Ships: Weigh Anchor!

By now many of the Brethren are probably aware that a particularly piratical anchor, underwater for nearly 300 years, was hauled up last Friday. The event is, of course, dear to all who find the lure of legendary pirates irresistible. Given the recent surge in pop culture interest, the timing seems rather good as well.


The 3,000 pound anchor was part of a ship’s wreckage found off Beaufort, North Carolina near the outer banks island of Ocracoke. The vessel is believed to have gone down there some time in 1718 and evidence points to it being Edward “Blackbeard” Teach’s famous flagship Queen Anne’s Revenge.

According to this article at NewsObserver.com, the anchor was “… atop a pile of debris, which appears to be the remnants of the middle part of the ship.” According to Mark Wilde-Ramsing, director of the QAR Project, researchers will set about digging a small hole in the waist of the ship this week. The article indicates that they are looking for organic material in particular, hoping to find seeds and spores that may help to identify where the ship had been as she sailed around the Atlantic and Caribbean.

Previous artifacts recovered from the wreck have ranged from crockery and ceramics to delicate dagger hilts and jewelry. For information on the ongoing discoveries being found in, around and about the ship and its history, “like” the QAR Project on Facebook.

Header: Queen Anne’s Revenge via Design Context

History: America's Oldest Monument to Those Who Serve

The Tripoli Monument – or, as it was originally known, Tripolitan Monument – now stands on the grounds of the Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland. It is situated between Preble Hall and Leahy Hall in a place of prominence but it was originally located in the Washington Navy Yard. Erected there in 1808, it was the only monument in D.C. for the next 35 years, and it was America’s first monument to the men and women who served and died for their country.


The Barbary Wars have of course been discussed many a time here at Triple P. The fight against North Africa’s notorious pirates was the young United States’ first major conflict as an independent nation. It also established the United States Navy as not just a little flotilla of six frigates, but a global military force. That tradition continues to this day.

In 1807 Captain David Porter, who himself had been a prisoner in Tripoli in 1803 during the First Barbary War, was given the task of procuring the materials for and erecting the monument. It would memorialize those who lost their lives in the war on piracy and specifically honor six fallen officers: Caldwell, Dorsey, Somers, Israel, Wadsworth and, curiously, Decatur. Stephen Decatur was in fact a flamboyant naval hero who was key to the U.S. success against Barbary. He did not lose his life fighting pirates, however, but in a duel against fellow officer James Barron.

Porter, not only a brilliant naval strategist but a born statesman who would die as the U.S. Ambassador to Turkey, managed to recruit the Bishop of Florence to help procure marble and the services of sculptor Micali of Leghorn at very little cost. The monument went up the next year and, according to architect Benjamin Latrobe, was:

…the principle object of view to all those who enter the yard, either by land or water, and to an extensive portion of the City and of the port.

By 1831 the Navy Yard was in decline and Congress moved the monument to the west end of the city. Its new position was offensive to many in D.C. and to most all of the naval men who held it dear. Porter wrote of it to Daniel Tod Patterson:

And to cap the climax of absurdity, the Naval Monument had, as an evil omen I presume, been placed in a small circular pond of dirty fresh water – not large enough for a duck puddle – to represent the Mediterranean Sea!

Porter’s indignation was shared by many and in 1860 the monument was moved to Annapolis. Though it has been moved within the grounds of the academy since, it holds a place of honor in the hearts and minds of all who appreciate the hard work and sacrifice of America’s military. For more on the monument and her history, see today’s post at The Naval History Blog; and happy Memorial Day to all the American Brethren.

Header: Tripoli Monument at Annapolis via edsel12 on flickr

Seafaring Sunday: More Trouble for the Colonies

May 31, 1774:  The Boston Port Bill, the first of the so called Intolerable Acts, took effect.  The port of Boston was closed by the British until restitution was paid for the destruction wrought by the Boston Tea Party the year before.

