It seems, and intuitively so, that the U.S. Naval Institute (USNI) and the Naval History and Heritage Command have joined forces to create a blog, aptly titled The Naval History Blog, that should be at the top of all naval historians’ and buffs’ lists of “go-to” online resources for U.S. Naval history.  Though in its infant stage, the blog seems to have a great deal of potential, and just happens to be manned by two of the premier organizations in the field.  Go to http://www.navalhistory.org/ to check it out.  I have pasted the “About the Blog” section below as it effectively summarizes the direction this blog is headed, and what we can expect as it gains its “sea legs.”

First and foremost, this blog is an excursion into the most intriguing questions, theories and musings that continue to fascinate naval historians.  It is a meeting place where renowned scholars and self-taught history buffs linger and share ideas and perspective on naval events that shape nations.

The Naval History Blog is hosted by two organizations steeped in the traditions of naval history, which see it as a cornerstone of their missions.  The U.S. Naval Institute and the Naval History & Heritage Command are working together to bring their considerable intellectual resources and passion for naval history to this destination.

The forum is a place to honor our naval heritage, explore its unresolved debates, uncover new information, and respectfully stimulate an honest, thoughtful discussion.

Perhaps a section on the Age of Sail is in order?  One can hope, can’t he?  Regardless, the site looks to be a great resource and center for debate and intellectual discussion.  I encourage you to check out the site, as well as the posting, “On the Study of Naval History.”  Though long, it is a very interesting and quality analysis of naval tactics by Rear Admiral Steven B. Luce, founder and first president of the Naval War College in the mid-1880’s.  It is a great historical piece from the magazine, Proceedings, in the year 1887.

In other news, I am presently working on the third and final section of my Evolution of War Wounds discussions, which should be available in a day or two.

Rice.  One of the most prominent and relied-upon staples, cooked in any variety of dishes the world over, and a vital source of nutrition for millions of people on our planet.  I love it; one of my favorite foods that, at times, it seems I just cannot get enough of.  However, this seemingly innocuous ellipsoid was, at one point, the source of an illness that ravaged a large portion of the Royal Fleet in the 18th and 19th centuries.  One arguably more virulent and more mysterious than that of even the famous scurvy.  The disease I speak of is called beriberi; an illness which killed many sailors in the age of sail, and perplexed physicians and surgeons for around a century.

You may ask: what kind of a name is “beriberi” anyway?  If so, you would be joining the masses who, for more than two centuries, have asked that very same question and received the same ambiguous, imprecise answer, “We’re not sure.”  How can this be??  Almost every characterized disease has its roots in the foundations of modern medicine, forged through the use of Latin, and a carefully sculpted (though I can assure you it does not always seem so) and beautifully convoluted (think Rube Goldberg here) terminology.  We have a meticulously documented name, differential description, set of symptoms, and so on, for just about every ailment under the sun, so how is it possible that for this one we “just don’t know?”  I must admit that the enigmatic origins of the disease’s name piqued my interests.  Zachary Friedenberg, author of the book I am now reading (and also enjoying immensely) titled, Medicine Under Sail, describes the proposed origins for the title of beriberi.  It is thought that it might originate from Sri Lanka, where beri beri literally means, “I can’t, I can’t.”  This was in reference to the fact that the affected were so sick that they could not rise to greet the doctor when he arrived to treat them.  Another postulated source for the name comes from the Arabic words, bhur (which means shortness of breath - or asthma) and bhari (which means marine).  Regardless of the number of conjectures, the definitive source of the name is lost to history.

As for the symptoms of beriberi, they were anything but ambiguous, and followed a definitive course to certain death during the age of sail.  They began with anesthesia (loss of sensation) and tingling in the lower extremities, which was followed by edema and swelling in the same region.  The edema spread to include the entirety of the legs, as did the numbness and weakness of the muscles, eventually leading to paralysis.  In the thorax, the edema was just as prominent and significantly more dangerous.  As it affected the lungs, breathing became labored and difficult.  The heart followed with searing pain developing, and leading, both eventually and imminently, to sudden death.  This was, of course, a terrible and hopeless situation for the affected because as soon as it was contracted, they were given a death sentence; the people they looked to for treatment and guidance not only being powerless to help them, but also at a loss to even tell them what it was that was killing them.  Autopsies were performed on the patients who died of beriberi, and some startling findings were made.  The entirety of the chest cavity was filled with fluid, and it was obvious that the peripheral nerves (apart from the central nervous system - brain and spinal cord) had been greatly affected by the disease course.

