Continuing to rule Kievan Rus until the majority of her son, Olga seems to have kept her hand in politics even after Svyatoslav came to power some time in the 950s. Thereafter she travelled widely and, at some point, converted to Christianity. She traveled to Constantinople in 957 to be baptised and went on to Rome to request bishops be sent to Kiev to convert her people. Adalbert of Magdeburg responded to this call but left Kievan Rus disappointed, saying that trying to convert the Kievans was like trying to "teach a fox to read." His party was overtaken on his way back to Rome and all but three, including Bishop Adalbert who barely survived, were killed.

Nonetheless Olga continued her efforts to Christianize her people until her death around 970. Svyatoslav had been away conquering new lands when his beloved mother died and, despite his lack of adherence to Catholicism, he had Olga buried with a mass said by a second, apparently less taciturn, Roman bishop.

Saint Olga of Kiev, equal-to-the-apostles, was canonized in the Orthodox Church in 1547. It is no doubt due to her efforts to convert the people of her vast empire that she has been given so high an honor. Her actual deeds outside of the Church, however, speak of a ruthless but determined woman whose love for child and country could encourage epic ferocity. And to some degree, you have to admire that. Unless, of course, you're a Drevlyan...

Update: the outpouring of love for St. Olga has caused a few of us to form the Sisterhood of St. Olga Society. Please feel free to join us. Because it never hurts to have the ear of a Viking Princess.

Header: Saint Olga of Kiev icon via Pravoslavie dot ru

History: The Great Storm

No pen could describe it, nor tongue express it, nor thought conceive it unless by one in the extremity of it.

Thus wrote Daniel Defoe, who so brilliantly fictionalized the sufferings of castaway Alexander Selkirk, in his 1704 publication The Storm. In this book he was not so much fictionalizing as summarizing the havoc that occurred in the south of England when a week-long hurricane descended on the country November 24, 1703. The horrors of the storm were settled upon as God's wrath against England and, though largely forgotten today, the Great Storm was a seminal event for those who lived through it.

Trees, particularly the covetted oaks of the New Forest - which were used to a large degree in shipbuilding - were one of the many casualties of the relentless weather. It is estimated that well over 15,000 trees were literally uprooted by the storm. 4,000 were destroyed in the New Forest alone and writer John Evelyn claimed to have lost 2,000 on his holdings in Surrey.

The Eddystone Lighthouse, pictured above, was completely swept away. Six human lives were lost with it. Inland, more than 10,000 people and countless head of cattle and sheep drown or were killed by collapsing buildings.

Ships themselves were high on the list of things battered and lost as well. Returning to Plymouth and London from action in the War of the Spanish Succession, many Royal Navy ships were sunk including men-of-war such as HMS Northumberland. The loss of men was incredible; it is estimated that close to 9,000 sailors perished in the storm.

Merchant ships fared no better. As this post over at History Today points out, some managed to survive but through no fault of their fellow man. Apparently one ship that wrecked off the Goodwin Sands in Kent saw 200 of its men clinging to life on a nearby cliff. One Thomas Powell of Deal tried to organize a party of locals to rescue them, but most people were too interested in looting what remained of the ship than in saving the unfortunate seamen. Somehow, Powell managed to recruit enough manpower to get the sailors to safety.

London was hit particularly hard on Friday the 26th. The roof of Westminster Abbey, made of lead, was torn clean away. Queen Anne was forced to take shelter in the basement of St. James Palace while the Bishop of Wells and his wife were killed in their bed when their chimney collapse literally on them.

Defoe's family huddled together in the dark of midnight, listening to roofs and chimneys topple all around them. At one point, they thought to take refuge in their garden but were confronted by a hale of roofing tiles. They retreated back into their brick home, deciding to "trust in God's providence."

The storm at last calmed on December 2nd and Defoe picked his way through the streets of London. He would later write of seeing 700 ships piled up like cord wood at the Pool. What he saw so effected him that he put pen to paper and wrote The Storm, which was published the following July.

The Great Storm was the subject of much speculation for years to come. Why it had happened, and why it had been so terrible, was put down uniformly to the displeasure of God. Even the government agreed. To recognize the "crying sins" of the nation, Parliament declared January 19, 1704 a national day of fasting saying that the storm "loudly calls for the deepest and most solemn humiliation of our people."

Defoe had his own idea, though. The gale, which had of course originated at sea, was no doubt God's vengeance for the Royal Navy's poor showing against the Catholics of Spain and France. Rather a harsh indictment, one has to say.

Header: Eddystone Lighthouse as it appeared in 1703 from an engraving by Henry Roberts c 1761 via Wikipedia

Seafaring Sunday: Another Flag

December 2, 1775: The Continental Congress approved the design of a new flag to be used primarily by the navy. As illustrated above, it bore thirteen red and white stripes with a cross of St. George and a cross of St. Andrew in the canton. Though officially sanctioned by the new government, Continental Navy ships - following the lead of John Paul Jones - tended to prefer the first navy jack with its snake and "don't tread on me" logo to this "Grand Union" flag.

Header: The Grand Union flag of 1775 via Historical Flags of the United States

Sailor Mouth Saturday: Arch

I apologize for the late hour, Brethren; all manner of things urgently require my attention. From a new dog (Moose, the 200 lb. Saint Bernard) to the house to Holidays to an active job search (time for Pauline to once again get a "real" job) I don't know where the time goes. But let me not dwell on my hectic schedule when there are words - glorious words! - to explore.

The word arch actually applies to the sea on several levels. It is certainly a part of one of the most awe inspiring words relating to the ocean: archipelago. But more on that later. First...

Arch is generally thought to refer to a curve, particularly in architecture. A ship has architecture and so arches. The gently curving part of a ship's stern that sits over her so called counter is known as an arch-board. Similarly, the arch of the cove appears as the lower part of her taffrail at her very stern.

Arching is synonymous with hogging and is the indication of an ill-constructed ship. In this distressing case, the fore and aft ends droop while the waist rises up giving the ship an arched appearance and making her effectively useless.

A pump known as Archimedes' screw was employed to drain docks of water as it rose during storms or tides to any designated height. The pump was a type of spiral auger, similar to those used in granaries, and was the model to the modern screw propeller.

The term arch squall speaks to a particular type of heavy wind portended by arched clouds on the horizon. These clouds, as Admiral Smyth notes in The Sailor's Word Book, "rise rapidly toward the zenith, leaving the sky visible through" them.

Archel, or sometime archil, is a form of lichen found in the Canary islands. Originally used for a dark purple dye, it also yields the familiar chemical known as litmus of "litmus test" fame.

And then there is the archipelago. Originally spelled Aegeopelagus in Greek, the word referred to the Aegean Sea where a great group of variously sized islands were scattered about. An archipelago, or an "arches" as seafaring men of the 18th century would refer to them, is any group of like islands. The Caribbean islands, for instance, or Polynesia. I recently saw a comment from a New York writer, discussing the after effects of hurricane Sandy, which posited that New Yorkers would have to accustom themselves to "living in an archipelago." The writer was clearly confused as to the meaning of the word. And, if I may, the every-20-year or so "super storm" does not make your area either a series of  islands or a hurricane alley.

One last interesting tidbit on the word arch: the Arch-Gubernus in Roman times was the commander of any imperial ship. And that is a title I plan to use for my boss. When I get a job that is.

Happy Saturday, Brethren! I'm off to the next thing. But I'll raise a tankard to you all, when I get a chance that is...

Header: Le Point de la Heve by Claude Monet via Old Paint