Ficlet - The Unwritten History
The long awaited and elaborate new exhibit on the Age of Sail at the Museum of History was a stunning masterpiece of a success. This amazing accomplishment was not due to the meticulous details in the period perfect displays, as much as it was to the newest addition to the museum’s staff; the illustrious former sea captain and part time tour guide, one Captain Jack Sparrow.
Filling in at the last moment for one of their regular guides, who was out on an earlier than expected maternity leave, her eccentric replacement came highly recommended, despite his apparent lack of credentials of any kind. He quickly became a favorite among school children and senior citizens alike, and the demand for one of Captain Sparrow’s personalized guided tours soon surpassed all expectations. And, as with all popular figures, the content of these tours was not without controversy.
The most common complaint lodged against the colorful commentary offered up by the good captain was his liberal references to “rum”, which not only caused some disconcertion amongst the parents of the impressionable children sent to the museum for their edification, but also to the historians on the museum’s staff, who claimed the exhibit was not meant to be the “History of Rum during the Age of Sail”, but more a comprehensive look back at the sovereignty of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy on the High Seas.
“Bollocks,” had been Captain Sparrow’s reply to these complaints.
Unwilling to squelch the profitable and, indisputably highly popular tours, the Board of Directors, after meeting and discussing the complaints against Captain Sparrow, decided they would send some of their members on a clandestine tour of the exhibit, disguising themselves as chaperones on one of the many school tours scheduled for the following day.
So that was how it came about that Mr. Bailey and Mrs. Dunderhall joined a group of eight-year-old boys from the local parish school, along with Father McGillicutty and Sister Mary Agnes, on a tour of the newest exhibit in the museum.
“Ahoy there, mateys!” Captain Sparrow hailed the group, as they gathered around him in the entrance hall to the exhibit. “Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service.” He bowed, as the boys applauded and cheered, having already been informed of his “expertise” by their classmates at St. Jude the Obscure Primary School.
“He certainly looks the part,” Mrs. Dunderhall whispered behind a raised hand.
“I’ve been told he insisted on wearing his own clothes,” Mr. Bailey whispered back. “He must have scoured all the thrift shops in the district for that getup.”
They of course were referring to Jack’s attire, and what a proper sea captain he did look, with his long frock coat, colorful sash and tricorn hat. He even wore the obligatory bucket boots made famous by all the illustrators of children’s books, along with a baldric and cutlass.
“He looks like he’s stepped straight out of Treasure Island,” Mrs. Dunderhall whispered.
“Are you a pirate?” one freckled-faced boy asked, tugging on Jack’s sleeve.
“He likes to think himself the most fearsome pirate on the Spanish Main,” said an amused voice from behind the group.
They turned to find a museum employee standing there, one of the reenactment specialists, carrying a large toolbox and wearing a big grin on his face.
“Ah! My dear colleague!” Jack grinned back, eyes fixed on the intruder while whispering loudly behind his hand at the boys. “Pay him no mind, boys. He’s not what you’d call the sharpest item in that box.”
The man just smirked, and moving on with his load, hollered over his shoulder, “Better a dull tool than a wobbly-legged, rum-soaked pirate.”
“Oi! I resemble that remark!” Jack shouted cheerfully at the receding back, over the laughter of the schoolboys. Straightening his cuffs and huffing slightly, Jack turned back to the group and said innocently, “Now, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?”
“The boys were asking if you are a real pirate,” Sister Agnes said with a giggle.
Another wide-eyed lad pointed at the cutlass and asked, “Is it real?”
“Of course it’s real,” Jack said, tempering his belligerence with a smile for the good Sister. “Contrary to what a certain Commodore said, a proper pirate’s sword is in fact not made of wood.”
The boys all oohed and ahhed as Jack turned and winked at Sister Agnes, who blushed and busied herself with her guidebook.
“Now boys,” Father McGillicutty said in a loud voice, “We must get moving, we don’t want to miss any of the tour.”
The boys were herded into the semblance of a line and made their way through the turnstile and on into the exhibit hall. The first stop on the tour was a replica of a 17th Century sailing ship, and several figures dressed in period clothing.