The strangest factor, at least to the surgeons of the time, was the pattern of who contracted this disease.  The lascars, or Indian crew members serving aboard British naval vessels, contracted beriberi in droves.  Their living condition were poor and unsanitary; a factor that many pointed to as the source of the disease.  However, the other crew members living in direct proximity to them did not contract the illness.  It was also noticed that the Japanese, and far-Eastern cultures, were diagnosed far more often than those of the West.  This aspect was despite socioeconomic status.  Therefore, many concluded and wrongly so, that diet had nothing to do with it.  If a poor person with a poor diet in the Britain did not get it, but a similar person in Japan did, then the diet was obviously not the cause.  As an aside, this sort of egocentric rationalization speaks volumes to the view that the “superior” powers of the world had.  To me, it is almost unbelievable that one could even come to such conclusions since any person could easily recognize that a diet in one country is different than the diet in another.  Many did notice this, the age of sail was not devoid of great thinkers, but it is the huge amount of people who did not see this that leaves one befuddled.  The miasma theory (previous post) showed its face as well, with many surgeons pointing to the poor quality of the air aboard ships as the cause of beriberi.  However, the more astute and creative thinkers of the time did begin to notice patterns in the diets of those affected with the disease versus those who less likely to contract it.  There was one staple that all of their cultures shared, and this was, of course, rice.

What was it about the rice that caused beriberi?  It was the vitamins, or rather, the lack thereof.  Rice is an excellent source of one of the most important vitamins, thiamine (also called vitamin B1).  Thiamine is an essential factor in our body’s ability to metabolize carbohydrates, proteins, and fats.  As one might imagine, if we become deficient, this spells trouble for many bodily processes as these building blocks are absolutely necessary for our body to function correctly.  The milling and refining process of the time, used in the harvesting and preparation of rice for consumption by the masses, effectively cleansed the rice of any measurable amount of this vitamin.  Therefore, people eating this milled rice as a large, or the sole, staple in their diet, would almost certainly come down with beriberi.  It took nearly a century for this very simple relationship between deficiency and disease to be brought to light.  This was in part due to the lack of creative thinking, but even more so, due to the lack of proper means of elucidation.  In modern times, we can easily measure the amount of thiamine in a food source, however, such methods were obviously not in existence during this period.  Many were aware of this, even then, yet they persevered despite their frustrating lack of resources.  Thomas Christie, Inspector General of Hospitals in Colombo, Ceylon in the early 19th century recorded the following in his characterization of beriberi: “I can suppose the difference to depend on some nice chemical combination which I have not sufficient confidence in my knowledge to explain.” (Friedenberg 2002)  The cause was eventually clarified, yet many crew members suffered grievously and died agonizing deaths in the interim.

