History: "The day was Christmas..."

The day was Christmas, but it brought us no holiday. The only change was that we had a "plum duff" for dinner, and the crew quarreled with the steward because he did not give us our usual allowance of molasses to eat with it. He thought the plums would be a substitute for the molasses, but we were not to be cheated out of our rights in this way. Such are the trifles with produce quarrels on shipboard. In fact, we had been too long from port. We were getting tired of one another, and were in an irritable state, both forward and aft. Our fresh provisions were, of course, gone, and the captain had stopped our rice, so that we had nothing but salt beef and salt pork throughout the week, with the exception of a very small duff on Sunday...

~ Richard Henry Dana Jr. writing from the brig Pilgrim in the Pacific Ocean just north of the equator on December 25, 1834

Blessings, happiness and much more than salt pork and plum duff to all the Brethren this holiday season from the good ship Triple P to your vessel.

And don't forget to enter to win Benerson Little's fabulous book The Sea Rover's Practice here. You shouldn't miss out; the drawing happens on Wednesday!

Header: Adrift at Sea; picture via Mike Burlson's New Wars

Seafaring Sunday: Time's Revenge

Time's revenges are beyond a man's foretelling. It may be that in some far distant day, when the grass is growing green on the slag-heaps of the north, and the last "gusher" has ceased its gushing forever, then, it may be, there will arise somewhere a new breed of seafarers, who shall re-learn, slowly, painfully, step by step, as did their forefathers, the ancient and honourable craft of mast and sail.

~ C. Fox Smith

Header: Lifeboat by Bo Bartlett via American Gallery

Sailor Mouth Saturday: Up

With the season upon us, and a New Year up for grabs, it seems there is no place to go but up. Or so we would like to think. Up is quite the popular word at sea, so let us take a look at it today.

"Up-and-down!" This is a call that would have been familiar on just about any ship of the Golden Age of Sail. They would all have some type of anchor or at least a kedge, after all. Up-and-down indicates the position of the cable when the ship, by the force of drawing in her anchor via a capstan or other like method, is situated directly over that anchor. This is the step before the anchor comes clean of the water and, once that is accomplished, the call of "Clean and dry for weighing!" might be heard.

Up and down can also refer to tackle. In this case it speaks to any combinations of same that will pull sails, anchors or payloads up or down.

Topgallant masts, topmasts and royal masts were sometimes referred to as upper masts. As Admiral Smyth notes, "any spars above these are termed poles." Upper works are the parts of a ship that stand above the water as she goes. The upper counter, or counter, lies between the transom and the railing, and the upper deck is, of course, the highest continuous deck on a ship.

The so called upper transit is spoken of in navigation. From The Sailor's Word Book:

The passage of a circumpolar star over the meridian above the pole...

Up is often part of an order, as one might reasonably imagine. Here is a by no means complete list of what you might hear in such regard aboard any ship from pirate schooner to 74 gun man-of-war:

Up anchor! To weigh the anchor; as Admiral Smyth notes, "every man to his station."

Up boats! Hoist the ship's boats to their davits, most probably in preparation for getting under weigh.

Up courses! Haul up the sails hanging on the lower yards: mainsail, foresail, mizzen et cetera.

Up her helm! Put the bow of the ship to windward. Also sometimes spoken as "Put her a-weather!" In such case it should be remembered that the rudder will need to answer to leeward to accomplish this maneuver.

I hope your mood is up, as is my tankard to honor all the Brethren. Huzzah!

Header: Two Ships at Anchor by Andries van Eertvelt via Under the Black Flag on Facebook

Booty: Get a Book

Today I'm wrapping up the Friday gift giving posts with the best recommendation I can make: get your loved one a book. From my favorites for adults, Patrick O'Brian's Aubrey/Maturin series to my favorite for young and old alike, Robert Lewis Stevenson's Treasure Island, there is no end to books with a seafaring bent.

Looking for something a little more current, or perhaps with a supernatural touch? Try On Stranger Tides by Tim Powers. The book influenced the most recent Pirates of the Caribbean movie, but is tremendously more interesting and entertaining.

In the nonfiction category, try Jack Aubrey Commands by Brian Lavery, the book used as a reference by Peter Weir in the making of the film Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World. Along those same lines, try the fascinating biography of one of O'Brian's inspirations, Thomas Cochrane, in Cochrane: The Real Master and Commander by David Cordingly. Poxed & Scurvied by Kevin Brown is a superior look at the history of nautical medicine and, piratically speaking, you can't miss with anything written by Benerson Little. (Speaking of whom, don't forget to enter to win his The Sea Rover's Practice by leaving a comment here; the drawing happens December 26th!)