“From the earliest days of sail, men needed liquid during voyages,” Jack began, pulling out a set of note cards. “Now, the most readily available liquids were water, of course. And beer. Which were taken on board and stored in casks, and replaced at the end of the voyage or at ports of call.” He paused, clearing his throat. “Now the problem was, the water quickly developed algae and turned slimy, and beer turned sour, neither of which was conducive to the sailors wanting to consume either. Correct?”
The boys all nodded.
“Would you,” Jack bent and read the nametag on the boy’s jacket, “Tommy. Would you want to drink green, slimy water?” The boy made a face as the others went ‘ewww’, and laughed. “Or you, Winston.” Jack frowned and read the tag again. “What sort of a mum names her kid Winston?” As the boy reddened, Jack smiled and snapped his fingers upon realization. “Ah, named you after the Prime Minister, she did. Good job.” He patted the boy on the back and asked in a friendly fashion, “So tell me, Winston, would you serve your crew sour beer?”
“No, sir,” the boy said firmly.
“Didn’t think so,” Jack said, smugly. “So, the custom was to drink up all the beer before it could sour. Which was fine and dandy unless you were on a long voyage. Then you were stuck, once again, drinking all that slimy water.” He pointed at a statue of an able seaman. “The original ration of beer for seamen was a gallon a day, which, when you think of it, is a considerable amount to store over a long voyage. And, as the British Empire grew and longer voyages became more common, the problem of spoilage and shortages increased. As I am sure you bright lads can figure out for yourself.”
“Come along!” Jack waved a hand and moved quickly along the hall, the cluster of boys jostling to be closer to their guide, who had stopped at another display. “Now, the origin of grog lies with this man here, Vice-Admiral William Penn, whose son went on to found the cleverly coined colony of Pennsylvania. But that comes later. This is in 1655, during Penn's campaign for Cromwell in the West Indies, where he arrived in Barbados and captured Jamaica.”
Jack stopped short and glanced irritably down at the cards in his hand, shuffling through them while muttering, “What kind of a bloody idiot wrote these?” Turning towards his audience, Jack flapped the cards in front of their noses, “I trust everyone here bloody knows Jamaica is not in Barbados, contrary to these note cards I’m supposed to read from.”
Jack studied the note card for a moment more, evidently not quite believing his eyes, then cheerfully tossed it over his shoulder.
“There, much more better. So, where were we? Oh, yes! I was explaining how Vice-Admiral Penn came to be known as the founding father of grog. So, going all the way back to 1655, Penn claimed Jamaica for the Crown, only to find it had very few stores of beer or wine. Jamaica did, however, have rum. Lots of rum. Penn, who found himself with a mutinous crew and no beer, therefore began the use of rum as a ration. You all with me so far?”
That these last words being rather slurred, plus the fact that Captain Sparrow was swaying quite alarmingly, led Mrs. Dunderhall to lean over and ask in a concerned whisper to Mr. Bailey, if he thought the good Captain might have had some of his own rum ration before starting the tour.
“Poppycock! At Nine-O’clock in the morning?” Mr. Bailey hissed back, before shushing her so that he could hear the rest of the lecture.
Jack, meanwhile was gesturing rather drunkenly at the next exhibit, which depicted a battle between a pirate ship and a Navy frigate. “You see, back then in the seventeenth century, rum was a libation already well-known to the sailors in the Caribbean seeing how the privateers and pirates alike all traded in it. Yet the use of rum as rations didn’t catch on immediately with the Royal Navy, this being the British we’re talking about, and their being sticklers for custom and all that. Despite all that plentiful rum, they just kept on drinking their sour beer and slimy water.”
The boys all snickered as Jack reenacted the act, complete with a gag and a grimace. Regaining his composure, he shrugged himself thoroughly of the thought and wiped his mustache and beard, straightened, pulling another card out of his pocket with a flourish, and read, “In fact, it wasn’t until 1731 that rum became part of the "Regulations and Instructions Relating to His Majesty's Service at Sea", at which time a half a pint of rum was made equal to the provision of a gallon of beer.”
“Captain Sparrow?” a querulous voice asked from the rear of the group.
“Aye?” Jack squinted to see who was interrupting his lecture.