You open your eyes to pitch black.  Your neck is sore; you have been leaning against this wooden wall for what seems like ages.  What time of day is it?  How long have I been here?  You put your hand out to prop yourself up and feel the slimy wall.  Your hand slips down to the floor and you feel fluid, bringing it to your face reveals it as vomit.  Is this mine? A body next to you stirs and rolls over in his sleep, and as he rolls, you hear the clink of chains and feel your leg being pulled with him.  The rusted, serrated edges of the cuff on your leg stings as it digs deeper into the wounds it created over the many weeks it has hugged your flesh.  Your wits return to you as you remember where you are and how you arrived here, as does the realization that you have not used the bathroom in some time, and you need to now.  Dysentery is an unkind affliction, and the necessity to defecate overtakes you like a storm.  You attempt to wake your mate, the one cuffed to you, vigorously yet fail to wake him despite the fact that you are now violently shaking him.  The bucket is on the other side of the hold, you know there is no way you are going to make it there in time, especially with your partner in such an obtunded state.  You go where you are, in the darkness.  You are a slave aboard a slave ship; ripped from your home in Africa, chained in the dark hold for weeks on end, only to arive in the West Indies and be traded for rum or sugar and forced into a harsh life of servitude.
These experiences, as I described above, were not uncommon in the slave trade.  These individuals were seen as subhuman, and often treated as such.  Often kept in the dark hold of a ship for weeks on end, with little in the way of nutrition and exercise.  The slave trade was often described as being a “triangular trade,” with three legs to the voyage.  The first leg was the departure of ships from their European ports (Britain, Portugal, France, etc.) to their arrival at the western coast of Africa.  Here, the slave traders would engage in a number of sordid means of acquiring slaves.  The first, and most simple, would be to go and capture them themselves.  Another, and exponentially more effective means of acquisition was to coerce the local chieftains or groups of Africans to bring the slaves, through means of force or otherwise, to the slave ships in exchange for goods of value.  This method proved to be of great efficacy for the simple reason that the local peoples were more apt to trust their own.  It is plain to see that the slave trade not only brought misery in a direct way, to those unfortunate enough to be captured and forced into the trade, but also created an atmosphere of distrust and deception that changed the fundamental ways in which Africans interacted with each other during that period.  It is nearly impossible to imagine the horror of having your child, or children, disappear with little to no trace, and not knowing what happened to them for some time, if ever.  This was compounded by the fact that, once actually aboard the ship, the slaves would have their fitness and assessed ability to work judged by the ship’s surgeon, with those deemed as too old or infirm sent back to land.  The boats filled with slaves being sent back were full of screaming individuals, not out of rejoice due to being sent back, but out of fear.  Being sent back to land, due to an inability to work, meant being slaughtered.


The second leg of the trip was from the western coast of Africa to the West Indies in the Caribbean.  This segment of the trip was where scenes like the one I described above were most likely to occur.  The hold in which the captives were interned, was something out of hell.  There were often hundreds of slaves jammed into a relatively small space with little in the way of light, if any.  The only receptacle for defecation and urination being a singular bucket, that was often overfilled, and nearly impossible to get to.  The result was that many of the slaves went to the bathroom in whatever part of the hold they could get to.  Many of them suffered from dysentery, whose most prominent symptom is diffuse, violent, watery diarrhea; we can imagine what sorts of situations may have occurred with this in mind.  The cuffs around the legs of the slaves were often the source of infections and gangrene, making moving even more painful and unlikely.  They were all usually chained in pairs, so that the fate of one would mean the fate of another.  Friedenberg, in his book, Medicine Under Sail, describes instances of slaves attempting to jump overboard, only to have their partner (to whom they were chained) drown, thus thwarting their escape.  It was an effective means of preventing such daring methods of attempted flight from captivity.  Some captains were kind enough (relatively speaking, of course) to allow the slaves time on the deck in order to get exercise and fresh air.  However, many captains were cruel and never allowed such “indulgences,” often despite the advice of the surgeon aboard the ship.
Speaking of the captains, we can imagine that the slave trade, by and large, enticed men with relatively “loose morals” to come and commandeer the ships.  It is possible that many were forced to do so, a fact I am unsure of, however, many seemed to not only feel comfortable with such a loathsome occupation, but in fact reveled in it.  The most brutal means of discipline were all that would suffice aboard many slave ships.  Attempted escapes and insurrections, if quelled, would bring down harsh punishments on the slaves involved.  Brutal lashings to the point of near-death, being tied to the riggings during harsh weather and storms, and so on.  The crew of the slave ships was not spared from the often malicious and sadistic wills of the captains.  They would undergo very similar means of punishment for crimes that many would judge to be minor.  Friedenberg tells of an elderly sailor who merely complained about the quality of the drinking water aboard the ship, and as a punishment, was forced to swallow a pump bolt.  These sailors and crew, as for all naval fleets, were often impressed into the service; poor and malnourished vagrants taken off the streets, or convicted felons, placed on a ship, forced to follow the strict guidelines and unfamiliar orders which they had never before experienced.  They were usually terrible, undisciplined sailors who deserted at the first opportunity.  This atmosphere was obviously not conducive to the honor and pride that was expected of sailors in the service of the crown (whatever crown that might be).
And what of the surgeons?  Were they as horrible as the captains in whose service they were employed?  The fact of the matter is that, despite this being a generalization, many were poor doctors right out of medical school, with little in the way of career choices at that point in time.  They took up a position on the slave ships in order to make some money and actually practice medicine, usually with their tenure not lasting more than one voyage due to the horrid conditions forced on the slaves, and the offenses to their morals.  They often tried their best to provide medical treatment and care for the slaves, though this was often in direct opposition to the orders of the captain.  Many of the diseases they came across were those that were frequently seen aboard sailing vessels of the age.  Afflictions such as scurvy and beriberi were extremely commonplace due to the poor nutrition of the slaves, and dysentery was rampant.  Gangrenous infections from the chains, or any other injurious source, were also relatively commonplace.  Yellow fever and malaria were often brought aboard by both the slaves and the crew who set foot ashore in Africa, as we know these diseases are common in hot and marshy landscapes.  Bilious fever, likely named because of jaundice suffered by victims of hepatitis, was also relatively commonplace and reported by various surgeons.  This disease is caused by viruses, the aptly named hepatitis viruses, of which there are five main identified viral subspecies (A, B, C, D, and E).  The one afflicting the slaves was most likely hepatitis A, since it is transmitted via the fecal-oral route (slaves were defecating in the hold amongst each other) through contaminated food or drinking water, and is highly contagious.  Many surgeons tried to keep careful records of the infirm and injured slaves aboard the ships, and attempted to provide proper care despite the vile conditions forced upon them.  They often spent countless hours in the hold, despite the horrid stench and prevalence of infectious disease, so that they might treat those slaves most in need.  Though it is likely that not every surgeon felt so inclined to help, it seems that many did despite the circumstances, and often had their conscience so offended that they never set foot on a slave ship again.