Header: The Boston Tea Party colored engraving by Currier mid-1800s

Sailor Mouth Saturday: Duck

The beauty of white canvas pregnant with wind high above a well proportioned vessel cannot be denied even by the most seasick lubber. As the painting above, by my talented friend Munin, shows, there is nothing prettier than a sailing ship sailing. The canvas has many names though, and that is but one of the places where today’s word finds a home at sea.


Duck is, erroneously as it turns out, a word for Number 8 canvas from which smaller sails are sometimes made. It is not, in fact, cotton duck but simple a finer grade of old reliable canvas.

Cotton duck was used in the making of what sailors called ducks. These were the shirts and trousers worn in tropical and equatorial areas not only by sailors but by marines as well when not required to wear full uniform. The coats and breeches of late 18th and early 19th century uniforms were usual woolen, making them unbearably uncomfortable in many parts of the world. C.S. Forester has his hero in Lieutenant Hornblower stoically bearing the persistent trickle of sweat down his back as he stands before his captain in full uniform while Renown is anchored off Haiti. No such problems ever arose for our beloved freebooters, who virtually lived in the comfort of ducks when not in port.

Ducks, interestingly, is also part of the name routinely given to the poultry man aboard both Royal Navy and U.S. men-of-war in the 18th and 19th century. This sailor lost his given name when he took up the role of poulterer and became known as Jemmy Ducks even if there were no such waterfowl aboard.

Duck up is a call from either pilot, steersman or gunner to haul a sail or sails out of said gentleman’s sightline. This would have been accomplished quickly as no one wanted to run her aground or waste ball or shot.

Ducking took two forms, one playful and a mild form of hazing, the other potentially deadly. In the former, men who had never passed the equator (or, on some ships, not only the equator but either of the tropics as well) were “ducked” into the scuttlebutt head first and then had more water poured over them. On many ships, the hazing included a haircut and shave performed by one’s drunken mates. This could become a rollicking good time, but it could also lead to some discomfort for the sailor enduring the ducking. Some ships allowed a fine, paid to whoever routinely led the ritual – usually an old veteran – to avoid the worst of the process.

In the latter situation, ducking at the yardarm was a penalty for serious offense and just one step up from the horror of keel hauling. The criminal would be set astride a thick batten which was then, through a system of block and tackle, was suspended from the yardarm. The sailor would be heaved up violently and then let go to drop into the cold ocean. The process very much resembled the older, land based practice of ducking stools, using a local stream or – more terribly – a muddy pond or cess pool to punish women in particular. While the Royal Navy disavowed ducking as early as 1701 calling it a French proclivity, the practice probably continued to some degree after that date as it was one of the specific punishments disallowed in writing by the Continental and U.S. Navy. Freebooters used this treatment as a form of torture to get prisoners to reveal cached goods.

To duck, of course, means to put one’s head down or to dive underwater. Well known in places like Port Royal and Grand Terre would have been the ducat, in both silver and gold form. Less familiar would have been the silver Venetian coin known as a ducatoon.

And that is enough of ducking and ducks for one Saturday. Fair winds to all the Brethren.

Header: Ship in Full Sail by Munin

Booty: Get Ahead

Triple P’s vaguely morbid fascination with venereal diseases springs from the undeniable fact that such illnesses were extremely prevelent among sailors. Dean King in his scholarly and entertaining book A Sea of Words rightly calls syphilis (and by extension gonherrea, chlymidia and the like) “… almost an occupational hazard among sailors”. This would have been true for all men afloat, and for the women they associated with as well, up to and indeed well after the discovery of penisilin. One hopes that the widespread use of the humble condom has shut that door, so to speak.


It was therefor with a certain delight that I discovered this article from BBC News Northern Ireland. According to the brief piece the surprisingly well preserved skull of Saint Vitalis of Assisi will go up for auction Sunday. This is one to keep your eyes on, Brethren, as the dear saint is the patron of “genital diseases”.