“Might there have been other events of historical interest, as well, in the 17th century?” Mrs. Dunderhall asked pointedly. “Such as the war against piracy?”
“Weren’t no war to speak of, less you’re talking of that debacle that bloody Lord eunuch Beckett was responsible for.”
“Mister Sparrow! The children!” Sister Agnes covered the ears of the nearest boy, who wriggled free to hear more.
“Captain, Captain Sparrow, darling,” Jack smiled sweetly at the red-faced nun. “No need to be getting your knickers in a twist, I won’t be elaborating in front of these fine, upstanding young gents, on the deficiencies of his Lordship’s… er… equipment.”
Jack turned back to Mrs. Dunderhall with a tip of his hat. “Seeing as much of the reason behind the rise in piracy can be directly linked to the deplorable conditions on board the Naval and merchant vessels of that time, of which the ultimate dilution of the rum was a major part, I would say, the history of the noble drink is most pertinent to the discussion of the Royal Navy.” He winked at the boys and said cheerfully, “Now, if you’d be so kind as to all step over here, we will take a closer look at said conditions as they existed for your average marine.”
They stepped around the corner to where a facsimile of a sailing ship had been carefully recreated, so that one could actually walk through the ship and experience the feel of being below deck. The boys were of course terribly excited and soon were clamoring all at once for answers to their many questions.
Jack finally whistled loudly and raising a hand, said in a loud voice, “AVAST!” Having the boys attention once again, Jack resumed his tour.
“We now come to this man here.” Jack said, gesturing to the next display. “Vice-Admiral Edward Vernon is known as the Father of Grog.”
“What’s grog?” One of the boys asked, raising his hand.
“A travesty to nature, that’s what,” Jack answered with a huff. “You see, by the time ol’ Vernon here came along, straight rum was being commonly issued to sailors aboard ship - and drunkenness and lack of discipline were just as commonly becoming problems. Not to mention the many accidents that were directly attributed to this daily ration of rum.” Jack pointed up at the ship behind them, and said, “Just imagine trying to climb up the rigging of a tall sailing ship after drinking half a pint of rum neat. No easy task when sober or even when the seas were calm.”
“Mister Sparrow, they are just boys!” Mrs. Dunderhall said, indignantly.
Jack squinted at the group and leaning surreptitiously, asked the nearest one,”You sailor. Exactly how old are you?”
“Eight years, three months and twenty-one days, sir!”
“Hmmm, yes, suppose you would be a mite young to be drinking your rum neat.” Jack brightened and grinned at the boys. “How fortuitous for us all that there are people like Admiral Vernon and Mrs. Dunderhall in the world, to splice the mainbrace and keep our courses straight and true.”
“Why I never…” Mrs. Dunderhall sputtered.
“So,” Jack held up on finger to hush her and paused dramatically. “On August 21, 1740, which by the way shows the monumental importance of this epic event as it is recorded for posterity to the exact date, Admiral Edward "Old Grogram" Vernon of the Royal Navy issued the following Order to Captains.”
Jack pulled a parchment out from his jacket pocket and unrolled it. Clearing his throat, he read in his most official voice:
"Whereas it manifestly appears...to be the unanimous opinion of both Captains and Surgeons, that the pernicious custom of the seamen drinking their allowance of rum in drams, and often at once, is attended with many fatal effects to their morals as well as their health...and which...cannot be better remedied than by ordering their half pint of rum to be daily mixed with a quart of water, which they that are good husbandmen may...purchase sugar and limes to make more palatable to them."
Jack glanced around at the wide eyes of his audience, who, to a boy, hadn’t a clue what he’d just read. Rolling the parchment back up, he tapped the top of the nearest boy’s head and asked, “Tell me, Charlie, just what did this proclamation do?”
“Um, get the crew mad?” The boy asked, timidly.
“Good man!” Jack clapped him on the shoulder, as the boy grinned widely. “Exactly! This practice didn’t do a thing to improve moral, nor did it solve the problems they were having with the men. Mostly it just pissed them off.”
“Mister Sparrow!”
“Sorry, Sister,” Jack grinned.
“So what exactly IS grog?” Father McGillicutty asked.
