Pets Afloat

Middle-Deck of the Hector, Man of War, Thomas Rowlandson, 1782, National Maritime Museum.

Thomas Rowlandson took a tour from his studio in London to the wreck of the Royal George in 1782. He completed an album of twenty-seven images documenting his vacation. Two of these images portray the Hector, a 74 gun man of war. Rowlandson's depiction of the gun deck of a third rate as she sits idle in port is telling. The Hector has taken on the appearance of a rounded community, almost like a village ashore. Unlike the almost universally male society of a warship at sea, there are women scattered throughout the scene. In this scene we see a telltale sign of domesticity in the terrestrial mode: pet dogs.

In his The Wooden World: An Anatomy of the Georgian Navy, N.A.M. Rodger states it very clearly: 'Every ship had animals of many kinds aboard.' Most common were the pests like rats, followed by livestock, and finally pets.[1] For the sake of this post, I'm defining pets as animals that provided companionship, and were not intended to be eaten.

Sailors, like their brothers ashore, kept pets. Dogs were certainly among them. During the 2005-2006 excavation of the sloop Swift, a Royal Navy vessel that went down off Argentina in 1770, archaeologists recovered an intact metal dog collar.[2]

Photo by D. Vainstub, 2006 [3]

Drawing by N. Ciarlo, 2008 [3]

Dogs were common enough be included in (arguably) high art. William Hogarth's painting depicting Lord George Graham in the cabin of his 24 gun Bridgewater includes two dogs: Graham's spaniel and Hogarth's pug named Trump.

Captain Lord George Graham in his Cabin, 1745,
William Hogarth, National Maritime Museum.

As well as being companions, dogs could also serve diplomatic purposes. When Jacob Nagle accompanied a colonizing expedition to Norfolk island in 1790, both the Europeans and Pacific Islanders exchanged gifts of dogs:

They brought two small dogs as a great present, but so vicious that they had to gag them, which was excepted of, through friendship, and in return the Dutch capt gave them a hound slut, which they seemed to adore. They tied a string round hur neck and danced round hur with great joy and led hur up to the town.[4]

Dogs could also intimidate. When the cooper John Nicol was having trouble getting work done while surrounded by Hawaiians, 'the captain, seeing from the deck my disagreeable situation, hailed me to set Neptune, our great Newfoundland dog, upon them, saying he would fear them more than fifty men.'[5]

If things got difficult, dogs could also become a food supply. In his entry for February 8, 1774, gunner's mate John Marra of Captain Cook's Resolution was matter of fact about it: 'Ships head N. by W. This day roasted the lieutenant's dog for the gun-room.'[6]

Sailors harbored an incredible affection for cats. When the American sailor Ashley Bowen took ill in 1746 as a prisoner in Hispanola, he found 'my cat was the greatest means of my recovery of my health.'[7] Henry Fielding was shocked at just how deep mariners' care for cats was during a voyage to Portugal in 1754:

While the ship was under sail, but making as will appear no great way, a kitten, one of four of the feline inhabitants of the cabin, fell from the window into the water: an alarm was immediately given to the captain, who was then upon deck, and received it with the utmost concern and many bitter oaths. He immediately gave orders to the steersman in favor of the poor thing, as he called it; the sails were instantly slackened, and all hands, as the phrase is, employed to recover the poor animal.

The cat was eventually saved by the boatswain, who stripped and swam to the stricken creature, carrying it back aboard in his mouth. Fielding wrote in his journal that some sailors were disappointed at the survival of the kitten, as 'the drowning of a cat was the very surest way of raising a favourable wind.'[8] As much as sailors' superstitions are overplayed, the belief that cats were somehow connected to the winds appears to be genuine. Samuel Kelly remembered just such a case in 1788:

Having got the pilot on board at Deal and some fresh provisions, we sailed for the river. Our pilot, seeing our cat frolicsome, who doubtless smell the land, and was running in and out on the bowsprit, became exasperated against the poor animal; he being superstitious concluded her gambols denoted a heavy gale of wind, which actually came on and we rode out the storm in Margate Roads, but I do not think the manoeuvres of the cat were in any way connected with it.[9]

