Flotsam and Jetsam

The names of Christopher Columbus’ (1451-1506) three ships are quite well known. But how they got these names is not. The Santa Maria, Columbus’ flagship on his first voyage to the New World, translates to “Saint Mary,” and refers to the Virgin Mary, one of the patron saints of Spain. The smallest ship Niña, was officially named the Santa Clara, after the patron saint of Moguer, the Spanish town where she was built. The name Niña most likely comes from a feminine nickname for her owner, Juan Niño. The Pinta was Columbus’ fastest ship, but the origin of her name remains something of a mystery.

Samuel Eliot Morison (1887-1976), an eminent maritime historian and author of Admiral of the Ocean Sea, theorizes that the name Pinta is derived from the maiden name of owner Christobal Quintero’s wife. She was part of the Pinto family of the city of Palos, and the name Pinta may derive from a family nickname.

Sources: Bedini, Silvio. The Christopher Columbus Encyclopedia. New York: Simon and Schuster. 1992.

Morison, Samuel Eliot. Admiral of the Ocean Sea. 2 vols. Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1942.

While Ferdinand Magellan (c.1480-1521) is commonly credited with being the first person to have sailed around the world, it must be remembered that he died in the Philippines before completing the historic voyage. Magellan, a veteran explorer of the East Indies, was tapped by Spanish king Charles I (1500-1558) in 1517 to sail west in order to reach the Indies, thereby accomplishing what Christopher Columbus had set out to do in 1492.

After two mutinies, a treacherous passage through South America (through the straights later named for Magellan) and a scurvy-filled voyage across the vast Pacific Ocean (which Magellan named) the fleet eventually arrived in the Philippines. Relations between the Europeans and the locals quickly soured and Magellan was killed in battle. Command of the expedition eventually fell to a Basque mariner named Juan Sebastian de Elcano (c.1474-1526), who set sail with roughly 50 members of the original 250 man crew in the only slightly seaworthy carrack Victoria.

The fleet’s other remaining vessel, the Trinidad, stayed in the Indies and was unable to return to Europe. Elcano’s voyage took roughly a year to sail across the Indian Ocean, past Africa and back to Spain. Within the Victoria’s rotting hull was a fortune in spices and the seventeen survivors of the expedition. While Magellan was posthumously praised for leading the expedition, Elcano was rewarded with a lifetime pension and a coat of arms from the Spanish crown.

Source:Bohlander, Richard, ed. World Explorers and Discoverers. New York: Macmillan Publishing Company, 1991

Christopher Columbus (1451-1506) was credited with discovering the New World for many years. Then why were two continents named after a relatively little-known bibliophile and cosmographer from Florence, Italy? Amerigo Vespucci (1451-1512) was in Seville, Spain in 1496 when he first met explorer Christopher Columbus. The two became friends, and Vespucci used his position as a ship broker in Seville to get attached to an expedition heading for the New World.

German cartographer Martin Waldseemuller (c.1475-c.1522) read of Vespucci’s voyage and drew a map based on the most up-to-date information available in which he labeled the New World “America” in honor of Vespucci. The Spanish, however, continued to refer to South America as “Columbia” into the 18th century, but finally succumbed to the principal of common usage and began calling the continent America.

Source: Hendrickson, Robert. Salty Words. New York: Hearst Marine Books, 1984.

Christopher Newport (1560-1617) was an eminent Elizabethan mariner who spent the better part of his career treading the thin line that separated merchant adventurer and out-and-out pirate. While no records exist to prove it, Newport most likely went to sea at a young age. By 1581, he was part of an English expedition illegally trying to trade with Portuguese settlers in Brazil. After partaking in some looting with famed privateer Francis Drake (1540-1596), Newport was given command of his own privateering vessel. Newport turned out to be very adept at this vocation. Even after losing his right arm in a battle with the Spanish near Cuba, Newport continued to raid Spanish shipping throughout the Caribbean for more than ten years.

When, in 1606, the Virginia Company was ready to send a group of settlers to the New World, Christopher Newport was an obvious choice to lead the expedition. In 1607, Newport set sail with three ships, the Godspeed, Discovery and the Susan Constant with the men who would found Jamestown, England’s first permanent colony in America. Newport’s sound judgment, along with his impeccable timing, would serve the Virginia Company well for six years. By 1612, Newport was employed by the East India Company and began making trading expeditions to the Indies. He died at Bantam (in present day Indonesia) in 1617.

Sources: Andrews, K.R. 1954. Christopher Newport of Limehouse, Mariner. William and Mary Quarterly 11:28-41.

When looking at a modern-day map of the world, sailing around the southern tip of Africa appears to be a relatively easy thing to do. But to the 15th century Portuguese explorers who hoped to trade in the East Indies, it was a daunting proposition. In 1487, Bartholomeu Dias (c.1450-1500) set sail on the orders of Portuguese king John II (1455-1495) to explore the African coastline and determine if Africa could be sailed past. At this time, there were some Europeans who believed that Africa and India might be connected, or that the southern coast of Africa was entirely impassable. Dias and his men sailed south and determined that Africa and India were not connected, and that the Indies could be reached by sea from Europe. But sailors are a superstitious lot, and Dias’ terrified crew insisted that he return to Portugal.

King John was pleased that Portugal now had access to the riches of the Orient. All he needed was for someone to actually sail there. That someone would be Vasco da Gama (c.1460-1524). In 1497, da Gama, an experienced mariner, set off for the Indies, intending to push past Africa. After an arduous journey past the Cape of Good Hope (discovered and named by his predecessor Dias) and up the eastern coast of Africa, da Gama and his fleet of three ships (a fourth had been destroyed on the voyage), found themselves in India, where they traded for spices and jewels. They also engaged in some skirmishes with the locals.

The voyage was a commercial success, and the Africans, Arabs and Indians alike learned to both fear and respect the Portuguese explorers.

Source: Bohlander, Richard, ed. World Explorers and Discoverers. New York: Macmillan Publishing Company, 1991.

Strictly speaking, the American continents had already been “discovered” by the time the Europeans showed up. But to the Europeans who came upon these lands, they seemed to be new discoveries. The Vikings, a dynamic group of sea rovers from Scandinavia, were the first Europeans to “discover” America. Around 985, Bjarni Herjolfsson (fl. c.985), a Viking merchant from Iceland, was sailing for Greenland, by then a Viking colony. He missed Greenland, but eventually found himself off a densely forested coastline. Bjarni knew he wasn’t in Greenland because Greenland had no dense forests. But Bjarni wasn’t too curious about the land he’d found; he was more eager to get to Greenland and start farming.