Finally, you can never go wrong with Melville's classic Moby Dick. Click over to Primary Source Nexus to see a larger version of the above map. Entitled "The Voyage of the Pequod", it should inspire you to read the book again yourself. And why not; you're entitled to a little gift as well...

Header: The Voyage of the Pequod mad via Primary Source Nexus dot org

Women at Sea: The Pretty Commander

Time is not on my side the rest of this week and so I'm bringing back one of my favorite posts from the Triple P archives today: the story of the intrepid Rose de Freycinet.

What we know of Rose Marie Pinon's early life is nominal. She was born into a bourgeois family at a time when being middle class in France was all the rage: 1794. Pretty and charming, she had a classical education as well. As the Revolution and the Consulate gave way to the Empire, Rose caught the eye of an aristocratic sea captain sixteen years her senior. She married Louis-Claude de Saulces de Freycinet in 1814.

When the Empire fell and things looked bleak for French honor, Louis was hand picked to lead a voyage of discovery. He would circumnavigate the globe on a three year cruise with the very best French navigators, naturalists and artists along. These men would document native cultures, local bays and ports and, with luck, Captain de Freycinet would claim some land for France. The ship chosen for the expedition was L'Uranie, a weatherly French-built corvette of twenty guns and 300 tons. There was nothing at all remarkable about the voyage. That is, until a conjugal ruse was revealed to officers and crew once the ship was well out to sea.

Madame de Freycinet had been smuggled aboard the ship by her husband. Dressed as a boy and under cover of darkness, she slipped into the great cabin posing as a servant. The de Freycinets were determined to be together so, despite Rose's natural reticence at the prospect of so long a time at sea on a ship full of men, their determination paid off. Thus began an adventure that Rose would document in a stream of letters to her mother and her best friend. These were eventually published in book form, and the same was translated in 1996 by Marc Serge Reiviere in A Woman of Courage.

When the ruse was discovered, the men of L'Uranie acted, not surprisingly, like Frenchmen. They were thrilled to have Madame aboard. Rose writes that the conversations at her husband's table were crisp, witty and completely without course or vulgar language. The crew tried to keep up with their officers, allowing Rose the lee side of the ship for her morning strolls on deck. But sailors will be sailors and eventually their cursing got the better of Rose. She gave up taking the air and contented herself in her husband's cabin with "... my guitar, my sewing and letters."

Though she had come aboard in men's clothes, and wore them for a while, Rose was never comfortable cross-dressing. She confided her relief in dawning her gowns again to her mother, saying that she was only "... glad of a man's cloak" when L'Uranie was threatened by a Barbary corsair:

The thought of a seraglio evoked such unpleasant images in my mind and I hoped to escape that fate by virtue of male disguise.

The pirate galley thought better of challenging a 20 gun ship, evidently, and eventually gave up the chase.

Back in Europe meanwhile, the French, who were in general morally opposed to women at sea as anything other than passengers and then only in groups, found Rose's adventures charming. The new Bourbon King mentioned the situation was amusing and the country could not but agree. Paris papers congratulated Captain and Madame on "... this example of conjugal devotion."  Interestingly, it was the British who clucked their tongues at the situation. The Lieutenant Governor of Gibraltar was down right rude to Rose when L'Uranie put in to his port. The Royal Navy, with it's long history of women at sea as both companions and sailors, showed an unfortunately unpleasant and ingenuous side of itself to Madame de Freycinet.

L'Uranie continued into the South Pacific and made several stops in Australia. The watercolor above, by J. Alphonse Pellion, shows the ship's company at Shark Bay. Rose can be glimpsed to the far left, away from her stately white tent and apparently sitting with her arm around another woman or a child. The painters aboard ship, Pellion and Arago, made two sets of each of their works. One was for the captain's official report and did not include his wife. The second sets were true-to-life works that included Rose. Thankfully, both examples of many of these paintings have survived.