The third, and last, leg of the voyage involved taking the rum and sugar received in compensation for the slaves back to the European country from which the ship set sail.  All of that suffering, misery, inhumanity, and disease for an extra shot of rum at the bar and a few extra cubes of sugar in one’s tea.  The depths to which some humans will sink at times seems immeasurable.

Cover of Longitude

What parallels, if any can be drawn from history and brought to light with relevance to our current predicament.  I speak of the BP oil spill now ravaging the Gulf of Mexico; a problem seemingly with little in the way of an obvious solution, and even less in the way of hope for the unlucky wildlife entrenched in the muck.  This is without even mentioning the far-reaching economic consequences that are sure to follow such a catastrophe.  BP and the authorities involved have tried various solutions, all for naught at this point, with the recent temporary remedy of collecting the oil by siphoning it into boats on the water’s surface.  This is, of course, a “band-aid” solution at best, and BP knows it.  With this in mind, they have turned their search for a definite solution outwards and have started asking the public at large for any assistance they might be able to offer.  When I first heard this I was both irritated and astounded.  How could they just give up?  If they could not figure it out, what hope would anyone on Facebook have of coming up with an original, practicable solution?  Ridiculous!  Or is it?
 
 
 

I have recently begun reading Longitude by Dava Sobel.  In her book, she details the quest to discover a workable means for assessing an ocean-going vessel’s longitude at sea.  This necessary measurement, though commonplace and an afterthought today, was all but impossible in the early 18th century.  Why?  I mean, they had magnetic compasses and could measure their latitude using only a sextant and the heavens, so why was the accurate measurement of longitude so elusive?  The answer is clearly described by Sobel, who states that the measurement of longitude is tempered by time.  In other words, and very much unlike latitude, measuring longitude accurately requires that the persons aboard the vessels know their current time (in whatever timezone they might be in) and also the time at a specific place of known longitude (say their home port) at that very point in time.  By knowing these, the sailor can deduce the number of hours difference and pinpoint his longitude.  We must use a bit of math to make this clear (hold back the nausea).  If the earth spins a full 360 degrees in a 24 hour period, then dividing that number (360) by 24 gives us the number of degrees longitude that’s equivalent to one hour.  This number is thus 15 degrees.  So by having the two clocks and measuring say, a 3 hour difference in time, we could then know that that ship is 45 degrees to the east or west of the point of reference.  Make sense?  Of course it does, your a bright person!  We do, however, run into a snag at this point.  You see, unlike latitude, longitude does not stay a constant as we travel vertically (north to south) on the globe.  In other words, since the Earth is a sphere, the lines of longitude converge as you come closer to the poles, causing one to lapse many degrees of longitude in a relatively short amount of time.  As an aside, it was this fact that contributed to the innate difficulty in steering and navigating ships with accuracy at the poles, despite the use of ever more advanced compasses and equipment, for many centuries and thus postponing mankind’s ability to explore these areas with ease.
It is plain that having two clocks is absolutely necessary with respect to accurate ascertainment of longitude.  As Sobel points out, a pair of wristwatches would suffice.  An object so commonplace and almost an afterthought in this time was, at one point, the thing of legends.  There were certainly clocks in use during the early 18th century, however, they were hardly as accurate as those now in use and often lost a number of minutes per day.  Winding a clock every so often was absolutely commonplace, making it imaginable that utilizing these devices at sea might prove troubling.  There was also the problem of the elements at sea.  Clocks were temperamental where changes in climate were concerned.  Heat would cause their internal parts to expand and the lubrication liquid to thin out, while cold would do the opposite and cause the metal to contract and the oil to congeal.  The tossing and pitching of the boat would also cause the clock to often speed up, slow down, or completely stop.  Even something as delicate as changes in the Earth’s gravity at certain latitudes might cause disturbances.  Researchers toiled at finding a workable solution to this problem while many sailors, even some who were excellent navigators in their own right, were lost at sea.
