Sailor Mouth Saturday: Nelson's Blood

Today is a special occasion, a holiday in the truest sense of that word, for those of us who live and breathe  nautical history. On this day in 1758 Admiral Horatio 1st Viscount Nelson was born in Burnham Thorpe, Norfolk, England. Perhaps the greatest naval hero of modern times, it would take the U.S. another 50 plus years to produce his like in the person of Admiral David Farragut. And we've had some awesome naval heroes on this side of the pond, let me tell you.

But I digress. To honor The Great One, Triple P will stray a bit from the usual SMS format and give you a shanty instead. A shanty, that is, written to commemorate Nelson's life and tragic death. Known alternatively as "Nelson's Blood" or "The Golden Chariot", the song became popular among English speaking seaman not long after Nelson's death in 1805.

The phrasing, as with most sea songs, is repetitive and easy to sing. Various versions of the song exist (find my favorite, by The Corsairs, on their album "Songs from the Road" available for download here) but they all refer to Nelson's blood. Legend has it that the Admiral's body was packed in a barrel of rum for transport home aboard his flagship Victory. Men were said to sneak swigs from the barrel in order to gain a bit of Nelson's greatness. Thus rum took on the moniker: Nelson's Blood.

While the story may hold some truths, most of it is probably apocryphal Be that as it may, the shanty is a wonderful way to remember Admiral Nelson. It's also great to sing while hoisting a tankard of Nelson's blood.

A drop of Nelson's blood wouldn't do us any harm,
A drop of Nelson's blood wouldn't do us any harm,
A drop of Nelson's blood wouldn't do us any harm;
And we'll all hang down behind.

So we'll roll the Golden Chariot along,
We'll roll the Golden Chariot along,
We'll roll the Golden Chariot along;
And we'll all hang down behind.

The image is of men following Nelson's funeral wagon to the place of his burial, which many a Royal Navy sailor by land at the time did. Various other stanzas become more bawdy as they go, referring to things that "wouldn't do us any harm" such as a night in jail, a saucy wench and a fat old cook. The chorus of following the Golden Chariot continues throughout and most singers of the shanty end with the drop of Nelson's blood refrain.

So, a mug o' grog and a hearty Huzzah! for Admiral Nelson. Happy Saturday, Brethren. May fair winds follow you, and your Nelson's blood always be the best of quality.

Header: The Apotheosis of Nelson by Pierre-Nicola LeGrand c 1818 via Wikipedia

Tools of the Trade: All in the Color

Sailors are generally ship-proud.  Like housewives of old whose identity infused itself into their clean, tidy and good looking home, sailors want their ship to be the prettiest on the water.  One of the things that goes into sailing the best looking ship is the trim of her paint.  How well the paint is kept up, and what colors are chosen, has a lot to do with the personality of the ship and the pride of the sailor.

In the Great Age of Sail, certain colors were virtually synonymous with certain ships.  Nelson was famous for the black and white checkers he favored around the gun ports of his vessels.  This pattern, though tricky and time consuming to execute, caught on in the Royal Navy - particularly after Nelson's death but ultimate triumph at Trafalgar.  Ships that sported this design were generally painted black or a very dark blue to allow the checkered design to stand out.  From there, favorite combinations included everything from Nelson's black and white to such surprising combinations as scarlet and lilac, crimson and gold or salmon pink and brown. 

Across the Atlantic, the U.S. Navy tended to a more neutral pallet.  Black with cream was a very common combination but some of the larger frigates took on more distinctive colors.  USS Constitution, for instance, was famously recognizable for her contrasting black and white - no checkers, thank you.  As the picture above, from the ship's official website, shows, she carries those colors to this day.

A few other things, particularly those that might trick the eye as to a ship's flaws or help the crew in their day to day doings, were also taken into consideration.  For instance, decks were almost universally painted a light color such as white or cream.  This allowed the crew to see better at night.  Darker colors were favored for the hulls of larger ships while lighter colors - particularly white - were the choice for smaller ships.  This gave the larger ship a more lovely line, and the smaller ship the look of a larger one.  High gloss, in the form of lacquer, was usually avoided as it was thought to accentuate unmentionables such as a wide bow or a heavy bottom.