Kelly appears to be wrong. Cats may indeed react to changing barometric pressure. Obviously, cats do not affect the weather, but they are affected by it. No less a literary figure than Johnathan Swift commented on this phenomenon when he published his 1710 poem 'A Description of a City Shower' in The Tatler:

Careful observers may foretell the hour
(By sure prognostics) when to dread a shower:
While rain depends, the pensive cat gives o'er
Her frolics, and pursues her tail no more.[10]

There is a key difference between the belief that Kelly's pilot held in cats predicting the weather, and Fielding's crew who believed that cats controlled the weather.

Christopher Hawkins many decades later related a fanciful and probably apocryphal tale of an unnamed British frigate captain during the Revolution that held a 'natural antipathy' to the ship's cat. While around it he was 'uneasy.' Either this captain was no lover of felines, or held to the belief around cats' control of the wind. In any event, Hawkins wrote that a sailor had been condemned to flogging by the cat-of-nine-tails, but escaped punishment by presenting the captain with this ditty:

[11]

Exotic pets were also sometimes acquired, especially by sailors in tropical climes. Peter Earle, in his book Sailors: English Merchant Seamen 1650-1775 found that a sailor named 'Thomas Marshall excused his desertion in St Kitts in 1738 by claiming he had only gone ashore to search for his parrot, while the British consul in Lisbon related in 1724 that some wreckage was known to be from a ship from Brazil because of the parrots and monkeys washing ashore.'[12] When sailing from Florida in 1785, Samuel Kelly served on a vessel that was a positive menagerie. He slept near 'two small white face monkeys' named Jacko and Caesar. Among his passengers 'The Colonel had also a racoon on board and each of the young ladies had a lap dog.'[13]



---
[1] Rodger, N.A.M., The Wooden World: An Anatomy of the Georgian Navy, New York: W.W. Norton, 1996, pages 69-70.
[2] Ciarlo, Nicolás C., Horacio De Rosa, Dolores Elkin, and Phil Dunning"Evidence of use and reuse of a dog collar from the sloop of war HMS Swift (1770), Puerto Deseado (Argentina)" Technical Briefs in Historical Archaeology, Volume 6, 2011, pages 20–27, accessed August 15, 2018, <https://sha.org/assets/documents/Technical_briefs_articles/vol6article03.pdf>.
[3] Ibid., page 21.
[4] Nagle, Jacob, The Nagle Journal: A Diary of the Life of Jacob Nagle, Sailor, from the Year 1775 to 1841, edited by John C. Dann, New York: Weidenfield & Nicolson, 1988, page 136.
[5] Nicol, John, The Life and Adventures of John Nicol, Mariner, edited by Tim Flannery, New York: Atlantic Monthly Press, 1997, page 87.
[6] Marra, John, Journal of the Resolution's voyage: in 1772, 1773, 1774, and 1775, London: F. Newbery, 1775, page 127, via University of Michigan, Eighteenth Century Collections Online, accessed August 30, 2018, <https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/ecco/004895035.0001.000/1:6?rgn=div1;view=fulltext>.
[7]  Bowen, Ashley, The Autobiography of Ashley Bowen (1728-1813), edited by Daniel Vickers, Ontario: Broadview Editions, 2006, page 54
[8] Fielding, Henry, The Journal of a Voyage to Lisbon, London: A. Millar, 1755, page 88, via Internet Archives, accessed August 15, 2018, <https://archive.org/stream/journalavoyaget01fielgoog#page/n101/>.
[9] Kelly, Samuel, Samuel Kelly: An Eighteenth Century Seaman, Whose Days Have Been Few and Evil, edited by Crosbie Garstin, Frederick A. Stokes Company, 1925, pages 159-160.
[10] Swift, Jonathan, 'A Description of a City Shower,' in The Tatler, Volume IV, George A. Aitken, editor, New York: Hadley & Mathews, 1899, via Project Gutenberg, accessed August 17, 2018,  <https://www.gutenberg.org/files/49009/49009-h/49009-h.htm>.
[11] Hawkins, Christopher, The Adventures of Christopher Hawkins, edited by Charles I. Bushnell, New York: Privately Printed, 1864, pages 154-155, via Internet Archive, accessed August 16, 2018, <https://archive.org/stream/adventureschris00bushgoog#page/n176>.
[12] Earle, Peter, Sailors: English Merchant Seamen 1650-1775, London: Methuen, 2007, page 95.
[13] Kelly, Eighteenth Century Seaman, pages 124-125. 