“Glad you asked, Padre,” Jack said. “Admiral Vernon originally ordered the exact specifications of rum to water be mixed on deck and in the presence of the Lieutenant of the Watch, so as not to be accused of cheating a man out of his ration. ‘Course not all ships followed the exact recipe, as it were. Vernon ordered a quarter of water to a half a pint of rum or four to one. Others ordered three to one, and there was even one fellow, a stingy bast…er, miser, Admiral Keith, who issued grog at a ratio of five to one. Needless to say, his crew were a bit on the surly side.”
Jack snapped open the black box hanging at his side and showed it around to the appreciative boys. “The sailors, now, they named their mixtures of grog by way of compass points. Due North was pure rum and due West water alone. WNW would therefore be one third rum and two thirds water, NW half and half, and so on and so forth. So, Johnny, if a seaman were to have two ‘nor-westers’,” Jack whirled and waved the compass under a lad’s nose, “What’d he have?” As the boy’s mouth worked soundlessly, Jack clapped him on the back and answered for him, “He'd had two glasses of half rum and half water. Savvy?”
The boys all murmured in awe at the sea captain swaying before them, as if he were once again on the deck of a majestic sailing ship. With a wave of his arm, Jack addressed them again.
“So, to answer your question, Padre, say you’re throwing a party at the vicarage, and want to serve a bit of ol’ Vernon’s grog to your guests.”
“Why, I never, I mean, I don’t think…” Father McGillicutty sputtered.
“Of course you do!” Jack waved away his protest. “Admiral Vernon’s Lime Grog is as British as the Queen herself.” He paused, and added, “Though I suppose an Irishman such as yourself wouldn’t be that worried about that part. Nevertheless, you would start by mixing in a large jar, some fresh-squeezed lime juice and brown sugar, diluted with the water and rum. Now make sure and use a good old-fashioned dark rum, Jamaican, preferably.”
“Are we here to learn about history or about bartending?” Mrs. Dunderhall asked in a huff.
“Shhh,” Mr. Bailey waved a hand at her, and hurriedly resumed writing in his appointment book. “One pint of rum, one pound brown sugar…”
Jack nodded to the adults in the group. “This is your so-called "four water" grog. You can always tighten it up, although once you're in two-water territory you'll quickly find your guests "stupefying their rational qualities, which makes them heedlessly slaves to every passion," as the good admiral warned. But then again, your guests probably don't have a ship to run or any rigging to climb.”
He waved a hand at the boys and added, “Leave the rum out and use the full pound of brown sugar and you've got a delightful punch for the kiddies’ birthday party. The grownups, they can always hit their ration with a "stick," as it used to be called, of the ol' kill-devil. Just make sure and keep the bottle out of range of little hands.”
“Sixteen limes, one quart of water,” Mr. Bailey muttered while writing.
“And there you have it, folks. A concise history of the Royal Navy during the Age of Sail. I do hope you’ve enjoyed this little tour.”
“It was most delightful and positively edifying, if you ask me,” Mr. Bailey said enthusiastically.
“Just one question, Captain Sparrow, if I may?” Father McGillicutty asked.
“Aye?”
“Where did they ever come up with the term, ‘Nelson’s Blood’ for rum?”
Jack looked around carefully and beckoned the cleric to come nearer. The rest of the group all gathered closely around Jack as he conspired with them in a low voice.
“As legend would have us believe, after Admiral Horatio Lord Nelson was mortally wounded at the great battle of Trafalgar in 1805, his body was encased in a large barrel of rum for the long journey home. Nelson had requested that when he died, he did not want to be buried at sea, which was common tradition, but would prefer to be buried in England. Now, sometime during the voyage, it was discovered that the barrel was almost empty of the rum. You see,” Jack’s voice sunk to a whisper, as if divulging the most secret of secrets, “it is believed that the sailors on-board the flagship H.M.S. Victory had drilled a small hole in the bottom of the cask and had been drinking the rum for good luck.”
“I say!” Mister Bailey exclaimed.