One rarely finds anything more beautiful on this planet than a well maintained ship.  If you haven't yet, now is a good time to think about a new coat of paint for your vessel, Brethren.  Maybe some purple and scarlet checkers, just for a change?

Header: USS Constitution in her glory, as noted above from her official website

Books: A Manual for Victory

HMS Victory, arguably the most famous man-of-war built during the Georgian era, didn’t come with an operating manual. The iron men who sailed her didn’t need one. They knew what they were up to, certainly almost to a man, and gave her life through the work of their muscles and bones. She was and is a remarkable vessel, and to some degree a shrine. It was upon her deck and in her orlop that the immortal Horatio Nelson saw victory – and death – and Trafalgar.


All that said, a guide to owning and maintaining HMS Victory couldn’t hurt, even at this late date. That is exactly what author Peter Goodwin and Haynes Publishing Group came out with on February 4th: the first ever fully illustrated and impeccably accurate guide to one of the oldest and most iconic sailing ships in the world.

As noted in the press release from Haynes:

With the aid of specially commissioned photographs and an authoritative narrative, the reader is taken below decks to discover the innermost workings of the warship. There are chapters on how to sail an 18th century man-of-war, gunnery and tactics, and the [$2.5 million] conservation program that will ensure she continues to be a top visitor attraction well into the 21st century.

The book, as noted, was written by Peter Goodwin who is a former Royal Navy marine engineer and an expert on sailing and ships of Nelson’s navy. Fans of the movie Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World will be familiar with Goodwin’s expertise; he was an advisor on technical points during production and post-production of the film.

The book is available online at an extremely reasonable $23.73 U.S. It really is a must-have for anyone interested in any of the subjects which, throughout history, have touched the beautiful HMS Victory.

Finally as an aside, and with no offence intended to the British Brethren, the press release notes Victory is “the world’s oldest commissioned warship.” In fact, she is the world’s oldest commissioned warship not actively sailing. The oldest commissioned warship still on the high seas is USS Constitution. I’m splitting hairs, perhaps, but it is a small matter of pride for those of us who have some connection to the U.S. Navy which, in all fairness, is the daughter of the Royal Navy.

Header: HMS Victory In Battle by Chris N. Wood via Artists Harbour

History: A Last Letter

Tomorrow marks the 206th anniversary of the Battle of Trafalgar and the death of Admiral Horatio Lord Nelson. For those of us who live and breathe the history of seafaring, this is a hallowed event indeed.


But, though Joseph Conrad told us that exalt was a word that seemed to be created for Nelson, still the Admiral was – in the end – just a man. Examples of this fact are everywhere in the history: his careless treatment of his wife’s feelings, his over-the-top infatuation with Emma Hamilton, his reckless if successful audacity and his sincere affection for his daughter, Horatia.

The girl who was named after her father was born on January 29th in 1801. She was one of a pair of twins born to Emma Hart Hamilton as a result of her ongoing and scandalously open liaison with Nelson. Emma, being neither the brightest nor the most steadfast of individuals, felt she could not raise two daughters. Horatia’s twin was secreted away to a foundling hospital before Nelson returned from a cruise; the girl is rarely spoken of in literature about Nelson, Lady Hamilton, or for that matter Horatia.

Horatia was little better off than her abandoned sister, as it turned out. She was initially told that Nelson and Emma had adopted her. Emma recanted this story, telling Horatia her father was Nelson but that she was not the child’s mother. Horatia clung to this fiction for many years, no doubt at the very least resentful of her impoverished youth taking care of a bloated and besotted Emma. Eventually Horatia found happiness, or one hopes so anyway. She married the Reverend Philip Ward in 1822, and the pair went on to have 10 children. Horatia survived her husband and lived to the ripe old age of 80.

She seems to have spent very little memorable time with her father but they did carry on a charming if brief correspondence that terminated with one of the last personal letters Nelson wrote. The series of extant letters amounts to four, all of which are available online here (note that admiralnelson.org appears to have the dates of the last three letters incorrect, placing them in 1804 rather than 1805). All four letters were written aboard HMS Victory and have an affectionate tone that brings to mind a father very much missing his child.

The last letter is exceedingly poignant, particularly in hindsight. Its simplicity makes it even more so. I shall quote it here and say simply, Huzzah! for Lord Nelson:

Aboard Victory, 19 October, 1805


My dearest Angel,


I was made happy by the pleasure of receiving your letter of September 19th and I rejoice that you are so very good a girl, and love my dear Lady Hamilton, who most dearly loves you. Give her a kiss for me.