About fifteen years later, around the year 1000, a more adventurous soul than Bjarni Herjolfsson set sail and wound up off a new world. Leif Eriksson (c.985-c.1020), a Greenlander with a yen for travel, wanted to find out more about the land that Bjarni had been criticized for not exploring. The first place Leif found himself in was a rocky shore he called “Helluland” which translates to the unromantic term “slab land.” Further south, Eriksson dubbed the area “Markland”, meaning “forest land.” Historians believe that these sites are modern day Baffin Island and Labrador, respectively. Leif’s final destination in the New World was a place he called “Vinland”, named for the numerous vines the Greenlanders found there.

The actual location of Vinland remains a mystery, but many place it somewhere in Newfoundland, Canada. The Vikings failed to establish anything permanent in Vinland, and a subsequent attempt to settle there was abandoned due to the inability of the Vikings to peacefully coexist with the indigenous native population.

Source: Haywood, John. Encyclopedia of the Viking Age. New York City: Thames & Hudson, 2000.

The telescope was invented in 1608 by Dutch spectacle maker Jan Lippershey and later refined by famed scientist Galileo (1564-1647). Its military use was readily apparent, and by the mid-17th century they were being used aboard ships. The telescope (a term supposedly devised by Galileo) went by many names at sea. The English referred to it as the "Dutch trunk" and the "trunke spectacle" as well as the more familiar term "spyglass."

Sources: Bell, Louis. The Telescope. New York: McGraw-Hill Book Company, 1922. Kemp, Peter, ed.

The Oxford Companion to Ships and the Sea. London: Oxford University Press, 1976 

During the days of the big sailing ships, it was inevitable that crewmen would die while at sea. Bad food, dangerous duties and the ever-present threat of disease in cramped living conditions made life at sea a perilous career choice. When a man died at sea, there usually was not a coffin available for the body. Instead, the ship’s sailmaker would wrap the remains in extra sail canvas and sew it shut. It is said that final stitch was often passed through the dead man’s nose. All crewmen who were not on duty were expected to attend the funeral, with the dead man’s friends and mates often receiving time off to attend. The ship’s chaplain or captain would say a few words from a prayer book or the Bible, and then the canvas-wrapped body would be tipped overboard into the ocean.

Source: Lovette, Leland P. Naval Customs, Traditions and Usage. Annapolis: United States Naval Institute, 1934.

The legend of the Flying Dutchman, and its many variations, is one of the best known superstitions of the sea. The story goes that a Dutch sea captain (his name is sometimes given as Vandedecker) in the 17th century made such fast voyages between Batavia in the Dutch East Indies and Europe that his sailors believed that he was in league with the Devil. On one trip, his ship (sometimes called the Braave; often no ship name is given) was having trouble passing the Cape of Good Hope at the tip of Africa.

Vandedecker was so enraged that he mocked God and was sentenced to wander the seas forever, never reaching Amsterdam. As time wore on, the legend expanded so that Vandedecker (and, by extension, his ship) were considered ghostly bad omens to other sailors. Anyone who sights the Flying Dutchman is said to be marked for a fast death.

The story is a legend based on other, more terrestrial, legends about unlucky people who are punished for their impertinence by being forced to wander the earth aimlessly. Seeing these spectral nomads normally indicates bad luck is on the horizon.

Sources: Beck, Horace. Folklore and the Sea. Edison, NJ: Castle Books, 1999. Rabl, S.S. 1948.

The Legend of the Flying Dutchman. The Chesapeake Skipper. Vol. 2, No.5: 9, 33

There are few beverages in the world so uniquely maritime as grog. Little more than watered-down rum, grog seems an inseparable part of life at sea in the Age of Sail. In 1739, Vice Admiral Edward Vernon (1684-1757) of the Royal Navy issued a decree that the crew’s normal ration of rum (plentiful in the Caribbean, where Vernon and his fleet were stationed) would be diluted with water. The new drink would consist of a half-pint of rum and a quart of water. Though they were drinking something less potent than straight rum (which, in the Caribbean, tended to be very strong), the seamen of the Royal Navy did not put up too much of a fuss. Vernon was a capable and much respected leader, and his men dubbed the concoction “grog” in his honor. While pacing the deck of his ship, Vice Admiral Vernon was rarely seen without his old grogram coat, leading to the nickname of “Old Grog.”

One of Edward Vernon’s subordinates was a Virginian named Lawrence Washington (1718-1753). The two became such good friends during a naval campaign in the Caribbean, that Lawrence Washington would later name his Virginia estate after his old comrade. After Lawrence Washington died, ownership of the Mount Vernon plantation eventually passed to his brother George.

Source: Lathrop, Constance. 1935. Grog: Its Origin and Use in the United States Navy. United States Naval Institute Proceedings. Vol.61, No.385: 377-80. 

Some would argue it is never a good time to eat oysters, but that is a separate matter entirely. The old maxim goes that oysters should never be eaten in May, June, July or August because these months do not have an R in their names. This is not due to the oysters being in any way dangerous to eat, rather it is because these months tend to be when the oyster breeds. The ban on eating oysters during their breeding period goes back hundreds of years. To protect precious oyster beds, England’s King Edward III (1312-1377) decreed in 1375 that it was against the law to catch or possess oysters between the months of May and September.

Many modern seafood connoisseurs still pay lip-service to this old custom; perhaps the idea of King Edward’s displeasure keeps them honest.

Source: Cowan, Frank. A Dictionary of the Proverbs and Proverbial Phrases of the English Language Relating to the Sea. Greensburgh, PA: Oliver Publishing House, 1894.

During the days of sailing vessels, the boatswain (contracted, in typical sailor fashion, to “bo’sun”) was responsible for ensuring that the work done on deck (and up in the rigging) was done correctly. No sailor wanted to face the unpleasant wrath of an upset bo’sun. So that his orders could be heard, the bo’sun was normally equipped with a whistle. Specific tunes (or “calls”) would correspond to specific orders. The unique whistle (which resembles an oddly-shaped tobacco pipe) became the badge of the bo’sun throughout the 16th and 17th centuries.

Legend has it that England’s Lord High Admiral Sir Edward Howard (c.1477-1513) wore a similar whistle to commemorate a crushing naval victory over Scottish captain Andrew Barton (d. 1511). Howard’s pipe was no doubt a very ornamental affair; the ones later adopted by bo’suns were modeled after Sir Edward’s, but were much more modest.

Although modern public address systems have taken the place of the bo’sun’s whistle, it is still used on special occasions to announce the arrival of a VIP onboard a ship.

Sources: Kemp, Peter, ed. The Oxford Companion to Ships and the Sea. London: Oxford University Press, 1976.

Stephen, Leslie, ed. The Dictionary of National Biography. London: Smith, Elder and Company, 1885.