Putting in at Mauritius and Reunion, Rose met with welcome and potential disaster. The island of Mauritius was then held by the British and Rose was there introduced to Captain and Mrs. Purvis. Both were delighted by the Frenchwoman and encouraged her to spend time with them while her husband was out surveying. This invitation was particularly welcomed by Rose as Mrs. Purvis had a new baby. Rose, who may very well have nailed her courage to the sticking place to join her husband at sea in the hope of conceiving a child, documents her adoration for children time and again.

At Reunion, Rose tried to avoid the French governor, whose name was Lafitte, as she feared that he had orders to remove her from her husband's ship. To her relief, Governor Lafitte had no such intentions. Instead, her fears were replaced concern. She writes to her friend that she had constantly "... to ward off the compliments of someone who was full of admiration for my courage." Rose, it is no surprise, managed to keep Lafitte at arm's length with aplomb and gentility.

Rose's letters give us a sly and very French perspective on the many places, cultures and people that she encountered. She notes in an almost blithe aside that a young woman in Australia was very pretty with a "ravishing ankle, or so Louis noticed." She mentions women on Mariana who, when surprised while bathing by her husband's men, covered not their fronts but their backs. "The gentlemen were not tempted to take issue with them on this matter," Rose reports.

On February 14, 1820, L'Uranie struck an enormous rock off the Falkland Islands. It took some time for realization to set in as the ship continued on under sail with her hull ripped open and water pouring in below decks. The crew manned the pumps and tried to salvage what they could from the hold. The ordeal was horrifying for Rose who spent her time exhorting the laboring crew to "trust in the Holy Virgin." Probably fed up with the woman's yammering, Arago snapped at her: "We put our trust in the holy pump, Madame!" It is to Rose's credit that she included even this in her letters.

L'Uranie made it to shore but the sandy beach was deserted and Rose and the sailors were stranded for weeks in deplorable conditions. There was ice on the ground each morning and no blankets or coats had been salvaged. Rose slept wrapped in a Hawai'ian sarong and her slippers could not keep her feet warm.

The crew was finally picked up by a merchant ship whose captain, Galvin, virtually blackmailed de Freycinet for passage to Rio de Janeiro. Rose and her captain were stuffed into a dark, cramped cabin, but rescue came in short order. The Scottish brig Jane came into company with Galvin's ship near Montevideo. Jane's captain, James Weddell - the future Antarctic explorer - managed to convince Galvin to sell his ship to de Freycinet for moneys already promised.

Galvin and his crew were put in at Mondevideo. His ship was spruced up by de Freycinet's and Weddell's shipwrights and christened La Physicienne - the Lady Doctor - probably in honor of Rose. La Physicienne took de Freycinet and his crew to Rio and then back to France. She made the port of Le Havre on November 13, 1820. Rose was welcomed home and became a sought after guest in French high society.

Unfortunately, this was about as good as it got for Rose and Louis de Freycinet. They were never blessed with the children that Rose so desired. Louis published his manuscript on the voyage to some acclaim and the couple retired to a quiet existence. In 1832, Louis contracted cholera. Rose nursed him tirelessly and he recovered only to see his wife fall ill with the same disease. Rose Pinon de Feycinet, the intrepid woman that Governor Lafitte had named Madame la Jolie Commendante - the Pretty Commander - died at the age of 38.

Header: Watercolor by J. Alphonse Pellion of L'Uranie's crew at Shark Bay, Australia from the Google book version of A Woman of Courage

History: Raising the Flag in New Orleans

On a cloudy, cool Tuesday, December 20, 1803, the United States flag was raised in the Place d'Armes (now Jackson Square) in the city of New Orleans. This final stop on any cruise down the Mississippi River was a critical port that the U.S. needed to ensure her ability to move goods from her heartland to ports on the Eastern seaboard and foreign ports as well. The city was also a hub for pirates and smugglers. The loosely knit band known as the Baratarians, led by Jean and Pierre Laffite was just beginning to gel as Spanish rule ended and les Americaines took over.

The flag raising was a bit of a non-event for locals used to exchanges in political and military powers. People turned out to watch, then shrugged and went on about their business. This may have been somewhat of a shock to the Americans judging from the article written by John F. H. Claiborne for an 1843 issue of the Concordia, Louisiana Intelligencer. Claiborne, the brother of Louisiana Territory and first State Governor William C.C. Claiborne, was a prolific writer (find his papers online here) whose description of the issues at hand on 12/20/1803 brings the hopes and anxieties of Americans to sparkling life.