Jack smirked and removing his hat, gave them a bow and said brightly, “Now, if you will excuse me, I really must run. I have promised a certain blacksmith and colleague of mine to help set up the next exhibit, a historically accurate rendition of Fort Charles, in Port Royal, Jamaica. Complete with jail cells, and half-pin barrel hinges.”
****
Filling in at the last moment for one of their regular guides, who was out on an earlier than expected maternity leave, her eccentric replacement came highly recommended, despite his apparent lack of credentials of any kind. He quickly became a favorite among school children and senior citizens alike, and the demand for one of Captain Sparrow’s personalized guided tours soon surpassed all expectations. And, as with all popular figures, the content of these tours was not without controversy.
The most common complaint lodged against the colorful commentary offered up by the good captain was his liberal references to “rum”, which not only caused some disconcertion amongst the parents of the impressionable children sent to the museum for their edification, but also to the historians on the museum’s staff, who claimed the exhibit was not meant to be the “History of Rum during the Age of Sail”, but more a comprehensive look back at the sovereignty of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy on the High Seas.
“Bollocks,” had been Captain Sparrow’s reply to these complaints.
Unwilling to squelch the profitable and, indisputably highly popular tours, the Board of Directors, after meeting and discussing the complaints against Captain Sparrow, decided they would send some of their members on a clandestine tour of the exhibit, disguising themselves as chaperones on one of the many school tours scheduled for the following day.
So that was how it came about that Mr. Bailey and Mrs. Dunderhall joined a group of eight-year-old boys from the local parish school, along with Father McGillicutty and Sister Mary Agnes, on a tour of the newest exhibit in the museum.
“Ahoy there, mateys!” Captain Sparrow hailed the group, as they gathered around him in the entrance hall to the exhibit. “Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service.” He bowed, as the boys applauded and cheered, having already been informed of his “expertise” by their classmates at St. Jude the Obscure Primary School.
“He certainly looks the part,” Mrs. Dunderhall whispered behind a raised hand.
“I’ve been told he insisted on wearing his own clothes,” Mr. Bailey whispered back. “He must have scoured all the thrift shops in the district for that getup.”
They of course were referring to Jack’s attire, and what a proper sea captain he did look, with his long frock coat, colorful sash and tricorn hat. He even wore the obligatory bucket boots made famous by all the illustrators of children’s books, along with a baldric and cutlass.
“He looks like he’s stepped straight out of Treasure Island,” Mrs. Dunderhall whispered.
“Are you a pirate?” one freckled-faced boy asked, tugging on Jack’s sleeve.
“He likes to think himself the most fearsome pirate on the Spanish Main,” said an amused voice from behind the group.
They turned to find a museum employee standing there, one of the reenactment specialists, carrying a large toolbox and wearing a big grin on his face.
“Ah! My dear colleague!” Jack grinned back, eyes fixed on the intruder while whispering loudly behind his hand at the boys. “Pay him no mind, boys. He’s not what you’d call the sharpest item in that box.”
The man just smirked, and moving on with his load, hollered over his shoulder, “Better a dull tool than a wobbly-legged, rum-soaked pirate.”
“Oi! I resemble that remark!” Jack shouted cheerfully at the receding back, over the laughter of the schoolboys. Straightening his cuffs and huffing slightly, Jack turned back to the group and said innocently, “Now, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?”
“The boys were asking if you are a real pirate,” Sister Agnes said with a giggle.
Another wide-eyed lad pointed at the cutlass and asked, “Is it real?”
“Of course it’s real,” Jack said, tempering his belligerence with a smile for the good Sister. “Contrary to what a certain Commodore said, a proper pirate’s sword is in fact not made of wood.”
The boys all oohed and ahhed as Jack turned and winked at Sister Agnes, who blushed and busied herself with her guidebook.
“Now boys,” Father McGillicutty said in a loud voice, “We must get moving, we don’t want to miss any of the tour.”
The boys were herded into the semblance of a line and made their way through the turnstile and on into the exhibit hall. The first stop on the tour was a replica of a 17th Century sailing ship, and several figures dressed in period clothing.