According to my dusty and ancient Book of Patron Saints, Vitalis was born in Umbria in 1295. He was a wild young man and actually spent time around the docks of Genoa in sporting houses and gambling dens. At some point he decided to straighten up and a pilgrimage to various holy sites in his native Italy led him to take vows in the Benedictine order. He ended up at the hermitage of Maria di Viole in Assisi where he debased his body regularly and became a sought after counselor. He died May 31, 1370 and miraculous cures of bladder infections and geneital concerns were almost immediately attributed to him. He was cannonized some time around 1390.

The saint’s skull, lovingly preserved among flowers and palm fronds in a Queen Anne case, came into the possession of “… an Anglo-Irish family from County Louth” in the late 17th century. Evidently one of the genteel family’s members acquired the head while on his (or her) European grand tour. Though the relic was originally displayed in the family’s great hall, it was more recently housed in what the article calls “an outhouse”.

A curious aside comes in the form of the local Benedictine monks who, when asked for information about Saint Vitalis, had to Google one of their own prior to declining to make a statement on “… his or anyone elses head.” Now is that gratitude?

Maybe not, but you can own the relic yourself. The auction that includes the patron saint of genital concerns’ head begins Sunday, May 29 at 3:00 PM (local time) and will be held at Annesbrook House in Duleek, County Meath, Ireland. Bring your debit card as loose change won’t get this sale done. The estimated value is between 800 and 1,200 euros or 1,141 and 1,712 U.S. dollars.

Header: Relic box and skull alleged to be that of St. Vitalis of Assisi via bbc.co.uk

Ships: Royal Warrior

On the 10th of April, 1628, Sweden’s largest and most impressive line-of-battle ship to date was launched at Stockholm. The breeze was light, causing the crew to move the ship, named Vasa after the Swedish Royal family, out of the harbor to Slussen. Without warning the skies around mighty Vasa grew dark, a squall quickly mounted into a gale and the warship was caught with her topsails and courses out and her gun ports open for show. Vasa listed to starboard, the lower decks flooded with seawater and literally within minutes the 1,300 ton vessel sank with a loss of over 400 lives.


Vasa was built on the orders of King Gustavus Adolphus whose navy was the premier fighting force in the Baltic at the beginning of the Thirty Years’ War. With tensions escalating between Catholics and Protestants, Hapsburgs and Bourbons, Gustavus sought to protect the sovereignty of his country and her territories by increasing his naval force. Vasa, designed by Henrik Hybertson de Groot and Henrik Jacobson was built at the Royal Dockyard in Stockholm in a fairly short time. With the campaign in the Baltic heating up, Gustavus wanted a large warship to take the lead at the siege of Danzig, which his navy had begun to blockade in 1627.

De Groot and Jacobson complied with a 180 foot ship, 38 feet at the beam with a draft of a little over 15 feet. Fully mounted, she would carry sixty-four guns including two 62 pounders, three 35 pounders and forty-eight 24 pounders. Her firepower was formidable but her compliment of men was surprisingly small. Vasa carried only 145 sailing men with the remaining crew being made up of approximately 300 soldiers. She was not only fierce but beautiful, with ornate carvings fore and aft that would serve as models for European royal yachts of the 18th and 19th century.

Because she was a true gem of the shipbuilder’s art, efforts to salvage Vasa began immediately. Englishman Ian Bulmer managed to haul Vasa up on her keel, but the 115 foot depth to which she had sunk was too daunting to make raising her possible. Although some of her guns were salvaged in 1664, further attempts were set aside and Vasa sat beneath the cold waters off her home port for over 300 years.

In 1956 the wreck was “rediscovered” by amateur marine archaeologists who took a sample of the hull to the Swedish Navy. Their divers confirmed the find and immediate plans to raise Vasa were underway. Channels were dug in the mud around her, and straps were placed under her hull which were then hooked to pontoon vessels. Vasa was moved, while still submerged, to a water depth of 50 feet. Over the course of a year, patches and reinforcements were made on her hull and on April 24, 1960 she was not only raised but floated into dry dock on her own hull. This was the first major salvage of an intact vessel attempted in the modern age, and the raising of Vasa has become a blueprint for other salvage projects such as that of Mary Rose in Britain and Whydah in the U.S.