The Combined Fleets of the Enemy are now reported to be coming out of Cadiz and therefore I answer your letter, my dearest Horatia, to mark that you are ever uppermost in my thoughts. I shall be sure of your prayers for my safety, conquest and speedy return to dear Merton and our dearest, good Lady Hamilton.


Be a good girl; mind what Miss Connor says to you.


Receive, my dearest Horatia, the affectionate parental blessing of your Father.


Nelson & Bronte


Header: Horatia Nelson, posed very much like her mother, by an unknown artist; portrait in the National Maritime Museum, Greenwich

Sailor Mouth Saturday: Draught

The word draught (or draft) is common enough. In modern English we speak of drafting a speech, draft horses and beer “on draft”. No one thinks very much of where the word came from. I’m sure I needn’t even trouble myself to tell you, Brethren. It came from the sea.

The word’s origin is probably from Anglo-Saxon by way of Middle English. It was originally dragan, meaning to draw as in drag or pull. Think of a horse or ox with a plow. This became the Middle English draht (pronounced without the f) which essentially meant the same thing. Slowly the “draw” in the meaning came to mean not only tug along but sketch and that led to the current understanding of draught or draft to mean an design or layout.

That final addition to the meaning of draught probably came from seafaring. Originally, draught when referring to a ship meant the amount of water needed to keep her afloat. One hears of a ship’s draft being five feet for a small sloop or pirogue, or something more like fifteen to twenty feet for a man-of-war. Frequently the displacement line was marked, often by white paint, at the stem and stern. A ship is therefore said to “draw” the number of feet of water she displaces when afloat.

Probably because of the use of the word draw, draught came to mean first a chart for navigation and then the on paper delineation of a ship’s design. The term sheer-draft essentially refers to what architects by land would call and elevation. The picture above, from the plans for Nelson’s HMS Victory via liverpoolmuseum.com, are a good example of a sheer-draught.

There are also draught hooks, which are fastened to a gun to drag it along by – what else – draught ropes. And, of course, a draughtsman is the artist who actually sets down plans or charts on paper for future use.

My apologies to one and all for the egregious lateness of this post. My Internet provider *GCI based in Anchorage, Alaska* doesn’t seem to feel that the money I pay them on a timely basis each month means I should have reliable service. So, after a full day without (and a good deal of fiddling with boxes and splitters) I am finally posting. I’ve yet to miss an SMS, and I’m not about to start now.

Good night, Brethren. Tomorrow we begin Horror on the High Seas Week!

History: Trafalgar Day

On this day in 1805, the British fleet commanded by Admiral Horatio Lord Nelson engaged a combined flotilla of French and Spanish men-of-war off Cape Trafalgar. In the most decisive naval battle of the Napoleonic Wars, Nelson’s Navy soundly defeated the enemy effectively ending any hopes Napoleon may have had for supremacy at sea or invasion of Britain.

Here is an excerpt from the daily log of HMS Euryalus made after the battle by her Captain, Charles Collingwood:

The action began at twelve o’clock, by the leading ships of the column breaking through the enemy’s line, the Commander in Chief about the tenth ship from the vanguard, the Second in Command about the twelfth from the rear, leaving the van of the enemy unoccupied; the succeeding ships breaking through, in all parts, astern of their leaders, and engaging the enemy at the muzzles of their guns; the conflict was severe. The enemy’s ships were fought with a gallantry highly honourable to their Officers, but the attack on them was irresistible and it pleased the Almighty Disposer of all events to grant his Majesty’s arms a complete and glorious victory.

About three P.M. many of the enemy’s ships having struck their colours, their line gave way. Admiral Gravina, with ten ships joining their frigates to leeward, stood towards Cadiz. The five headmost ships in the van tacked and standing to the Southward, to windward of the British line, were engaged, and the sternmost of them taken: the others went off, leaving his Majesty’s squadron nineteen ships of the line.

After such a Victory, it may appear unnecessary to enter into encomiums on the particular parts taken by the several Commanders. The conclusion says more on the subject than I have the language to express. The spirit which animated all was the same; when all exerted themselves zealously in their country’s service, all deserve that their high merits should stand recorded; and never was high merit more conspicuous than in the battle I have described.