Sketch of a boat in distress, c.1784-1788

Sketch of a boat in distress, from "Imitations of Modern Drawings," John Hamilton Mortimer, engraved by Thomas Rowlandson, c. 1784-1788, British Museum.

Rowlandson's affinity for invoking the fears of sailors has surfaced on this blog before. The mariners and passengers on this open boat have a somewhat better chance than the pair of sailors stranded on flotsam depicted in his 1786 piece "Misery."

Even so, their situation is dire. Buried in the trough of towering waves, the sailors fight to bring the lone sail to bear, while the passengers crammed between the narrow bulwarks panic. Far in the background, beyond the sight of the distressed by well in view of the audience, are the three masts of their dying ship. The masts are leaning to the right, sliding down toward the ocean surface.

Standing at the stern and shouting through a speaking trumpet, one of the sailors takes command. It is unclear precisely who this man is, but he wears a pair of loose fitting trousers, and it appears that his jacket is tucked into the waistband. Beside him is the coxswain, who sports an oddly anachronistic cap. Perhaps this print is meant to represent an earlier time. Reaching up to heaven with an imploring hand, a woman grieves at their collective suffering. Reaching for a the starboard rail, a man is doubled over, perhaps with seasickness. He wears a cap not unlike that of the coxswain, and what appears to be a pair of trousers and a jacket with mariner's cuffs.

Gathered around the mast are more men. A couple of them wear odd caps of a sort of conical shape. The second man from the right has a particularly dark cap, which at first led me to think it was perhaps an eighteenth century version of a sou'wester. However, the shading by Rowlandson on the sail to either side of the man match that of his hat, and so I believe this is a result of lighting, not material. In any case, a couple of the men here wear trousers and shirt with no waistcoat or jacket. Like the coxswain at the stern, their sleeves are rolled up past their elbows.

Misery, 1786

"Misery," Thomas Rowlandson, 1786, Royal Collection Trust.

Rowlandson is largely remembered for his raucous satirical pieces, and occasional pornography. Still, the caricaturist was a serious artist as well. Using the medium of mass printing, Rowlandson could churn out pieces that would make his audience laugh, or make them contemplate life. "Misery" is one of his little known pieces, and certainly reflects the latter.

A pair of sailors, perhaps the only survivors of some catastrophe, cling to wreckage. Adrift on an open and choppy sea, we can see to the far horizon, where there isn't a speck of hope for the unfortunate tars. Given the expression on the face of the red jacketed sailor, it is probably fair to say that nothing but sea stretches behind us as well. The use of a long horizon in the distance, and the staring eyes of a sailor looking beyond and behind us, places us in the same desperate mind as them.

The sailor on the left might be dead, or sleeping off his exhaustion, or too despairing to do more than cry into his sleeve. He wears a blue jacket with slightly scalloped mariner's cuffs. A black neckcloth hangs over the back of his jacket. White trousers with narrow red stripes running vertically hang over white stockings and black shoes.

Possessed with a look of hopelessness, this sailor wears a red jacket with mariner's cuffs, and perhaps with flap pockets at the waist. His trousers are more of a beige, perhaps being a bit weathered. Rowlandson illustrates his black neckcloth with dots alone, giving the illusion of movement on the windy sea.

Grog on Board, 1789

Grog on Board, Thomas Rowlandson, 1789, Royal Collection Trust.

A group of tars is gathered about a rather buxom woman, sharing pipes and a bowl of punch. Familiar comforts abound in this piece!