Sobel gives the example from of Admiral Sir Clowdisley Shovell who, upon returning home in October, 1707 after proving victorious in skirmishes against the French forces in the Mediterranean Sea, was overcome by a fog that clouded his ability to navigate near the treacherous, rocky coast of Brittany.  His navigators (keep in mind they had no way of assessing their longitude) judged their craft to be safely west of this coast.  Much to their astonishment and horror, they had misjudged their longitude and were actually in the midst of the Isles of Scilly.  The Isles form an archipelago off the southwestern tip of Great Britain, and those rocky waters tore their ships to shreds.  Shovell’s flagship, the Association, was the first to strike the rocks and sink in short order; the Eagle and the Romney followed quickly behind.  In total, four of the five ships in the small fleet met their ends.  Miraculously, Shovell managed to wash up on shore; shaken to his very bones, but very much alive.  In a strange twist of fate however, a starving and desperate woman combing the beach came upon his body and quickly noticed the rather large emerald ring on his finger.  In his depleted state, she managed to murder him and steal the ring.  She confessed her crime on her deathbed 30 years later (Sobel, 1995, pg. 11-13).  Apparently, luck runs out for us all, though some quicker than others.  Many other stories like Sir Clowdisley’s (minus the murder) made it all to apparent that an answer to the “longitude question” must be answered, and quickly.

NOTICE: Written before the new cap was placed over the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico.

“Time is to clock as mind is to brain.  The clock or watch somehow contains the time.  And yet time refuses to be bottled up like a genie stuffed in a lamp.  Whether it flows as or turns on wheels within wheels, time escapes irretrievably, while we watch.  Even when the bulbs of the hourglass shatter, when darkness withholds the shadow from the sundial, when the mainsprings winds down so far that the clock hands hold still as death, time itself keeps on.  The most we can hope a watch to do is mark that progress.” (Sobel, pg. 34)
 Many great thinkers, as early as the 16th century, were aware that the answer to the “longitude problem” was likely to be found in a mechanical timekeeper.  In 1530, the Flemish astronomer Gemma Frisius stated, most assuredly, that the mechanical clock was a true player in the effort to find longitude.  However, as stated previously, building a watch that could withstand the elements and the motion aboard a vessel was something that would not be possible until centuries later with the advent of John Harrison’s H1.
 John Harrison was a carpenter in his youth.  The story goes that, at the age of six, he was stricken with smallpox and confined to his bed for a period.  His father gave him a pocket watch with which to amuse himself while bedridden, and John was immediately captivated by the timepiece.  He spent hours disassembling and reassembling it and studying its moving parts.  So began his fascination with clocks.  He built his first working pendulum clock in 1713 at the age of 20.  Though this was a great feat, it was particularly fascinating for one other reason: the clock is constructed almost entirely of wood, innards and all.
 His gift with craftsmanship of timepieces would be further tested as he began his quest to discover a means to answer the question of how to properly measure longitude.  He was hardly unique in this respect towards the end of the 17th century.  Everyone was setting about trying to win fame and fortune by solving the longitude problem.  One of the most “colorful” of solutions came in 1687, in the form of a substance called the “powder of sympathy,” presented by Sir Kenelm Digby.  This powder was said to be able to heal any wound, and from any distance.  All a person had to do to unleash its powers was to apply the powder to an article of the afflicted’s clothing, and they would miraculously be cured of all ailments.  The cure was not painless though, and would thus cause a significant level of pain in the injured subject when the powder was used.  This was of course nothing but quackery.  You might be wondering how on Earth this could be related to measuring longitude.  The idea was to bring a wounded dog aboard a ship setting sail for whatever destination, and to have someone apply the powder to the wounded dog’s bandage at home port when the sun was upon the Meridian in London.  The crew could then deduce their longitude by measuring the time at their current position and adjust it to find the difference.  Yes, this was indeed an actual idea of the time, and that is without saying anything about inhumane treatment of animals.
 