Few things appear as uniquely nautical as the figurehead. Often a carved representation of the vessel’s name, or a personification of a vessel with an abstract name, the figurehead’s origins are as old as organized sea travel. Early on, a ship’s figurehead might invoke a protector spirit or deity to help ensure a safe and prosperous voyage. Ancient Egyptians and Phoenicians were the first to mount small, carved figures at the beakhead at the front of their ships, usually a bird or horse. Vikings continued this tradition into the Middle Ages with carvings depicting fearsome serpents or dragons incorporated into the design of their ships. By the 16th century, the design of ships had changed to allow figureheads (which, by now, were becoming more and more ornate) to move to their familiar position on the ship, just under the bowsprit.

The British, with their large navy, had dozens of names and subjects, both mythological and zoological, to choose from. The Spanish tended to use lions for figureheads, while the French focused on mythological subjects. What had started as a talisman of sympathetic magic, had transformed, by the age of sail, into a true work of art. The clipper ship era (in the mid-nineteenth century) ushered in a new wave of figurehead carving, in which women were the most popular subjects.

With the advent of steam, ships lost their bowsprit, and figureheads lost their home. By the twentieth century, figureheads joined the ranks of other aspects of the romantic age of sail that were remembered only by the old salts.

Sources: Kemp, Peter, ed. The Oxford Companion to Ships and the Sea. London: Oxford University Press, 1976.

Moby Dick instantly comes to mind as one of the most recognizable cetaceans in history. But this frightening sea monster was not merely a figment of author Herman Melville’s (1819-1891) imagination. The real sperm whale who inspired Melville, and terrified a generation of whalemen, was a huge, seventy-foot long bull dubbed “Mocha Dick.” Dick was first encountered near the Chilean island of Mocha in the early 1800s, where he aggressively defended his turf against whalers and was known to smash whaleboats to pieces. Legends about Mocha Dick grew over a thirty year period, as Dick continued to attack whaleboats and even the occasional ship. Like the fictional Moby Dick, Mocha Dick was said to have numerous harpoons permanently stuck into his hide from many a fiercely fought battle against whalers.

It was not uncommon for whalers to name particularly ornery whales. The anthropomorphizing of their prey may have led to more involved stories featuring other named (and violent) whales, such as Timor Jack, Don Miguel, New Zealand Tom and Morquan, King of Japan. All of these whale celebrities are mentioned by Ishmael in Moby Dick.

Sources: Melville, Herman. Moby Dick, or the Whale. New York City: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., 1967.

Whipple, A.B.C. The Whalers. Alexandria, VA: Time-Life Books, 1979.

The sea shanty (also called a sea chanty) often invokes romantic images of the old clipper ships and the heyday of sailing vessels. But shanties were not created merely to add atmosphere to the arduous life of a shellback. Sailors spent an amazing amount of time pulling on ropes (“lines” to your average mid-19th century sailor), and only by an entire team of men pulling in time could the sails or capstans be handled correctly. A shanty gave the men a rhythm to pull to, and something to keep their minds off the tedious work.

Most songs were set to popular tunes of the day, and often reflected the topics foremost in a sailor’s mind: shore leave, women and drink. Shanties, a corruption of the French word chanter (“to sing”), largely died out by the 20th century, when steamships replaced sailing vessels. With no lines to pull, sailors had little incentive to dream up new shanties. The old songs live on, however, and offer an interesting view into the bygone world of the men who worked the old sailing ships.

Sources: Brown, Rosalina. 1999. Sea, Sailing and Song. Sea Breezes. 73: 290.

Swensen, P.R. 1987. The Origin of the Sea Shanty in Nautical History. The Dog Watch. 44:78-79.

For centuries, sailors have personified death as Davy Jones, a ghoulish sea-demon who would pull the unlucky down to their deaths into the inky black sea. The origin of the name is unclear, but there are a few theories. One suggests that it comes from the name of a tavern-keeper mentioned in an old drinking song, who kept his beer and ale in a seaman’s chest. The more commonly agreed upon theory is that “Jones” refers to Jonah, the Biblical prophet who was swallowed by a whale.

Over time, sailors may have attached more menacing qualities to the character of Jonah than the Bible ascribes to him and turned him into something of a monster. Saint David was the patron of Wales, and Welsh sailors often turned to him in their time of need. How the pernicious Jonah and the redemptive Welsh saint were combined into one sinister character is unclear.

Most seamen carried their few belongings in chests or lockers. Davy Jones was no different, and his “locker” has come to represent the depths of the dark, ominous ocean.

Source: Hendrickson, Robert. Salty Words. New York: Hearst Marine Books, 1984.

This word came to us via Spanish interaction with the Tainos in the early 16th century. The Tainos were the “Indians” Christopher Columbus found when he landed in the New World. Their word for the large cyclonic storms (as well as a destructive creator god) which plague the Atlantic was written by early Spanish settlers as “huracan.” After some mistranslations and evolution, the word became “hurricane” in English by mid-17th century.

The word “typhoon” is an Anglicization of the Chinese word t’ai-fun, which means “great wind.”

Sources: Lovette, Leland P. Naval Customs Traditions and Usage. Annapolis: United States Naval Institute, 1934.

Rouse, Irving. The Tainos: Rise and Decline of the People Who Greeted Columbus. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992.

The simple answer is that no one really knows where the name “Newport News” came from. But there is certainly no shortage of explanations. The most commonly held belief is that somewhere along the span of Newport News’ riverfront was a watering spot for ships on their way to the English settlement at Jamestown. According to legend, this is where Christopher Newport (1560-1617) landed and gave the homesick English “news” about what was going on in England. It has also been said that the English christened the point of land now known as Newport News Point “Newport’s Ness,” “ness” being an old-fashioned word for a spit of land. The city was called “Newport’s News” by some until the early 20th century.

But Captain Christopher Newport is not the only one given credit for the city’s name. Some say that a pair of early English settlers, the Newce brothers, are responsible for the name. New Port Newce was eventually corrupted over the years to Newport News. To further complicate matters, the Thomas and his brother William Newce were from Newcetown, Ireland. Still others contend that the name derives from the hometown of settler Daniel Gookin, who was from Newport, Ireland.

Source: Evans, Cerinda. 1947. Newport News: Origin of the Name. The Virginia Historical Magazine 55:31-44.

Spain’s newly conquered American empire required a huge workforce to tend the fields and toil in the mines. Local native were utilized first, but European diseases and unspeakably bad working conditions quickly took their toll on the population. In 1518, King Charles of Spain (1500-1558) allowed for some 4,000 Africans to be brought over to Spanish colonies to work the land. North America (specifically the present day United States) received its first influx of African slaves in 1526 with the arrival of Spaniard Lucas Vasquez de Ayllon (c.1475-1526) in present day North or South Carolina. Along with the 500 Spanish colonists of the expedition came some 100 African slaves meant to work the land. Less than a year later, malaria, mutiny and an unseasonably cold winter killed off the majority of the Spanish, including Ayllon himself.

Source: Quattlebaum, Paul. The Land Called Chicora. Gainesville: University of Florida Press, 1956.