Of course Nelson, who insisted both on commanding HMS Victory on deck and wearing his full Admiral’s uniform complete with medals, was shot and killed during the battle. In a few short hours a hero made martyr became a legend. As the epitaph on his monument in Guildhall, London puts it:

The period of Nelson’s fame can only be the end of time.

For a very personal experience of all things Nelson, visit Mark Coggins’ blog post from whence I collected the picture at the header of Saturday’s post. I enjoyed Mark’s ruminations on the wax figure of the Admiral at the Nelson Museum.

Want more in depth and fascinating first hand information about the Battle of Trafalgar? Visit The Dear Surprise and find a wealth of engrossing information on all things Royal Navy and O’Brian. You may just lose yourself for the day.

Header: A modern imagining of Nelson aboard Victory before Trafalgar

Ships: The Hero Of Trafalgar

HMS Victory, or the one that is docked at Portsmouth today, is the seventh ship in the British service to carry that fortuitous name. No sailor would argue with the good sense of giving a ship a moniker that identifies her as a winner right out of dry dock. That’ll bring you luck, sure.

As is typical of her class, Victory was an enormous floating world that could hold a crew of over 800 men and an almost unfathomable variety of guns. When she fought the Battle of Trafalgar she carried two 68 pounders (remember, that is the size of the ball the gun could discharge), twenty-eight 42 pounders, twenty-eight 24 pounders, twenty-eight 16 pounders and sixteen 6 pounders. She displaced 2,160 tons.

Victory, a first rate line-of-battle ship (or “ship of the line”) was designed by Sir Thomas Slade and built at Chatham Dockyard. She was launched in 1765. At that time, however, she was still incomplete and she was not properly commissioned until 1778 when France declared her intention to lend her fighting strength, including ships and sailors, to the American Revolution. Victory entered her first engagement that July as the flagship for the Channel Fleet, fighting in the Battle of Ushant.

She returned to Ushant in 1780 where she earned fame by capturing a French convoy off the coast. Admiral Howe chose her as his flagship in 1782 when he led a flotilla to relieve the siege of Gibraltar. The next year saw the end of British/French aggressions and Victory returned to Portsmouth, where she sat “in ordinary” (with her spars and masts taken down and only a skeleton crew to maintain her) for eight years.

By 1793 she was back in service, this time as the flagship of Admiral Sir John Jervis at the head of the Mediterranean Fleet during the Napoleonic Wars. On February 14, 1795, Jervis intercepted a large Spanish convoy and engaged them at the Battle of Cape St. Vincent. He took two Spanish flagships and three smaller Spanish ships during the battle with the loss of only 9 British lives. The efforts of an as yet relatively unknown Captain by the name of Horatio Nelson had a great deal to do with Jervis’ resounding success.

Though Victory was put up as a prison hospital ship in 1800, she was soon missed and rebuilt. In 1803 Captain Thomas Hardy took command of her and she returned to the Mediterranean where she became the flagship of now Vice-Admiral Lord Nelson’s fleet. She cruised the Mediterranean and the Atlantic Ocean on the hunt for French Vice-Admiral Pierre Villeneuve’s fleet which had the potential to invade England. The animosity between the two brilliant Admirals came to a head off Cadiz at the Battle of Trafalgar on October 21, 1805.

The outcome of the battle was, of course, a decisive win for the British and the end of any real naval threat to England from the French. Nelson was shot by a French sniper while commanding on the deck of Victory. Taken below, he expired once he was told that 15 French and Spanish ships had been captured and that the British would surely win the day. Packed in a barrel of rum, Nelson’s body returned home aboard Victory. She achieved Sheerness on December 22nd, having lost 57 of her crew (including Nelson) with 102 wounded.Victory, though she has never been decommissioned, almost instantly became something like a floating shrine to the great British hero that Nelson had already become. She was eventually docked at Portsmouth, where she sits today as part of the Portsmouth Maritime Museum which also includes the Tudor warship Mary Rose. Here she can teach generations about a time when Britain ruled the waves. A fitting retirement for one of the greatest ships in British history.