Another albeit equally ridiculous (though possibly more humane) idea that sprouted up was from a pair of mathematicians, William Whiston and Humphrey Ditton.  The pair often engaged in discussion and debate.  One of their discussions led them to the thought that sounds could be used as predetermined time signals by which sailors at sea could deduce their longitude by measuring the difference in time aboard their ship as compared to the time the sound was supposed to occur.  These “sounds” came in the form of signal ships, stationed at specific intervals, whose sole purpose was to fire their cannons at a specified time.  As you might imagine, this idea would call for a rather large number of ships, all of which would need to manned by a crew, and unlike most ships of the time, would be completely stationary.  How would the health of the crew aboard these ships be maintained?  How would they be fed?  Paid?  These were trivial details to the two mathematicians.  Apart from that, there is the matter of how uncertain the seas can be.  Weather conditions might cause the ships cannon to go unheard, or to possibly sink a ship without anyone knowing for some time.  And the very fact that they must remain stationary was a cause for disbelief.  The Atlantic has an average depth of 2000 fathoms, and with a fathom being 6 feet in length, this would necessitate some very, very long anchors.  There were just too many variables to make this a practicable idea.  It, of course, did not get very far.
 John Harrison completed his first sea clock, H-1, in 1735.  It was a monstrous thing, though exceptionally elegant in its complexity.  As Sobel writes, “Built of brightly shining brass, with rods and balances sticking at odd angles, its broad bottom and tall projections recall some ancient vessel that never existed.  It looks like a cross between a galley and a galleon, with a high, ornate stern facing forward, two towering masts that carry no sails, and knobbed brass oars to be manned by tiers of unseen rowers.  It is a model ship, escaped from its bottle, afloat on the sea of time.”  Despite its accuracy in sea trials, and its apparently warm reception by the Board of Longitude (the committee overseeing all bids to solve the riddle of measuring longitude) in 1737, Harrison still felt that he could do better.  He asked for another two years of funding to complete a clock that he believed would be both smaller and more accurate (the clock has not erred more than a few seconds in a 24 hour period; a miracle by the standards of the time).  He was granted his wish and began work on H-2.
Harrison’s presentation of H-2 to the Board in 1741 was somewhat of a repeat performance from the years previous.  He was an absolute perfectionist, and it showed.  He pointed only to the clock’s foibles and highlighted none of its improvements from the previous iteration.  His goal, as he put it, was merely to receive the blessing of the board to try again.  He set out to make H-2 smaller than the previous timekeeper, and did so.  However, it was still quite large, weighing in at 86 pounds, however, it did sport a number of improvements over H-1.  It had a device within which allowed a much greater acclimation to changes in temperature, passing all of the tests (heating and cooling) with flying colors.  They even subjected it to violent shaking, much more than what might be seen on an oceangoing vessel, and yet it reliably ticked on.  Despite these achievements, Harrison’s inner perfectionist would not allow him to give up at this point.  He retired again to his workshop to begin work on H-3; a project that would take him nearly 20 years to complete.  Meanwhile, his first clock, H-1 drew the attention of people from all around the world.  The English artist, William Hogarth described it as “one of the most exquisite movements ever made,” in his Analysis of Beauty published in 1753.