By 1929, Archer Huntington (1870-1955), heir to a fortune of his father Collis Huntington (1821-1900), decided he wanted to build a spectacular maritime museum. It was decided that Newport News, Virginia, home to the shipyard his father had constructed, would be the perfect location. In 1930, Huntington began buying up land along the James River to house his museum and the Commonwealth of Virginia granted him a charter which created The Mariners’ Museum.

The local Newport News Shipbuilding and Drydock Company (at this time, still controlled by the Huntingtons) provided much engineering and building skills, and by 1933, the Museum was ready to open to the public. There was no fanfare on October 29, 1933 when the first guests (who happened to be anyone visiting the already popular Mariners’ Museum Park) were admitted in to see the rudimentary display of nautical artifacts.

Source: Brown, Alexander Crosby. The Mariners’ Museum, 1930-1950: A History and Guide. Newport News: The Mariners’ Museum, 1950.

Like many Americans, Collis Potter Huntington (1821-1900) headed west during the California gold rush in 1849. But he was not out to sit in a stream, panning for gold. Rather, he was content to play the role of merchant, selling goods and merchandise to the miners and prospectors. A shrewd businessman with an almost innate ability to turn a profit, Huntington soon established himself as one of the West’s most prosperous businessmen.

Not content to rest on his laurels, Huntington joined a group of three other like-minded California entrepreneurs during the American Civil War (1861-1865) to petition the United States government to build a trans-continental railroad. Huntington was Central Pacific’s main cheerleader in Washington DC during the early days of the war, and in 1862, he was rewarded with a contract to construct the railroad. Huntington then turned his sights south and formed the Southern Pacific to construct a railroad through the American Southwest. After absorbing and/or buying up numerous smaller railroad companies and even a few shipping firms, Huntington purchased the Chesapeake and Ohio (C&O) railroad. He now owned a second trans-continental line, that ran from Virginia in the east, south to New Orleans and from there, west to California.

By the 1880s, Huntington was running coal from his mines in Appalachia to Newport News, the terminus of his C&O line. It was in Newport News that he founded the Chesapeake Dry Dock and Construction Company in 1886 to add shipbuilding to his impressive industrial resume. The company later became the Newport News Shipbuilding and Drydock Company, a leader in the construction of civilian passenger liners and military aircraft carriers.

Source: Miles, George E. Collis P. Huntington. (n.p., 1899)

The Lions’ Bridge (which is technically a dam rather than a bridge) separates The Mariners’ Museum’s Lake Maury from the James River. It is so named for the four lifelike lion statues that adorn each of its corners. The lions were designed by renown sculptress Anna Hyatt Huntington (1876-1973), wife of the Museum’s founder, Archer Huntington (1870-1955).

By the early 1930s, when the lions were delivered to the Museum, most of the actual carving of Mrs. Huntington’s designs was being done by skilled craftsman Robert A. Baillie (b.1880). Baillie, a native of Scotland who came from a revered family of stone carvers, created the four lions out of limestone at his studio in Closter, New Jersey. He oversaw their placement on the bridge by riggers from the nearby Huntington-owned Newport News Shipbuilding and Drydock Company in 1932.

Sources: Brown, Alexander Crosby. The Mariners’ Museum, 1930-1950: A History and Guide. Newport News: The Mariners’ Museum, 1950.

Proske, Beatrice Gilman. Robert A. Baillie: Carver of Stone. Brookgreen, South Carolina: Brookgreen Gardens Trustees, 1946.

When The Mariners’ Museum was conceived in the late 1920s, the plan called for the inclusion of a large lake on the property. Local Waters Creek, named for early Virginia settler Lieutenant Edward Waters (b.1584), would prove to be the nucleus of the new lake. The creek was dammed up by engineers (the dam is now known as the Lions’ Bridge on account of the four lion statues decorating its corners), and water let in from the James River, along with two artesian wells, created Lake Maury.

Sources: Brown, Alexander Crosby. The Mariners’ Museum, 1930-1950: A History and Guide. Newport News: The Mariners’ Museum, 1950.

Cones, Harold N. The Mariners’ Museum Park: The Making of an Urban Oasis. Newport News: The Mariners’ Museum, 2001.

Matthew Fontaine Maury (1806-1873) is often called the “Pathfinder of the Seas” for his pioneering work in the field of oceanography. Maury’s active career at sea ended in 1839 when an injury prevented him from serving aboard Navy ships. He was transferred to the Navy’s Depot of Charts and Instruments, where an interest in ocean currents and weather turned into an exhaustive study of oceanographic and meteorological data collected by United States warships cruising the world’s oceans. The subsequent charts he produced became the standard aboard American and foreign ships, both naval and merchant.

When Maury’s native Virginia seceded from the Union in 1861, he went with it and was commissioned into the Virginia State Navy. A few weeks later, the state’s navy was merged into the larger Confederate States Navy, where Maury was instrumental in designing torpedoes (devices that are now referred to as mines) and purchasing ships abroad to serve as commerce raiders. After the Civil War (1861-1865), Maury obtained a teaching position at the Virginia Military Institute.

Source: Bohlander, Richard, ed. World Explorers and Discoverers. New York: Macmillan Publishing Company, 1991.

Current, Richard N., ed. Encyclopedia of the Confederacy. 4 vols. New York City: Simon and Schuster, 1993.

Maritime Commerce, Merchant Marine & Work Boats

Why a barrel was called a hogshead is anyone’s guess. As early as the 14th century, large barrels were being dubbed “hogsheads” or “oxheads.” But in colonial Virginia, the hogshead was so important to the economy, that for a time it became a de facto unit of currency. In the early days of the colony, a hogshead barrel might contain between 400 and 800 pounds of valuable tobacco. By the eighteenth century, laws had been passed in both Virginia and Maryland to regulate the size of hogsheads at 48 inches tall and 32 wide. An average hogshead could hold 900 to 1400 pounds of tobacco!

Why did tobacco planters attempt to cram so much tobacco into a barrel? Taxes and shipping costs depended on the number of hogsheads shipped, rather than the weight. The act of packing a barrel was called “prizing.” Tobacco would be slowly added to the hogshead while a worker would tamp it down with his feet, or with a tool. By packing the leaves so tight, a planter saved on shipping costs because he was shipping fewer hogsheads.

Sources: Goodman, Jordan. Tobacco in History: The Cultures of Dependence. New York City: Routledge Inc., 1993.

Middleton, Arthur Pierce. Tobacco Coast: A Maritime History of Chesapeake Bay in the Colonial Era. Newport News, VA: The Mariners’ Museum, 1953.

Throughout the nineteenth century, when whaling was at its peak, a dead whale had a dozen uses. Whale oil, rendered from the copious amount of blubber found on a typical whale, was used in stoves for heat, lamps for light and as a lubricant on machinery. The oil was also useful in making soap and varnish. Before the rise of the modern petroleum industry, whale oil was the only oil available in any quantity, and whaling became an extremely profitable business.