“From the earliest days of sail, men needed liquid during voyages,” Jack began, pulling out a set of note cards. “Now, the most readily available liquids were water, of course. And beer. Which were taken on board and stored in casks, and replaced at the end of the voyage or at ports of call.” He paused, clearing his throat. “Now the problem was, the water quickly developed algae and turned slimy, and beer turned sour, neither of which was conducive to the sailors wanting to consume either. Correct?”
The boys all nodded.
“Would you,” Jack bent and read the nametag on the boy’s jacket, “Tommy. Would you want to drink green, slimy water?” The boy made a face as the others went ‘ewww’, and laughed. “Or you, Winston.” Jack frowned and read the tag again. “What sort of a mum names her kid Winston?” As the boy reddened, Jack smiled and snapped his fingers upon realization. “Ah, named you after the Prime Minister, she did. Good job.” He patted the boy on the back and asked in a friendly fashion, “So tell me, Winston, would you serve your crew sour beer?”
“No, sir,” the boy said firmly.
“Didn’t think so,” Jack said, smugly. “So, the custom was to drink up all the beer before it could sour. Which was fine and dandy unless you were on a long voyage. Then you were stuck, once again, drinking all that slimy water.” He pointed at a statue of an able seaman. “The original ration of beer for seamen was a gallon a day, which, when you think of it, is a considerable amount to store over a long voyage. And, as the British Empire grew and longer voyages became more common, the problem of spoilage and shortages increased. As I am sure you bright lads can figure out for yourself.”
“Come along!” Jack waved a hand and moved quickly along the hall, the cluster of boys jostling to be closer to their guide, who had stopped at another display. “Now, the origin of grog lies with this man here, Vice-Admiral William Penn, whose son went on to found the cleverly coined colony of Pennsylvania. But that comes later. This is in 1655, during Penn's campaign for Cromwell in the West Indies, where he arrived in Barbados and captured Jamaica.”
Jack stopped short and glanced irritably down at the cards in his hand, shuffling through them while muttering, “What kind of a bloody idiot wrote these?” Turning towards his audience, Jack flapped the cards in front of their noses, “I trust everyone here bloody knows Jamaica is not in Barbados, contrary to these note cards I’m supposed to read from.”
Jack studied the note card for a moment more, evidently not quite believing his eyes, then cheerfully tossed it over his shoulder.
“There, much more better. So, where were we? Oh, yes! I was explaining how Vice-Admiral Penn came to be known as the founding father of grog. So, going all the way back to 1655, Penn claimed Jamaica for the Crown, only to find it had very few stores of beer or wine. Jamaica did, however, have rum. Lots of rum. Penn, who found himself with a mutinous crew and no beer, therefore began the use of rum as a ration. You all with me so far?”
That these last words being rather slurred, plus the fact that Captain Sparrow was swaying quite alarmingly, led Mrs. Dunderhall to lean over and ask in a concerned whisper to Mr. Bailey, if he thought the good Captain might have had some of his own rum ration before starting the tour.
“Poppycock! At Nine-O’clock in the morning?” Mr. Bailey hissed back, before shushing her so that he could hear the rest of the lecture.
Jack, meanwhile was gesturing rather drunkenly at the next exhibit, which depicted a battle between a pirate ship and a Navy frigate. “You see, back then in the seventeenth century, rum was a libation already well-known to the sailors in the Caribbean seeing how the privateers and pirates alike all traded in it. Yet the use of rum as rations didn’t catch on immediately with the Royal Navy, this being the British we’re talking about, and their being sticklers for custom and all that. Despite all that plentiful rum, they just kept on drinking their sour beer and slimy water.”
The boys all snickered as Jack reenacted the act, complete with a gag and a grimace. Regaining his composure, he shrugged himself thoroughly of the thought and wiped his mustache and beard, straightened, pulling another card out of his pocket with a flourish, and read, “In fact, it wasn’t until 1731 that rum became part of the "Regulations and Instructions Relating to His Majesty's Service at Sea", at which time a half a pint of rum was made equal to the provision of a gallon of beer.”
“Captain Sparrow?” a querulous voice asked from the rear of the group.
“Aye?” Jack squinted to see who was interrupting his lecture.
“Might there have been other events of historical interest, as well, in the 17th century?” Mrs. Dunderhall asked pointedly. “Such as the war against piracy?”