As Harrison began work on his third device, H-3, his son William joined his father in the workshop and eventually took up the cause of creating the timepiece along with his father.  William grew with the clock; passing through his teens and twenties while working on it, and continuing work on the next iteration, H-4, until he was 45 years old.  Harrison introduced a device in H-3 known as the bi-metallic strip.  This strip can rapidly compensate for any changes in temperature that might affect the rate of the clock.  This device, though created well over 200 years ago, is still present in some thermostats.  H-3 was also the leanest of the sea clocks, with a weight of around 60 pounds.  Harrison’s other goal with H-3 was to reduce the friction inherent in the inner workings of a timepiece.  To reduce this factor, he introduced the idea of cages ball-bearings, a component in most every machine with moving parts to this day.  Though more satisfied with H-3 than his previous sea clocks, he had a revelation upon seeing the watch created by John Jefferys.  It was within this watch that he saw what he must accomplish with his fourth and final iteration of a sea clock, and as such began work on his first truly portable timekeeper.
 Work was completed on the watch in 1759.  As Sobel writes, “Coming at the end of that big brass lineage, H-4 is as surprising as a rabbit pulled out of a hat.  Though large for a pocket watch, at five inches in diameter, it is minuscule for a sea clock, and weighs only three pounds. Within its paired silver cases, a genteel white face shows off four fanciful repeats of a fruit-and-foliage motif drawn in black.  These patterns ring the dial of Roman numeral hours and Arabic seconds, where three blued-steel hands point unerringly to the correct time.  The Watch, as it soon came to be known, embodied the essence of elegance and exactitude.” (Sobel, page 106)  Harrison was infatuated with this watch and expressed more satisfaction with it than any of the previous timekeepers combined.  This watch was an absolute marvel, and a true masterpiece.  Harrison’s H-4 did eventually win the Longitude Prize, however, not without much hardship and heartbreak.  You see, there was another, stronger, and more influential faction proposing a much different (and less practicable) way of measuring longitude: the lunar distance method.




 Several astronomers proposed this method as the key by which they might unlock the secret of measuring longitude accurately.  If one can measure the distance between the moon and some other visible celestial body, this measurement, along with a nautical almanac, can then be used to calculate Greenwich Mean Time.  A separate calculation is used to determine the apparent local time, leading to the determination of longitude without necessitating a chronometer.  As one might imagine, this sect of astronomers was vehemently opposed to the idea of a clock being the most accurate means of measuring a ship’s longitude.  They also held positions of status within the Board of Longitude, and one in particular, a Reverend Nevil Maskelyne, seemed to resent Harrison’s creation more than the rest.  He forced Harrison’s timepieces to go through a variety of grueling sea trials, above and beyond what was necessary to determine their reliability.  Despite these unfair tests, the sea clocks came out on top, however, not without much aging and accrued weariness on the part of John Harrison.  The antagonistic relationship between Harrison and Maskelyne deserves a post of its own someday.
 So what is my point?  Well, with this somewhat long-winded story, I was hoping to illuminate a simple idea.  And that is that despite the most brilliant minds and affluent wallets put to task in order to devise a method to determine longitude, it was a self-educated clockmaker who came up with the (eventually) winning idea.  We can now fast-forward to present day, and view the BP oil spill within the same framework.  BP, up until extremely recently (and hopefully this second cap will hold) was unable to devise a secure and workable method of sealing the oil geyser.  Had they turned to the population in earnest, without the PR games and masked truths, might they have had more rapid success?  Could they have found their John Harrison?  I do not know, however, I often think that it is the most practical amongst us who often have the solutions that might have been so obvious as to escape those who are highly specialized and inundated within the field of interest (i.e. those who are so focused on their specialized skills as to miss a solution which was staring them in the face but required looking at the problem from a different, unique angle).  It is an interesting thought, and with the second cap now in place, experts must now turn towards the actual Gulf itself, and devise a method of actually cleaning up all that oil without further damaging the ecosystem and wildlife.  Perhaps they have a very good plan in mind (something in me doubts it) and are already underway with the planning stages, however, if they do not, perhaps they still have reason to reach out to the populace and find a solution that is far more workable than anything they have come up with as of yet.