But there was more to a whale than just his blubber. Sperm whales also provided whalers with ambergris, a waxy substance that was (and still is, when available) used in the manufacture of fine perfumes. Ambergris is produced in a sperm whale’s intestines, but the purpose it serves to the whale is still unclear. Spermaceti, the substance found in the sperm whale’s blocky head, was also valuable for use in medicines and high quality candles.

A whale’s teeth were useful as well. Scrimshaw, the art of carving designs onto sperm whale teeth, kept many a whaleman busy during the maddeningly inactive days while hunting their quarry. Baleen, the long strips of keratinous material used by non-toothed whales to strain food from seawater, was used to make corset stays and riding crops.

Interestingly enough, whale meat was often considered not worth eating, and was left for the sharks smart enough to gather around the whaleships.

Sources: Ellis, Richard. Men & Whales. New York City: The Lyons Press, 1991.

Starbuck, Alexander. History of the American Whale Fishery, vols. 1-2. New York City: Argosy-Antiquarian, Ltd., 1964.

By the middle of the Second World War (1939-1945), mass-produced Liberty Ships were proving their worth. They were cheap and quick to construct, hauled a lot of cargo, and could even take a beating from Axis adversaries, if necessary. But there were some in the maritime trade who saw room for improvements. These improvements gave birth to the Victory Ship program. The Victories (so named because victory was in the Allies’ grasp) were designed with sharper lines, as opposed to the more blocky, utilitarian design of the Liberties. They were designated VC1, 2, or 3 (depending on the ship’s length), which stood for “Victory-Cargo” ships.

They were also quite a bit faster than their predecessors, averaging up to 5 or 6 knots of speed over the Liberties. After some haggling among engineers and war-planners over the engine type (a standard turbine engine was chosen), the first Victory named United Victory was completed in early 1944. Standard Victories were roughly 400-500 feet long, with armament of one 3 inch gun, one 5 inch gun and up to eight 20 mm guns for anti-aircraft defense. Unlike Liberties, which were normally named for distinguished Americans, Victories took their names from towns, colleges and countries, and would then have the word “victory” attached at the end. The Victories hauled cargo and troops through to the end of the war, and many remained in service afterwards.

Sources: Sawyer, L.A. and W.H. Mitchell. Victory Ships and Tankers. Devon, England: David & Charles, 1974.

After the Second World War (1939-1945) had broken out, it was determined that Great Britain required an enormous amount of cargo tonnage. The Nazi U-boat campaign was taking a tremendous toll on Britain’s shipping, and British shipyards could not meet the demand for new ships. The British turned to American shipyards to construct mass-produced, efficient cargo vessels at a reasonable price. From this program evolved the ship type that came to be called “Liberty ships.” Liberty ships, designated EC1, 2 or 3 for “Emergency-Cargo” ship, were named for eminent Americans.

They neither particularly luxurious nor attractive, from a naval engineering standpoint; President Franklin D. Roosevelt (1882-1945) observed that the Liberty was a “real ugly duckling.” But they were capable of hauling war materiel, troops and weapons to distant shores, all while putting up with abuse from Axis warships and planes (it took three torpedoes and more than an hour to sink the Liberty Cornelia P. Spencer). The average Liberty was 441 feet long, with more than 500,000 cubic feet of cargo capacity. A simple triple expansion steam engine powered the ship, while a pair of five inch guns offered protection from enemy submarines and commerce raiders.

The efforts of the Liberties and their valiant crews helped assure Allied victory in World War Two.

Sources: Sawyer, L.A. and W.H. Mitchell. The Liberty Ships. London: Lloyd’s of London Press, Ltd., 1985.

Stewart, Ian. Liberty Ships in Peacetime. Rockingham Beach, Australia: Ian Stewart Marine Publications, 1992.

The dreaded kamikaze attacks in the closing days of the Second World War (1939-1945) undoubtedly fueled many a nightmare for Allied sailors serving in the Pacific. As the noose tightened around their ever-shrinking empire, Japanese war-planners turned to a desperate tactic they dubbed “kamikaze.” The term means “divine wind” and refers to an attempt by Mongol emperor Kublai Khan (1216-1294) to invade the Japanese islands in 1281. Soon after landing an enormous fleet of ships and tens of thousands of men, the Mongol invasion force was ravaged by an unexpected typhoon. The Japanese, never ones to take heavenly intervention for granted, called the storm “divine wind.”

And in 1944, when an invasion of the Japanese islands again appeared imminent, the Japanese military called on some man-made divine wind to rescue them. Kamikaze pilots would willingly crash their aircraft into American warships, in hopes of sinking them. Eighty-three vessels were sunk by kamikaze raids, while over three hundred were damaged, many severely.

Ultimately, the attacks had no effect on American war plans, but simply provided a bizarre and tragic footnote to a hard won American victory.

Sources: Dunnigan, James and Albert Nofi. The Pacific War Encyclopedia. Two volumes. New York City: Facts on File, Inc., 1998.

Inoguchi, Rikihei, Tadashi Nakajima and Roger Pineau. The Divine Wind. Annapolis, Maryland: United States Naval Institute Press, 1958.

In the days of the great sailing fleets, it was not unusual to find boys no older than twelve or thirteen serving aboard men-of-war. Those from families with more substantial means might find themselves acting as errand boys for the officers; these forerunners of midshipmen were gaining a valuable education in how to run a ship. Boys with slightly lower aspirations might offer their services to ship’s gunner. These were the so-called “powder monkeys.” It was their job to lug gunpowder (often in pre-measured sacks) from the ship’s magazine up to the gun deck. This freed up the ship’s gun crew to focus on firing at the opposing warship.

Powder monkeys were phased out of service after the American Civil War (1861-1865) as navies became more professional and gun crews modernized. Several powder monkeys (normally referred to as “powder boys” in official sources) in the Union navy were awarded the Medal of Honor for bravery in battle.

Sources: Kemp, Peter, ed. The Oxford Companion to Ships and the Sea. London: Oxford University Press, 1976.

Committee on Veterans’ Affairs, United States Senate. Medal of Honor Recipients, 1863-1973. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1973. 

In the early 19th century, Navy brass had a hard time accepting the theory that upstart young steam engines would ever take the place of sails when it came to powering warships. However, the practical naval applications of steam pioneer Robert Fulton’s (1765-1815) engines could not be ignored. So in 1814, Congress approved the funding for a steam-driven warship already under construction in New York. This ship, alternately called the Demologos (Fulton’s name for the vessel) or the Fulton (named in honor of the designer, after he died during construction) became the first steam-powered warship in the world. She was not finished until 1816, after the conclusion of the War of 1812 (1812-1815), and was thus considered a bit of a white elephant by the Navy.