Pictures: Painting of HMS Victory in Battle by Chris N. Wood; photo of Victory today via bbc.co.uk

Women At Sea: Remembering Nelson

Today is the 252nd anniversary of the birth of Horatio Nelson. I hope all the British Brethren get to leave work early at the very least on such an auspicious occasion. If I’m honest, I hadn’t really thought up a good plan for a post. Given that so many more worthy historians and writers have poured over the esteemed life and brilliant career of one of naval history’s most storied heroes, it seemed a little redundant for me to summarize Lord Nelson’s life. A life which is, in fact, far beyond simple summary.

As I was rifling through my mounds of Nelson information it occurred to me that one planet in the great Nelson’s solar system frequently gets short shrift. Though we hear plenty about Emma Hart Lady Hamilton, who is both skewered as whore and lauded as free spirit to this day, Frances Herbert Woolward Nisbet Lady Nelson is only spoken of rarely. When she is talked about at all it is as an adjunct or a foil. She is either Nelson’s nagging laundress or Emma’s shrewish rival. It occurred to me that this oversimplification does neither Horatio nor the ladies in his life much credit. So, to remember the man I thought I would honor his woman. How’s that for taking it in a different direction?
Frances Herbert Woolward was born to wealthy and prominent British parents on the beautiful Caribbean island of Nevis in 1761. The baptismal records from St. George’s Church state only that she was born in May. Her father, William Woolward, was a wealthy merchant and High Court Judge and her mother, Mary Herbert, was from a very well connected family whose ancestors were Earls of Pembroke. The Woolwards were comfortable in the extreme; they even owned slaves which at the time was unheard of back in England. The story goes that by age 8 Frances, or Fanny as she was known, had her own African manservant.

Both Mary and William died when Fanny was young and by the age of 18 she was in possession of her father’s extensive estate. Unfortunately Judge Woolward’s debts were even more extensive and Fanny was left with very little after selling off almost everything to satisfy her father’s creditors. At this point Dr. Josiah Nisbet appears on the scene. Very little is known about the 31 year old physician who came courting the young orphan. He seems to have been from the island and was probably familiar with the Woolwards prior to their deaths. He may even have been the family’s doctor. What ever the “connexion”, Fanny agreed to marry the good doctor in the same year as her father passed away.

There is very little documentation of Fanny’s life during her first marriage. She gave birth to a son named Josiah in May of 1780 and took passage to England with her husband in 1781. Some biographers say the Nisbet was touched and died of his madness but it may be that malaria or yellow fever came with the Nisbets to chilly England. Whatever the cause, Dr. Nisbet died in October of 1781 and Fanny found herself once again in financial distress but this time she had her son to think about as well.

Fanny seems to have been a natural caretaker and, as often happens, was therefore well liked and sought after for her mothering/nursing capacity. She was taken into the home of a fellow Nevis native, Mr. Pinney, who was evidently suffering from dementia, and became his nurse. This arrangement got her back to Nevis, where Mr. Pinney’s family took up his care. Fanny then moved in with her mother’s unmarried brother John Herbert and became his housekeeper and hostess. Herbert was the president of the Council of Nevis and did quite a bit of entertaining, particularly of visiting politicians and the Royal Navy officers stationed on and around the island since before the American Revolution.

One of these officers was a dashing and tightly wound Captain named Horatio Nelson. The 26 year old then in charge of HMS Boreas was also in the middle of a court battle with American privateers over his taking and libeling of their ships. Unlike Fanny, Nelson did not come from privilege. As the sixth son of a country parson who had eleven children to see to every last pound of prize money mattered. A young woman who was her wealthy Uncle’s sole heir and could obviously produce children might have looked more attractive than she would have been in a different situation. There can be no doubt that Nelson was under a good deal of stress when he first met Fanny and this may have contributed to his quick decision to court and then propose to the nubile widow.

Though described by Nelson’s contemporaries who knew her at Nevis as pretty, attractive, a general favorite of the naval officers and “fresh in her countenance”, no one ever called Fanny witty, intrepid or fun. Words like sensible were used, particularly by Nelson’s friend Prince William Henry who seemed to push the two together perhaps thinking that Fanny’s sobriety would tone down Horatio’s impetuous nature. Looking back on it the fatal flaw in the relationship raised its head early. Horatio needed a kindred soul who would give him a good fight now and then, praise his guts and glory and provide heirs to his greatness. What he got was Fanny, the caretaker.