In the background an on the right are a pair of young jacks looking over a red book. Though the low resolution gives me some doubt, I believe the title reads "Byron Voyage." The chap on the left is a sailor of African descent, wearing a single breasted blue jacket with slash cuffs and cloth covered buttons. His neckcloth is striped, his trousers are (quite unusually) blue, and he wears neither stockings nor shoes. It is possible the fellow beside him is a midshipman: his jacket is also single breasted with cloth covered buttons, but he wears no neckcloth and his jacket bears a collar.

Embracing the woman with a wild look in his eyes is a sailor in a black round hat, a red jacket with blue lapels and slash cuffs, and a red or burgundy neckcloth. Behind the woman and puffing away on his pipe is a tar with a black cocked hat trimmed in gold with the point forward, a black neckcloth, and a blue jacket with cloth covered buttons and slash cuffs with flap.

To the right of him is another jack, this one offering a bowl to the woman while lighting his pipe on his mate's. His jacket is cut much like that of the sailor embracing the woman, but is brown in color. It has odd waist pockets with large buttons, but with a box (possibly a tobacco box) protruding from that pocket, it is clear the buttons aren't actually clasping it shut. I'm not quite sure what to make of it. In any case, he also wears a black neckcloth, a pair of off white trousers, and rounded toe shoes with oval buckles.

The furthest sailor to the right is the most wild looking of the lot. His hair is frayed, his teeth are few and far between, and his face is contorted into a bizarre caricature. Though turned away from us, we can certainly say his blue jacket matches the slash cuffs with flap that are on his mates' jackets, and his trousers are the familiar cut and color.

A Distressed Sailor, 1788

A Distressed Sailor, Thomas Rowlandson, 1788 (published 1789), Royal Collection Trust.

The 1780's saw a rise in the number of prints and works calling for reform in the care of disabled and aged sailors. Rowlandson's "A Distressed Sailor" is an emotional appeal to the viewer to do something to help the man who had lost his leg in their defense, while supporting a child both literally and figuratively.

Our poor jack wears a narrow brimmed round hat and short curly hair. His neckcloth is black, and his ragged jacket has slash cuffs with cloth covered buttons. At first glance I thought he was wearing a pair of trousers, but a closer look shows that it is a pair of breeches, gathered about the knee of his one good leg. His stocking hangs low around his shoe, which is tied rather than buckled.

A Cribbage Party in St. Giles's Disturbed by a Press Gang, 1787

A Cribbage Party in St. Giles's Disturbed by a Press Gang, Thomas Rowlandson, 1787, Royal Collection Trust.

Lest you think that the last Rowlandson image (that of a sailor cradling his infant and embracing his wife) typifies the work of the artist, here's a more rowdy scene! Illustrating the popular subject of a press gang, and the work of women in resisting, an officer leads a gang of tars into a party to kidnap a few unlucky sods. On the far left, a woman throws her petticoats over a cowering man, while another chap sits dumbfounded at the table. In the center of the images, a woman stands tall and spills ale with the one hand, while fighting off three terrified sailors with the other. Even the officer looks like he regrets the decision to tangle with her, gesturing forward while glancing back as if hoping for reinforcements.

In the grip of the powerful woman, a sailor in a round hat tries to break her grip. His jacket has a slash cuff with cloth covered buttons. Beside him is a tar in slops and a jacket with no vents and a slash pocket at the waist. This sailor's hat has been lost, giving us a good view of his horrified expression. In his right hand he holds a cudgel or rattan, and on his feet are pointed toe shoes with rectangular buckles. Behind the both of them is a sailor in a round hat wearing trousers and the same fashion of shoes as his mate.

A Sailor's Family, 1787

A Sailor's Family, Thomas Rowlandson, 1787, Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Though often portrayed a rowdy, drunken womanizers, sailors are rarely shown in that domestic role that many of them played: father. Aboard a ship, a jack cradles his infant child in one hand, while embracing his wife with the other. Even a dog joins the happy family, looking up to the sailor for approval or acknowledgement. Though drawn in a year of relative peace for the Crown, the pistol, musket, sword, and powder keg above the family all hint at the ever present threat of war that intrudes on their private moment.