The Fulton was pierced to accommodate thirty guns, but it is unlikely she ever received her complete battery. Peacetime inactivity forced the unique Fulton into the role of receiving ship at Brooklyn Navy Yard, where she stayed until 1829, when an accidental fire ignited her gunpowder magazine and she exploded.

Sources: Gurley, Ralph. 1935. The U.S.S. Fulton the First. United States Naval Institute Proceedings. 61: 322-328.

Naval History Division, United States Navy. Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1977.

Military minds were long fascinated by the idea of a warship that could travel underwater and silently strike at an opponent. Putting that concept into practice, however, was a dangerous proposition up until the twentieth century. Englishman William Bourne (1535-1582), a self-taught mathematician, drew up plans for an oar-powered submarine constructed of wood and leather in the 1570s. Dutchman Cornelius Drebbel (1572-1633) modified Bourne's, and did his English predecessor one better by actually building a submarine sometime in the 1620s. Drebbel's creation could not remained submerged for long (it reportedly reached depths of fifteen feet), and the constant leaking most likely terrified its operator.

A number of subsequent attempts throughout the seventeenth century produced similar unspectacular results and more than a few soaked submarine pilots. Credit is largely given to American patriot David Bushnell (1742-1824) for building and operating the first true submarine vessel. His Turtle, a barrel shaped vehicle with hand-powered screw propellers (another first), attempted to sink the HMS Eagle in New York harbor in 1776. A second sortie with the Turtle also failed to sink the HMS Cerberus. Steamboat pioneer Robert Fulton (1765-1815) tried to sell a sail-driven submarine warship named Nautilus to Napoleon (1769-1821) with no success. The Nautilus was not forgotten, however; both Jules Verne (1828-1905) and the United States recycled this name for submarines.

The Confederates during the American Civil War (1861-1865) advanced submarine technology with lethal results, as inventor Horace L. Hunley (1823-1863) and his increasingly deadly series of three submarines (Pioneer, American Diver and H.L. Hunley) sank the USS Housatonic in 1863. Hunley and six crewmembers of the H.L. Hunley died after the submarine filled with water. These early attempts cleared the way for the development of the modern submarine in the early 1900s.

Sources: Escott, Paul D., ed. Encyclopedia of the Confederacy. Volume 2. New York City: Simon and Schuster, 1993.

Hutchinson, Robert. Submarines: War Beneath the Waves from 1776 to the Present Day. London: Harper Collins Publishers, 2001.

Shortly after the Marine Corps was founded by the Continental Congress in 1775, a standard uniform for the Marines was also drawn up. It included a rather high leather collar that fastened in the back, and was intended to protect the Marine from sword blows. The undoubtedly uncomfortable collar kept the Marines' throats safe in close quarters combat, and remained part of the uniform until it was phased out in 1875. Even though the collar was gone, the nickname "leatherneck" remained.

Sources: Gailey, Harry. Historical Dictionary of the United States Marine Corps. Lanham, Maryland: The Scarecrow Press, 1998.

Rankin, Robert H. Uniforms of the Marines. New York City: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1970.

The concept of throwing dynamite at an opponent might at first sound unprofessional, even cartoonish, but the United States Navy gave it a try in the late 19th century. When the dynamite gun cruiser Vesuvius was commissioned into the US fleet in 1890, some hailed her as an innovative ship of the future. But her career as a dynamite cruiser was rather short-lived. She was a fast ship, capable of a very speedy 21 knots, with little armor and only a trio of 15-inch guns. But her main offensive battery were three pneumatic tubes visible on her bow, which were capable of launching seven-foot-long shells filled with explosive nitrogelatin up to a mile. Compressed air was used as a propellant (rather than gunpowder), so as not to disturb the volatile payload. The breeches of the pneumatic guns were sunk below decks, and therefore, they could not be turned.

The Vesuvius had the unpleasant restriction of having to face whatever direction the guns needed to be fired; this was a liability in modern, turret-driven naval warfare. Seeing action during the Spanish-American War (1898), the Vesuvius' dynamite guns proved to have great psychological effect, as they made no report when fired. After the war, she was decommissioned and sat in ordinary at the Boston Navy Yard until being refitted for torpedo testing in 1905. The use of dynamite gun technology, while not limited only to the Vesuvius, never gained widespread acceptance and was all but forgotten by the time the Vesuvius was scrapped in 1922.

Sources: Mooney, James L., ed. Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships. Volume VIII. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1981.

Stuntz, Stephen. 1941. The Vesuvius: Black Sheep of the White Squadron. United States Naval Institute Proceedings 67: 36-38.

It is often surprising how quickly all the military aspects of the aircraft were apparently realized. Barely a decade after the Wright Brothers’ famous 1903 flight at Kitty Hawk, planes were being used for reconnaissance, bombing, ground attack and interception duty during the First World War (1914-1918). Combining the fledgling air service with traditional naval vessels proved to be a much more difficult proposition. In 1910, aviator Eugene Ely took off from the modified deck of the cruiser USS Birmingham (CL-2) in an early Curtiss airplane. When Ely landed on a nearby beach after a four minute, two-and-a-half mile flight, he proved that taking off from a warship was not a problem; landing on the warship was another matter entirely.

Beginning in 1913, Britain’s Royal Navy began modifying existing ship hulls to allow the take-off of aircraft, resulting in the carriers HMS Hermes, HMS Furious (both originally cruisers) and HMS Ark Royal (a former collier). The first vessel built specifically as an aircraft carrier from keel up was also named Hermes by the Royal Navy. She was laid down in 1918, and commissioned five years later in 1923.

The United States also joined in race to construct aircraft carriers, and produced the USS Langley (CV-1) from the converted hull of the collier Jupiter in 1922. The first two ships in the American fleet built specifically as carriers were the USS Lexington (CV-2) and the USS Saratoga (CV-3). While some regarded aircraft carriers as mere oddities or as ships useful only for reconnaissance, the Second World War (1939-1945) proved that they were just as potent as their cousins, the battleships.

Sources: Chesneau, Roger. Aircraft Carriers of the World, 1914 to the Present. London: Arms and Armour Press, 1992.

Dittmar, F.J. and J.J. Colledge. British Warships, 1914-1919. London: Ian Allan, Ltd., 1972.

The Second World War (1939-1945) saw dozens of strategically important sea battles that involved an incredible amount of men and materiel. But none were as large as the climactic Battle of Leyte Gulf (October, 1944) where American and Japanese forces faced off in the Philippines. Incidentally, October, 1944, also marked General Douglas MacArthur’s (1880-1964) promised return to the Philippine Islands.

The battle involved roughly 230 surface ships, 1800 aircraft (the majority American) and some 183,000 men. Strategically, Leyte was the most important battle the United States fought in the Pacific; the Japanese defeat at Leyte so crippled both Japanese air power and naval forces, that the war was all but over. With their navy no longer able to defend the home islands, Japan was open to invasion by American forces. The dropping of the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August of 1945 cancelled any plans by the United States to invade Japan, a prospect war planners did not relish.