“Weren’t no war to speak of, less you’re talking of that debacle that bloody Lord eunuch Beckett was responsible for.”
“Mister Sparrow! The children!” Sister Agnes covered the ears of the nearest boy, who wriggled free to hear more.
“Captain, Captain Sparrow, darling,” Jack smiled sweetly at the red-faced nun. “No need to be getting your knickers in a twist, I won’t be elaborating in front of these fine, upstanding young gents, on the deficiencies of his Lordship’s… er… equipment.”
Jack turned back to Mrs. Dunderhall with a tip of his hat. “Seeing as much of the reason behind the rise in piracy can be directly linked to the deplorable conditions on board the Naval and merchant vessels of that time, of which the ultimate dilution of the rum was a major part, I would say, the history of the noble drink is most pertinent to the discussion of the Royal Navy.” He winked at the boys and said cheerfully, “Now, if you’d be so kind as to all step over here, we will take a closer look at said conditions as they existed for your average marine.”
They stepped around the corner to where a facsimile of a sailing ship had been carefully recreated, so that one could actually walk through the ship and experience the feel of being below deck. The boys were of course terribly excited and soon were clamoring all at once for answers to their many questions.
Jack finally whistled loudly and raising a hand, said in a loud voice, “AVAST!” Having the boys attention once again, Jack resumed his tour.
“We now come to this man here.” Jack said, gesturing to the next display. “Vice-Admiral Edward Vernon is known as the Father of Grog.”
“What’s grog?” One of the boys asked, raising his hand.
“A travesty to nature, that’s what,” Jack answered with a huff. “You see, by the time ol’ Vernon here came along, straight rum was being commonly issued to sailors aboard ship - and drunkenness and lack of discipline were just as commonly becoming problems. Not to mention the many accidents that were directly attributed to this daily ration of rum.” Jack pointed up at the ship behind them, and said, “Just imagine trying to climb up the rigging of a tall sailing ship after drinking half a pint of rum neat. No easy task when sober or even when the seas were calm.”
“Mister Sparrow, they are just boys!” Mrs. Dunderhall said, indignantly.
Jack squinted at the group and leaning surreptitiously, asked the nearest one,”You sailor. Exactly how old are you?”
“Eight years, three months and twenty-one days, sir!”
“Hmmm, yes, suppose you would be a mite young to be drinking your rum neat.” Jack brightened and grinned at the boys. “How fortuitous for us all that there are people like Admiral Vernon and Mrs. Dunderhall in the world, to splice the mainbrace and keep our courses straight and true.”
“Why I never…” Mrs. Dunderhall sputtered.
“So,” Jack held up on finger to hush her and paused dramatically. “On August 21, 1740, which by the way shows the monumental importance of this epic event as it is recorded for posterity to the exact date, Admiral Edward "Old Grogram" Vernon of the Royal Navy issued the following Order to Captains.”
Jack pulled a parchment out from his jacket pocket and unrolled it. Clearing his throat, he read in his most official voice:
"Whereas it manifestly appears...to be the unanimous opinion of both Captains and Surgeons, that the pernicious custom of the seamen drinking their allowance of rum in drams, and often at once, is attended with many fatal effects to their morals as well as their health...and which...cannot be better remedied than by ordering their half pint of rum to be daily mixed with a quart of water, which they that are good husbandmen may...purchase sugar and limes to make more palatable to them."
Jack glanced around at the wide eyes of his audience, who, to a boy, hadn’t a clue what he’d just read. Rolling the parchment back up, he tapped the top of the nearest boy’s head and asked, “Tell me, Charlie, just what did this proclamation do?”
“Um, get the crew mad?” The boy asked, timidly.
“Good man!” Jack clapped him on the shoulder, as the boy grinned widely. “Exactly! This practice didn’t do a thing to improve moral, nor did it solve the problems they were having with the men. Mostly it just pissed them off.”
“Mister Sparrow!”
“Sorry, Sister,” Jack grinned.
“So what exactly IS grog?” Father McGillicutty asked.