Despite family reservations on both sides and separations brought on by Horatio’s naval duties, Fanny became Mrs. Nelson in March of 1787 at St. John Figtree Parish on Nevis. The Captain left in short order to return to England and Fanny and her son followed a little while after. The end of the war with France meant Nelson was left on half pay and without a ship which in turn meant that the young couple had to take up residence with his family. Initially Reverend Nelson was cool to his new daughter-in-law but her mothering ways endeared her to him and she almost immediately began taking care of the aging Parson. Their comfortable friendship would continue for the rest of the old gentleman’s life.

Fanny was happy with Nelson at home but Horatio chafed at the bit. Half pay was one thing, no ship was worse and now the woman he thought would present him with the many children he longed for couldn’t even be got with one. Five years of living in close quarters with an elderly father and another man’s son probably did nothing to improve Nelson’s attitude. What Fanny thought goes unmentioned; even after he left her for his mistress, Lady Nelson would utter not one bad word about her husband. It is a certainty that the marriage had become strained at best by the time France again declared war and Nelson took the helm of the 64 gun ship of the line HMS Agamemnon.

Unfortunately Fanny did nothing to help her cause. As Horatio’s star rose she chided him repeatedly to stay out of harm’s way and let others charge into the fray. When he was promoted to Rear-Admiral after the Battle of Cape St. Vincent Fanny redoubled her pleas that he leave the fighting to his Captains. Of course this was a ridiculous request to make of a man like Horatio Nelson; he first and foremost believed in leading his men from the front and nothing – least of all a whining wife – was going to change that. One can only imagine the private enmity between husband and wife when Nelson came home following his heroic victory at Santa Cruz de Tenerife to be nursed back to health after losing his right arm.

Nelson would not be kept down for long and the glorious victory at the Battle of the Nile in 1798 raised him to the level of Saint in the eyes of the British people. Admiral Lord Nelson seems to have bought his own press at this point. Like a rock star who has forgotten what “real life” is like, he began living far differently than a humble sea captain born to a country parson. His flagrant affair with Emma Hamilton was certainly the icing on that cake. His triumphant return to London overland through Europe, where he was feted at every stop with Emma at his side, surely crushed his wife’s spirit.

The shrewish behavior Fanny is now famous for came out in a final showdown shortly after Horatio’s return to England. Fanny had met her husband’s now pregnant mistress and would no longer tolerate Horatio’s constant praise of someone Fanny privately referred to as “my husband’s whore”. She gave Nelson a “her or me” ultimatum and the Admiral chose Emma. As of December in 1800, Nelson cut all personal if not financial ties with his wife. When he died aboard HMS Victory at Trafalgar the Admiralty awarded Fanny a pension along with the 1,200 pounds a year left to her in Nelson’s will.

Fanny’s life after Nelson’s death in 1805 was long but decidedly quiet. She became ill upon hearing of her husband’s demise and never quite regained the strength she had once possessed. People, particularly her son and his curiously named wife Frances Herbert, now took care of Frances Nisbet, Viscountess Nelson. She lived mostly with Josiah, who became a wealthy merchant after his bid for a career in the Royal Navy fizzled due to his continued badmouthing of the great Nelson, first in Exmouth and then in Paris. When Josiah died suddenly in June of 1830, Fanny seems to have succumbed at last. She lingered for almost another year and died at her Exmouth home on May 4th, 1831.

Frances Nisbet Nelson probably would have lived much more happily, and perhaps more fully, had her first husband not died. She and Horatio were cut from very different cloth and the gift that endeared her to so many, generous caretaking, only managed to smother her beloved husband. But she always remembered him fondly, and never spoke ill of the great Admiral Lord Nelson.

Paintings: Captain Horatio Nelson, probably painted in France, 1783

Frances Lady Nelson, a 1798 watercolor by Daniel Orme

Home Ports: Going Down To Pompey

The ancient and inimitable port of Portsmouth, England was at one time the largest ship building and repairing harbor in the Western world. Teaming with people and outfitted with numerous wet and dry docks for ships of all shapes and sizes Portsmouth – or Pompey as she was known colloquially – was the prize of the Royal Navy. In other times, though, she was raided by Vikings, used by smugglers and merchants and a target for more than one enemy of Britannia.