Sources: Pemsel, Helmut. Atlas of Naval Warfare. London: Arms and Armour Press, 1977.

Sanderson, Michael. Sea Battles: A Reference Guide. Middletown, Connecticut: Wesleyan University Press, 1975.

The telescope was invented in 1608 by Dutch spectacle maker Jan Lippershey and later refined by famed scientist Galileo (1564-1647). Its military use was readily apparent, and by the mid-17th century they were being used aboard ships. The telescope (a term supposedly devised by Galileo) went by many names at sea. The English referred to it as the “Dutch trunk” and the “trunke spectacle” as well as the more familiar term “spyglass.”

Sources: Bell, Louis. The Telescope. New York: McGraw-Hill Book Company, 1922.

Kemp, Peter, ed. The Oxford Companion to Ships and the Sea. London: Oxford University Press, 1976.

The quadrant had been in use on land by Arab astrologers since the 10th century, but it was not until the mid-15th century that Portuguese navigators adapted them for use while at sea. When Portuguese merchants and explorers began voyaging to Africa, they would use the quadrant to measure the altitude of the star Polaris and calculate their position south of the Portuguese capital of Lisbon.

The principle of the quadrant was refined over the years and resulted in the invention of the backstaff (also called the “Davis quadrant” after its creator) in the 16th century, which allowed mariners to calculate the altitude of the sun without actually looking at the sun, and the sextant in the 18th century.

Sources: Ifland, Peter. Taking the Stars: Celestial Navigation from Argonauts to Astronauts. Malabar, Florida: Krieger Publishing Company, 1998; distributed by The Mariners’ Museum.

Kemp, Peter, ed. The Oxford Companion to Ships and the Sea. London: Oxford University Press, 1976.

To some of us, it would seem that a sailor’s entire life revolved around knots. If he wasn’t tying them, he was measuring them. A knot equals one nautical mile per hour, and one nautical mile equals 1.15 statute mile. In the days of sail, a ship captain would measure the speed of his vessel by using a device called the log. The log consisted of a length of rope with knots tied into it roughly every 50 feet (ten fathoms). After heaving the log line overboard, the crew would count out the number of knots that passed in thirty second’s time. That number would indicate the vessel’s speed, which came to be recorded as “knots.”

Source: Bathe, Basil and Alan J. Villiers. The Visual Encyclopedia of Nautical Terms Under Sail. New York City: Crown Publishers Inc., 1978.

It is supposed by many that the International Morse Code signal for distress stands for “Save Our Souls” or “Save Our Ship.” Unfortunately, this is just a myth and the truth is a tad more complex. When radio telegraphy became commonplace aboard ships in the early part of the twentieth century, maritime nations decided that a standard distress signal was needed for ships in danger to use.

In 1903, a conference was held in Berlin, but delegates never got around to choosing a universal signal. The leader in wireless (radio) telegraphy at the time, the Britain-based Marconi Company took it upon itself to create a signal and settled on the Morse Code letters CQD in 1904. The signal CQ was a common way for telegraph operators on both land and sea to preface an urgent message. The addition of the D stood for “distress.” This signal was recognized for a few years until Germany’s Kaiser Wilhelm II (1859-1941) convened another conference to address problems within the radio telegraphy industry.

When the issue of distress signals was again raised, Germany’s delegates suggested that ships use the Morse Code signal SOE (which was normally tapped out on the telegraph to indicate a general inquiry) when in trouble. Because E was a single dot on the Morse system, it was agreed that it should be changed to something longer, to overcome any loss of transmission over the airwaves. The second S in SOS is meaningless; it was chosen on account of a longer signal (three dots, as opposed to one) to transmit. In 1908, SOS was made official by international agreement. CQD would remain in use among the British for a few more years (the wireless operator on the Titanic tapped out both SOS and CQD), but eventually gave way to SOS.

Sources: Baarslag, Karl. SOS to the Rescue. New York City: Oxford University Press, 1935.

In the days of the old Spanish Empire (16th-17th centuries), it could take large, unwieldy ships like galleons more than two months to reach their destination. The average length for a voyage from Spain to the New World ports of Havana or Cartagena was about nine weeks. Contrary winds or sailing for destinations beyond the Spanish Main might considerably add to sailing times.

In the 17th and 18th centuries, the English had no better luck sailing to their American colonies. The average voyage from England to Virginia took seven or eight weeks. Wind and the storms that form along the eastern seaboard often added another week or two to the trip.

The 19th century saw the advent of the true ocean liners, when companies of similar ships plied the waters between Europe and America. The packet ships running between New York and European ports boasted sailing times of three or four weeks. Westbound passages (those going to New York from Europe) tended to be a week to ten days longer.

The coming of steam revolutionized the trans-Atlantic carrier trade. By the mid-19th century, it took only a week or two for a steamship to sail from Europe to America. No longer were ships forced to rely upon sometimes adverse winds or blown seriously off-course by violent storms. Rivalries developed between competing companies, or sometimes even between captains employed by the same company, as to who could cross the Atlantic faster.

Sources: Albion, Robert Greenhalgh. Square-Riggers on Schedule: The New York Sailing Packets to England, France and the Cotton Ports. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1938.

Burkholder, Mark and Lyman Johnson. Colonial Latin America. New York City: Oxford University Press, 1990.

Middleton, Arthur Pierce. Tobacco Coast: A Maritime History of Chesapeake Bay in the Colonial Era. Newport News, VA: The Mariners’ Museum, 1953.

Smith, Eugene. Passenger Ships of the World: Past and Present. Boston: George H. Dean Company, 1978.

From the 15th century until the middle of the 19th century, privateers played an important role in the wars fought by the European powers. Simply put, privateers (the term “privateer” also applies to the men who made up the crew of the ship) were privately-owned, government-licensed warships allowed to attack the shipping of enemy nations in time of war. In return, a privateer’s crew was allowed by the government to keep a percentage of the loot they captured. By harassing an enemy’s commercial trade, privateers filled a valuable niche and freed up a country’s standard navy to engage military targets. The crew of a privateer was always warned that they operated under a “no prey, no pay” clause; that is, if the privateer failed to capture any enemy ships, the crew would not get paid.

This led to the chance of a privateer turning to out-and-out piracy. Pirates, while performing the same basic duty of a privateer, have no allegiance to any nation and all the proceeds of their activities are divvied up among the crew. An armed vessel, filled with a motley assortment of plunder-hungry sailors could easily give up the search for legitimate enemy prizes and begin attacking the shipping of any and all nations.