On the 17th of September, 1803, Mr. Jefferson communicated [the Louisiana Purchase] treaty to the Senate. It was speedily ratified, and Wm. C.C. Claiborne, the Governor of the Mississippi Territory and General James Wilkinson were appointed to receive the provinces, which were still in the hands of Spain, owing to the non-compliance of France with certain stipulations of the treaty of St. Ildefonso. The government of Madrid threw every obstacle in the way of the American diplomatists, and its Minister at Washington, the Marquis de Caso Yrujo, remonstrated earnestly against the transfer, in the name of his King, as being in direct contravention of the treaty of St. Ildefonso, and upon the ground that the title of Louisiania was still in the Crown of Spain. Mr. Madison [James Madison, then Secretary of State]communicated these remonstrances to M. Pichon, ambassador from the French republic, and received from him every assurance that his government guaranteed the treaty, and would allow no obstacle to its execution. The impression generally prevailed that the Spanish authorities would resist the delivery of the province, and, on the 24th October, 1803, Mr. Madison thus wrote to Mr. Monroe, "It remains to be seen how far Spain will persist in her remonstrances, and how far she will add to them resistance by force. Should the latter course be taken, it can lead to nothing but a forcible for a peaceable possession. Having now a clear and honest title, acquired in a mode pointed out by Spain herself, it will, without doubt, be maintained with a decision becoming our national character, and required by the importance of the object."

In pursuance of the resolution so calmly, yet firmly expressed in this dispatch, the American Commissioners were instructed to get possession at all hazards; to seize New Orleans by a coup de main, if necessary, and for this purpose the regular troops at Fort Adams were placed at their disposal, and the militia of Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee, and the Mississippi Territory ordered to be in readiness. A detachment of troops from the Mississippi Territory descended to Natchez, eager for the contest, for the whole west was embittered against the Spaniards, owing to the exactions levied on its commerce. No occasion, however, arose for its services. Before the Commissioners reached New Orleans, the Spanish authorities had surrendered the province to M. Laussat, colonial prefect and commissary of the French Republic. On the 20th December, 1803, he formally transferred it to the American Commissioners, and the flag of the Union was, for the first time, unfurled in the city of New Orleans.

Unfortunately, Spain - and her sometimes ally, England - would continue to argue that France's sale of the Louisiana Territory to the U.S. was illegal according to international law. Both powers would back up their argument with a hard fight. Spain through intelligencing and subterfuge - including employing Aaron Burr and both Laffite brothers to such ends - and England through force of arms at the Battle of New Orleans.

Despite all that and more, the flag of the Union continued to sail over the city of New Orleans. And long may she wave.

Header: Raising of the United States Flag in New Orleans, 1803, by Thor de Thulstrup via Britannica online

People: The Tale of William Lewis

The greatest triumph and most important exploit of this pirate was the attacking, and eventually taking, of a powerful French ship of twenty-four guns.

Lewis enjoyed a longer career than most of the brethren, and by 1717 he was already one of the leading piratical lights of Nassau, and his end did not come till ten years later. In 1726, he spent several months on the coast of South Carolina and Virginia, trading with the inhabitants the spoils he had taken from vessels in the Atlantic. He learnt his trade under the daring pirate Bannister, who was brought into Port Royal, hanging dead from his own yard-arm. On this occasion, Lewis and another boy were triced up to the corvette's mizzen-peak like "two living flags."

Lewis, among other accomplishments, was a born linguist, and could speak with fluency in several languages, even the dialect of the Mosquito Indians. He was once captured by the Spaniards, and taken to Havana, but escaped with a few other prisoners in a canoe, seized a piragua, and with this captured a sloop employed in the turtle trade, and by gradually taking larger and larger prizes, Lewis soon found himself master of a fine ship and a crew of more than fifty men. He renamed her the Morning Star, and made her his flagship.

On one occasion when chasing a vessel off the Carolina coast, his fore and main topmasts were carried away. Lewis, in a frenzy of excitement, clambered up the main top, tore out a handful of his hair, which he tossed into the wind, crying: "Good devil, take this till I come." The ship, in spite of her damaged rigging, gained on the other ship, which they took. Lewis's sailors, superstitious at the best of times, considered the intimacy of their captain with Satan a little too much, and soon afterwards one of the Frenchmen aboard murdered Lewis in his sleep.

~ from The Pirate's Who's Who by Philip Gosse


Header: Captain Lewis from The Pirate's Own Book by Charles Ellms via Project Gutenberg