All of Vasa’s remaining elements, from loose artifacts to sails, woodwork and structure were meticulously preserved. The Vasa project has become the gold standard for nautical preservation. The ship in her entirety along with all artifacts associated with her are on display at the Vasa Museum in Stockholm. She is a living testimony to the ingenuity, craftsmanship and pride of not only our ancestors but our contemporaries, nautical and otherwise.

Header: Vasa, larboard side and stern, from the Vasa Museum, Stockholm

Tools of the Trade: What's For Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner

Food aboard ship in the Great Age of Sail was a balancing act, at least for naval ships on long cruises. There was the obvious line between the largess early in the voyage, when beer, ale, fresh vegetables and meat would have been readily available to all and the kind of food served once fresh stores were used up. Of course stops in ports of various kinds would have allowed provisioning, but in uncharted territory what could be got was hit or miss. Lack of knowledge about local plants in particular could kill you quickly with their toxins or slowly because you overlooked them not knowing they were perfectly edible.


Probably with a fifty/fifty blend of sailors’ humor and a need to break up edible monotony, the names for foods aboard us were often colorful and sometimes unrecognizable to anyone but a sailor. Here are just a few from the Royal Navy of the 1820s:

Biscuit, Ship’s Biscuit, Sea Biscuit or Hardtack: made from wheat flour, water and salt and formed into easy to store crackers, biscuit is twice baked, hard as a board and will last a very, very long time (even when the weevils get into it).

Brews: biscuit soaked in water then stewed with salted pork and fish, usually salt cod.

Bully beef: essentially leftover salt beef that has little or no substance left for being repeatedly boiled.

Burgoo: oatmeal which is cooked overnight in the water used to pull the salt out of meat the night before. Butter and sugar are added before serving. As unappetizing as this may sound, burgoo was renowned on both sides of the Atlantic as a cure for hangovers and seasickness. It was also known as skillygalee.

Crackerhash: pounded biscuit mixed with scraps of pork or beef from another meal and baked.

Dogsbody: biscuit soaked in water with sugar until it has become like porridge.

Fanny Adams: a specifically British term for meat in a tin. The story behind the name has a very Sweeny Todd feel to it. The rumor among seamen said that unscrupulous provisioners for the Royal Navy would kidnap and kill street children in large cities. Thereafter the children’s bodies would be processed, tinned and sold to the Royal Navy as beef or pork. When a seven year old girl named Frances Adams was found near a provisioning house in 1820, dead and partially dismembered, the sailors co-opted her name for their suspicious canned goods. Doubtless they also agreed with one another that they had been right all along.

Lobscouse or ‘scouse: a stew familiar to most navies and freebooters. It took various forms but usually included crushed biscuit, salted meat, onions and spices boiled and served heavily peppered.

Midshipman’s muffin: biscuit soaked in water (or sometimes milk) and baked.

Poor John: salted fish such as cod. The name comes from the sailor’s preference for beef or pork. In the U.S., Poor John was known as Cape Cod turkey.

Salmagundi: a spicy stew that may have originated in the Caribbean but was also popular in most navies by the early 1800s. Several kinds of meat were stewed in wine and spices to which was added things like pickled vegetables, olives, hard cooked eggs and certain fruits like mangos or bananas. It could be thickened with biscuit crumbs or not.

Sea pie: a favorite even at the Captain’s table that allowed a good cook to work magic. Sea pie was layered with meat, fish and vegetables with crusts on the bottom, between each layer, and on top. The layers, which could be as many as four or five, were known to seamen as “decks”.

Slumgullion: this was a common name for anything that was so bad it was worth passing up and going hungry. Mutinies have been made over too many days of “slum”.

Header: Study from Master and Commander by my particular friend Munin (see more of his work here)