This was a very real danger. During the War of the League of Augsburg (1689-1697) and the War of Spanish Succession (1701-1714), the European powers utilized the concept of privateering with varying degrees of success. But when the wars were over, a generation of fighting men with a taste for plunder and a talent for sailing ships suddenly found themselves unemployed. While some no doubt settled down in legitimate professions, a large number became pirates who menaced the shipping of every nation, from the Americas, to Europe and even spreading to Africa and Asia.

Source: Marley, David F. Pirates and Privateers of the America. Santa Barbara, California: ABC-CLIO, Inc., 1994.

William and Mary is the second oldest college in the United States, and one of Virginia’s most respected institutions. And it was founded with some amount of pirate loot. In 1688, the Royal Navy picked up four suspicious men in a small vessel on the James River. In their boat were several hundred pounds of silver, money and utensils. The men, Lionel Wafer (c.1660-1705), John Hinson, Edward Davis and Peter Cleiss, gave conflicting stories as to where their cargo had come from. The Royal Navy officers were no strangers to capturing pirates, and the men’s story struck them as being very suspect. The four were placed in the public jail at Jamestown to await trial.

Peter Cleiss, a slave owned by Edward Davis, was the first to confess that the men had been engaged in piracy along the Spanish Main. After changing their story a few more times, the other three prisoners admitted that they had been pirates, but they were coming up the James River to turn themselves in and receive an amnesty from Virginia authorities. Cleiss subsequently died in jail, and the remaining three pirates were released, although their loot was not returned to them.

After numerous court appeals, the King of England gave the men their property back, but confiscated some three hundred pounds to help start a college in Virginia. The college, in turn, was named after King William and his wife Queen Mary.

Source: Williams, Lloyd Haynes. Pirates of Colonial Virginia. Richmond: The Dietz Press, Publishers, 1937.

Going to sea in the age of the sailing ship was a dangerous business. Life aboard a warship was always hazardous; during battle, a man had to avoid cannon- and musket-balls, fire and the ever-present threat caused by flying splinters of wood. It was inevitable that someone would lose an eye, a leg or an arm. Pirates, given the rather violent nature of their profession, were no exception. However, books like Robert Louis Stevenson’s (1850-1894) Treasure Island and J.M. Barrie’s (1860-1937) Peter Pan did much to popularize the idea that the pirate population was rife with prosthetic limbs.

Wooden legs were common enough, on both sea and land, as replacements for lost appendages. The Dutch pirate Cornelius Jol (d.1641) did indeed sport a wooden leg, as did a few other rovers recorded in original sources. But the hook-for-a-hand does not seem to have been as popular. In fact, while there were some pirates who were known to have lost their hands, no record of a hook replacement has ever been found in contemporary sources on piracy.

Sources: Cordingly, David. Under the Black Flag: The Romance and the Reality of Life Among the Pirates. New York City: Random House Publishers, 1995.

Rogozinski, Jan. Pirates! Brigands, Buccaneers, and Privateers in Fact, Fiction, and Legend. New York City: Facts On File, Inc., 1995.

In 1886, tireless industrialist Collis P. Huntington (father of the Central Pacific and one of the nation’s great railroad magnates) was granted a charter for the incorporation of his planned Chesapeake Dry Dock and Construction Company. Investors were found, piers and shops were constructed, and the city of Newport News’ infant shipbuilding industry was born. By 1890, the yard’s name was changed to the more familiar Newport News Shipbuilding and Drydock Company and construction began on the first ship to be completed at the yard, the tugboat Dorothy.

Naval contracts soon followed, and Newport News subsequently built a number of battleships, submarines and destroyers for the United States Navy. Throughout the 1920s, Newport News focused on constructing merchant vessels and passenger ships. Business naturally fell off after the start of the Great Depression (1929), but picked up again after the yard was awarded contracts for constructing the Navy’s next generation of aircraft carriers, a task it continued throughout the Second World War (1939-1945).

After the war, attention turned again to civilian vessels, although the passenger liner United States received some major input from Navy sources. The shipyard, now named Northrop Grumman Newport News, is the leader in constructing and repairing nuclear-powered aircraft carriers for the United States Navy.

Sources: Fox, William. Always Good Ships: Histories of Newport News Ships. Norfolk, Virginia: The Donning Company, 1986.

Smith, E.O. Notes on the History of the NNS & DD Co. Newport News, Virginia: Published by author, 1938.

In 1819, a rather tiny (less than 100 feet long) ship set sail from New York bound for Liverpool. This was the Savannah, the first ship fitted with a steam engine to cross the Atlantic. Of course, she only used the engines for roughly 80 hours on the one month passage between America and Europe. As revolutionary as her trip across the ocean was, the Savannah failed to excite much interest on either continent. In the early 19th century, steam vessels were thought of only in terms of the shallow draft steamboats that were considered relatively safe. The idea of actually crossing the ocean in a ship powered by steam was alien, and there weren’t many takers for passenger berths on the Savannah.

The first vessel to make the trek across the Atlantic entirely by steam was the British steamship Sirius, which sailed between Cork, Ireland and New York City in April of 1838. She made the trip in a respectable 18 days, though her coal bunkers were emptied by the crossing.

There had been other steam-powered vessels to cross the Atlantic between the Savannah and the Sirius. In fact, ships capable of both sailing and steaming were becoming more and more common on the ocean. As steam engineering became more reliable, steamships became faster and capable of carrying more passengers or cargo than their sail-driven counterparts.

Sources: Braynard, Frank. S.S. Savannah: The Elegant Steam Ship. New York City: Dover Publications, Inc., 1963.

Hartman, Tom. The Guinness Book of Ships and Shipping Facts and Feats. Middlesex, England: Guinness Superlatives, Ltd., 1983.

In the days of the old Spanish Empire (16th-17th centuries), it could take large, unwieldy ships like galleons more than two months to reach their destination. The average length for a voyage from Spain to the New World ports of Havana or Cartagena was about nine weeks. Contrary winds or sailing for destinations beyond the Spanish Main might considerably add to sailing times.

In the 17th and 18th centuries, the English had no better luck sailing to their American colonies. The average voyage from England to Virginia took seven or eight weeks. Wind and the storms that form along the eastern seaboard often added another week or two to the trip.

The 19th century saw the advent of the true ocean liners, when companies of similar ships plied the waters between Europe and America. The packet ships running between New York and European ports boasted sailing times of three or four weeks. Westbound passages (those going to New York from Europe) tended to be a week to ten days longer.

The coming of steam revolutionized the trans-Atlantic carrier trade. By the mid-19th century, it took only a week or two for a steamship to sail from Europe to America. No longer were ships forced to rely upon sometimes adverse winds or blown seriously off-course by violent storms. Rivalries developed between competing companies, or sometimes even between captains employed by the same company, as to who could cross the Atlantic faster.

Sources: Albion, Robert Greenhalgh. Square-Riggers on Schedule: The New York Sailing Packets to England, France and the Cotton Ports. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1938.