The sailor wears a round hat with a low crown and very short brim. His hair is long and unruly. Though it is difficult to make out, the neckcloth appears to be plaid or striped. Our tar's jacket has unbuttoned slash cuffs. The trousers are very narrowly striped, his stockings are white, and his pointed toe shoes have oval buckles.

The Sailor's Return from Active Service, Date Unknown

The Sailor's Return from Active Service, Thomas Rowlandson, date unknown, Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Taking up the trope of the "sailor's return," Rowlandson has a sailor courting a woman while the nursemaid snoozes on duty. This print is difficult to date. Rowlandson was especially active in drawing caricatures in the 1780's and 90's, but his first exhibition was in 1775 at the tender age of 19. Rowlandson continued drawing and painting well into the nineteenth century. We can also inspect the art itself. Consulting my wife (who knows far, far more about women's clothing in the eighteenth century than I do), the woman's clothing suggests 1780's at the earliest, but due to her apparent low class, this could be as late as the early nineteenth century.

The sailor gives us a bit of a clue. Very, very few images of sailors after the 1780's wear cocked hats. I have yet to find any images of sailors from the 1790's that wear cocked hats. On that alone, we could place the image between 1780-1790. I would only do so very cautiously. Exceptions to seemingly hard and fast rules about material culture abound. It is quite possible this image is later. What do you think?

Here's the entry for The Sailor's Return from Active Service on the Metropolitan Museum of Art's website.

As mentioned, the sailor wears a cocked hat, with a simple cloth covered button and loop on the right side. The hat is cocked very far over, worn almost sideways. His black neckcloth is tucked into his shirt, or tied so closely that we don't see the hanging ends. There is no waistcoat, but a white shirt. Our jack's blue jacket has cloth covered buttons, but it's hard to tell if it is double breasted. It appears that the jacket is lined. Certainly there are waist pockets. His slops are off-white and we see black breeches (or blue breeches under the shadow of his slops) and black stockings. The shoes have round toes, but there is no buckle visible. This could either be a choice on the part of the artist, or the shoes tie. Neglected beside him lies his stick.

The Jovial Crew, 1786

The Jovial Crew, Thomas Rowlandson, 1786, Royal Collection Trust.

Rowlandson sketched and painted a good number of sailors in the late eighteenth century, though I believe this is the first example I've examined. In this piece, three sailors relax dangerously close to a boom. A large tankard lays beside one, while another cradles his bowl. With such comforts, it's easy to see why these salty chaps make up the Jovial Crew!

The sailor on the left (the one with the long pipe between his lips) wears a black round hat turned up on both sides, a solid yellow neckcloth, and a single breasted white waistcoat. His blue jacket has mariner's cuffs, and all buttons are cloth covered. The slops about his legs are an off-white, probably canvas.

In the middle stands a proud tar with a red jacket. Though blue is by far the most common in primary source images, red is the easy second. Like his shipmate, this tarpawlin's jacket is single breasted, ending at the waist, with cloth covered buttons and mariner's cuffs, one of which is open. His hat is also a round hat, though not curved up quite so dramatically. The neckcloth is a bit of a mystery to me. At first glance it appears to be striped, but half of it appears black. Is this a pair of neckcloths wound together? Is it striped on one side and black on the other? Was this merely a poor attempt at shading? Regardless, he also wears a single breasted waistcoat of white, with a slight cutaway at the waist. A stick is tucked up under his arm in handsome fashion.

This is the first time I've ever seen slops in a patterned fabric! Thin blue stripes run at a slight angle along the length of his slops. Slops were more like glorified aprons than proper breeches, and were meant to protect the more breeches garments beneath. Because they were meant to get dirty, it made little sense to use decorative fabric on them, so this is certainly unusual.

At the far right is a sailor of African descent, the first to be featured in this blog. Though doubtless they were present and made up a measurable portion of eighteenth century sailors, a vast majority of primary source images focus on Anglo tars. Our seamen here wears a pink or very light red neckcloth, a brown short jacket with cloth covered buttons on his mariner's cuffs, and a pair of trousers.

The entire Jovial Crew wear their unkempt hair short, pointed toe shoes, and rectangular buckles.