“Glad you asked, Padre,” Jack said. “Admiral Vernon originally ordered the exact specifications of rum to water be mixed on deck and in the presence of the Lieutenant of the Watch, so as not to be accused of cheating a man out of his ration. ‘Course not all ships followed the exact recipe, as it were. Vernon ordered a quarter of water to a half a pint of rum or four to one. Others ordered three to one, and there was even one fellow, a stingy bast…er, miser, Admiral Keith, who issued grog at a ratio of five to one. Needless to say, his crew were a bit on the surly side.”
Jack snapped open the black box hanging at his side and showed it around to the appreciative boys. “The sailors, now, they named their mixtures of grog by way of compass points. Due North was pure rum and due West water alone. WNW would therefore be one third rum and two thirds water, NW half and half, and so on and so forth. So, Johnny, if a seaman were to have two ‘nor-westers’,” Jack whirled and waved the compass under a lad’s nose, “What’d he have?” As the boy’s mouth worked soundlessly, Jack clapped him on the back and answered for him, “He'd had two glasses of half rum and half water. Savvy?”
The boys all murmured in awe at the sea captain swaying before them, as if he were once again on the deck of a majestic sailing ship. With a wave of his arm, Jack addressed them again.
“So, to answer your question, Padre, say you’re throwing a party at the vicarage, and want to serve a bit of ol’ Vernon’s grog to your guests.”
“Why, I never, I mean, I don’t think…” Father McGillicutty sputtered.
“Of course you do!” Jack waved away his protest. “Admiral Vernon’s Lime Grog is as British as the Queen herself.” He paused, and added, “Though I suppose an Irishman such as yourself wouldn’t be that worried about that part. Nevertheless, you would start by mixing in a large jar, some fresh-squeezed lime juice and brown sugar, diluted with the water and rum. Now make sure and use a good old-fashioned dark rum, Jamaican, preferably.”
“Are we here to learn about history or about bartending?” Mrs. Dunderhall asked in a huff.
“Shhh,” Mr. Bailey waved a hand at her, and hurriedly resumed writing in his appointment book. “One pint of rum, one pound brown sugar…”
Jack nodded to the adults in the group. “This is your so-called "four water" grog. You can always tighten it up, although once you're in two-water territory you'll quickly find your guests "stupefying their rational qualities, which makes them heedlessly slaves to every passion," as the good admiral warned. But then again, your guests probably don't have a ship to run or any rigging to climb.”
He waved a hand at the boys and added, “Leave the rum out and use the full pound of brown sugar and you've got a delightful punch for the kiddies’ birthday party. The grownups, they can always hit their ration with a "stick," as it used to be called, of the ol' kill-devil. Just make sure and keep the bottle out of range of little hands.”
“Sixteen limes, one quart of water,” Mr. Bailey muttered while writing.
“And there you have it, folks. A concise history of the Royal Navy during the Age of Sail. I do hope you’ve enjoyed this little tour.”
“It was most delightful and positively edifying, if you ask me,” Mr. Bailey said enthusiastically.
“Just one question, Captain Sparrow, if I may?” Father McGillicutty asked.
“Aye?”
“Where did they ever come up with the term, ‘Nelson’s Blood’ for rum?”
Jack looked around carefully and beckoned the cleric to come nearer. The rest of the group all gathered closely around Jack as he conspired with them in a low voice.
“As legend would have us believe, after Admiral Horatio Lord Nelson was mortally wounded at the great battle of Trafalgar in 1805, his body was encased in a large barrel of rum for the long journey home. Nelson had requested that when he died, he did not want to be buried at sea, which was common tradition, but would prefer to be buried in England. Now, sometime during the voyage, it was discovered that the barrel was almost empty of the rum. You see,” Jack’s voice sunk to a whisper, as if divulging the most secret of secrets, “it is believed that the sailors on-board the flagship H.M.S. Victory had drilled a small hole in the bottom of the cask and had been drinking the rum for good luck.”
“I say!” Mister Bailey exclaimed.
Jack smirked and removing his hat, gave them a bow and said brightly, “Now, if you will excuse me, I really must run. I have promised a certain blacksmith and colleague of mine to help set up the next exhibit, a historically accurate rendition of Fort Charles, in Port Royal, Jamaica. Complete with jail cells, and half-pin barrel hinges.”
****