Located on the English Channel southwest of London, Portsmouth by its very nature is a perfect natural harbor. Passing Spithead, one must go through a narrowing channel to arrive and the large, deep Portsmouth Harbor proper. Easily fortified both by land and sea, only the advent of airplanes made breeching Portsmouth’s defenses anything but laborious at the very least.

There have been people living in the area since Celtic times but the actual city of Portsmouth was granted its Royal Charter in 1194. By the second decade of the 13th century, the harbor and town had become an important mercantile port with goods going out including wool, grain and cheese and goods coming in almost too numerous to delineate. Portsmouth was a jumping off point for the rats that carried the Black Death and plague and other diseases, well, plagued the community for centuries.

During the same period, from 1335 to 1380, Portsmouth suffered heavily from the continuous wars between England and France. The city, built largely of wood, was burned down four times over the course of 40 plus years. Finally, as the 100 years war drew out to its anticlimactic end, Portsmouth was fortified. By 1420 the Round Tower with its cannons had been erected. Following this, an enormous chain was stretched across the mouth of the harbor. Through the use of a capstan the chain could be raised to keep out unwelcome ships.

With the defeat of the House of York in the War of the Roses, Henry VII turned his warrior attention to outside threats. In 1494 he ordered expansion of Portsmouth’s fortifications and had a dockyard built. Within a year, Portsmouth had official become a naval port. Henry VIII took up where his father left off, enlarging the dockyard, turning local monasteries into armories and naval barracks and opening four breweries to supply his privateer navy with good English beer.

Elizabeth I launched ships built at Portsmouth to defeat the Spanish Armada and the port was a favorite hangout for sea dogs like John Hawkins and Francis Drake. The Elizabethan peace and the internal turning of politics under King James saw a decline in the port. Ships were not as important as witches and Bibles to the Scottish king and Portsmouth languished. King Charles I began to reenergize ship building but the city, which was largely Parliamentarian in sympathy but held under a Royalist Governor, suffered again during the Commonwealth.

1650 saw the launch of the locally build ship HMS Portsmouth and the city came into its own. The vast wharfs, dockyards, storehouses and mast ponds that still exist today began to crop up. The population boomed with men and women who worked in and around seafaring hurrying to the city to take advantage of the jobs available (and the sailors’ money that sailed into the harbor almost daily). The Naval Academy was opened in 1733, establishing Portsmouth as second only to London in the eyes of the Admiralty. By this time to say one was “going down to Pompey” was synonymous with joining the Royal Navy.

Portsmouth in the early 19th century was amazing even to old salts who had seen their share of harbors. The grandfather of nautical fiction, Frederick Marryat, wrote in 1834 in his book Peter Simple:

When we arrived there, I was quite astonished at the piles of timber, the ranges of storehouses and the immense anchors which lay on the wharf. There was such a bustle, every body appeared to be so busy, that I wanted to look every way at once.

In 1814 the dockyard employed more than 4,200 individuals. There was also the Naval Academy, the Weevil Victualling Yard, the Gunwharf for ordinance and the Haslar Naval Hospital, not to mention countless inns, taverns and small businesses that catered to all this press of humanity. No wonder young Simple was overwhelmed.

Throughout the 19th and into the 20th centuries, Portsmouth continued to grow. She was important for ship repair in both World Wars and a target of Nazi bombing during the Blitz. The area was rebuilt but the dockyard as an employer began to wane in the 1960s with other industries taking its place.

Portsmouth Dockyard is still in use today and it is also a much loved historical site that preserves not only the history of the people and places that supported the seafaring industry but the ships themselves. Here you will find the Tudor man-of-war Mary Rose, a museum dedicated to the memory of D-Day, HMS Warrior, Britain’s first iron warship and, of course, HMS Victory, which left Portsmouth bearing Nelson to glory and death at Trafalgar.

And why, you may ask, is Portsmouth called Pompey? Unfortunately, no one knows for certain. This short article gives a few theories for you to consider. (Many thanks to Pompey Dockyard’s #askacurator feature for the link. Follow them on Twitter here.) Personally, I like the Roman connection of theory number three. It just feels right, somehow.

Header picture “Nelson Hoists His Flag Aboard Victory” by Bernard Finnegan Gribble.