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Just got back from our trip to Mystic Seaport.  It was a great time despite torrential rain, and we really enjoyed seeing the tall ships and perusing the dank holds; it really gives you a sense of what these whalers and seamen had to go through on their months-years long voyages.  There’s a great museum there that explores the ocean’s impact on American history complete with a Civil War era seamen’s uniform, which was an unexpected find, as well as a huge array of other artifacts (not to mention some amazing scrimshaw pieces).

The photos will follow in the next couple posts!

Has anyone been to Mystic Seaport recently?  Any interesting exhibits attended?

I recently finished Joan Druett’s Rough Medicine, which explored the experience of the surgeon aboard both British and American whaling ships in the 18th and 19th centuries.  She did an excellent job of conveying the conditions aboard, as well as the array of mishaps, dangers, and unexpected foibles that could (and did) often occur with such extended sea voyages.  Going aboard the Charles W. Morgan, America’s last remaining whaling ship of its once large fleet, really made the book come alive.  The renovations currently underway on the ship’s restoration should be finished sometime in 2012; I look forward to going aboard again when it can actually be called seaworthy again!  When it does, it’ll be its first voyage in almost a century.  Druett’s book is a great reference work as well, complete with an extensive tabulation of all the contents that could be found in none other than John Woodall’s medicine chest.  If you’re unsure, he began the movement to maintain and regulate medicine aboard ships at sea during the Age of Sail with the compilation of his manual called, The Surgeon’s Mate.  An invaluable book for all ships with or without a surgeon (as you might imagine, particularly without one).

Pictures to follow!

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Thought these were some interesting maritime history-related links that I came across while browsing RSS feeds, and were worth sharing.  I found the piece on the quest to find John Paul Jones’ flagship, the Bonhomme Richard, to be particularly of interest.  Enjoy!

New Titanic Pictures Mark 25th Anniversary of Discovery

BBC News - Divers steal from Holland 5 submarine off Sussex coast

200-year-old whale skeleton found on Thames bank

Giant freeze dryer to preserve famous shipwreck

Search is heating up for Bonhomme Richard

Nelson victory poster for sale

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I have collected some very interesting and worthwhile maritime history and naval history-related links over the past month or so, and figured I would collect and share them here.  Enjoy and comments welcome, as always.

A Good Boatswain is Hard to Find - Naval History Blog

Eyewitness to Trafalgar 205 Years Ago Today - Old Salt Blog

Ships Ahoy! They don’t make ships like this anymore. - Readex Blog

Conservation of Nelson’s Trafalgar Uniform - NMM Collections Blog

The Battle of Valcour Island 11 October 1776 - Naval History Blog

The Birth of the Continental Navy - Naval History Blog

On Quarantine - Of Ships and Surgeons

Gull Scavengers and the Lobsterman’s Shack - The Scuttlefish

The US Navy and Inventor Robert Fulton - Naval History Blog

Elderly woman, daughter find incredible ocean treasure - Old Salt Blog

Thanks to Naval History Blog, Old Salt Blog, The Scuttlefish, Of Ships and Surgeons, and NMM Collections Blog for posting the excellent historical articles above.

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Picked up a few links in my browsing over the last few weeks that I thought were worth sharing.  Enjoy and let me know what you think of any of the stories!

1861: Superior Naval Bureaucracy (Naval History Blog)

New York City Honors USS United States, 7 January 1813 (Naval History Blog)

The Navy and the Nation in the 1740s (NMM Collections Blog)

Dear Diary, You’ll NEVER Guess What Happened Today! (BOOKTRYST)

Vikings Navigated the Sea with Sunstone Crystals (A Blog About History)

New Website Launched Highlighting African American Maritime Heritage (Fyddeye)

“Fighting Bob” Evans at Fort Fisher (Naval History Blog)

Sir Francis Drake: Patriot or Pirate? (General-History.com)

Pride and Piracy: The Diary of Captain Bartholomew Sharpe (Old Salt Blog)

John Paul Jones and Russia (Naval History Blog)

Enjoy the links, and as always, comments welcome!