Carnival in the Naval Tradition Abstract The line crossing ceremony is a ritual practiced by sailors while crossing the equator or other line of significance on the globe. It is an initiation rite that has been practiced for hundreds, if not, thousands of years and can be humiliating and violent at times. During the ceremony “shellbacks,” or sailors who have previously crossed the line, dress up in costumes and act out a play with King Neptune as the lead. Various other characters and creatures make up the “Royal Court” which oversees the festivities. The author closely examines various aspects of his own line crossing experiences along with historical research to establish a link between modern line crossing ceremonies and the ancient Greek ritual of carnival.

A strange hazy mist engulfed the ship’s bow, and a shadowy figure launched itself over the port rail. When the mist cleared, the apparition of a sea devil revealed itself. The intruder was dressed in a billowy, dirty white shirt and ragged blue jeans torn short at the knee. Across his left shoulder draped a fish net sash. His hair was a mess of white locks and seaweed topped with a black, brimless hat. A starfish clung to his boot. In his right hand he held a rusty dagger which he waved about menacingly and then thrust into his belt. His brow, furrowed in concentration, hung above blackened eyes which appraised the assembled crew. Finding nothing to his liking, he shook his head in disgust and staggered forward. In a pirate’s raspy voice he bellowed, “I am Davy Jones, envoy of His Royal Highness Neptunus Rex. What ship this be?!” Thus began the line crossing ceremony, a time honored practice in which a ship’s crew celebrates safe passage across recognized borders: equator, International Date Line, prime meridian, Arctic and Antarctic circles, or any other point of significance on the globe. The event is an initiation in which “shellbacks,” sailors who have previously “crossed the line”, baptize “pollywogs,” those who have not crossed, and then welcome them into an ancient brotherhood. Though this ceremony has been around in one form or another for thousands of years, it remains an integral part of the sailing experience. Varied in its application, at its heart is a chaotic and raucous play, which in its basest form can be brutal, violent and embarrassing; few who participate will ever forget the experience. Even as distasteful as some aspects of the ceremony remain, it continues to be passed from generation to generation. Though the ceremony is widely practiced, to the uninitiated, it largely remains a mystery.

In 1998, aboard the U.S. Coast Guard Cutter Polar Star, I experienced my first “crossing.” I knew nothing of what was about to happen and was caught completely by surprise. In the day that followed, I was subjected to a feast of spectacle, pageantry, humor, and humiliation. I was treated as the lowest of low by my fellow shipmates and made to do degrading things, such as rolling in garbage and eating rotten food; I was ridiculed and suffered mock beatings. Yet the experience is one of the richest memories of my life. Far from being traumatized by the event, I am proud to have been involved. Why? A close examination of my line crossing experience with historical research shows a connection to the ancient Greek ritual of carnival; within this context I proved my worth as a sailor. From the first moment that the shellback dressed as Davy Jones announced himself to the crew, my ship crossed the line and entered into Carnival. Defined by the Encyclopedia of Religion and Ethics, Carnival is a “recognized occasion for exuberance, mirth, and unrestricted freedom, combined with masquerade, jesting, and burlesque.” The god of wine, Dionysus, and Hertha, the Earth-Mother, are mythical deities tied to the celebration (Hartland 229). During the line crossing ceremony these roles are represented by King Neptune and Queen Amphitrite and are often joined by a wild array of other mythical characters. In 1946, the British Admiralty printed a pamphlet entitled “’Crossing the Line’: An Account of the Origins of the Ceremonies Traditionally Connected with Crossing the Line, Together with a Procedure for the Conduct of those Ceremonies and Examples of the Documents Associated therewith.” The authors of this pamphlet carefully study written accounts of past ceremonies and attempt to summarize the basic aspects, and assert that certain features have become standard practice over the

years. Included in the cast of characters, beside King Neptune and Queen Amphitrite, this pamphlet lists the Royal Barber and Triton (or the Royal Baby) as players (Lydenberg). These characters, among others, were significant players in the line crossing in which I participated in 1998 and can all be traced to Greek mythology. The roles they play during the line crossing combined to form a Carnival theme.

The Royal Barber I was brought before the Royal Barber. Blind-folded and disoriented, I was placed in a line with my fellow “pollywogs” and led along the outside of the ship with many of King Neptune’s minions surrounding me, taunting me mercilessly. Brought to a halt, my blindfold was removed, and the scene before me was ridiculous. The Royal Barber and his assistant were standing on a stage next to a plastic pipe painted to look like a barber’s pole. Both were dressed in a white apron and wore clown make-up painted sloppily on their faces. I was made to sit in a metal folding chair, and while the barber distracted me with ridiculous questions, his assistant took a large handful of cooking grease and smeared it into my face. I gagged as some of the thick mess entered my mouth and nose, but before I could recover, I heard a buzzing sound and a huge patch of my hair was shaved off. The barber took his time and carved a phallic symbol into my head. When he was satisfied with his work, his assistant smeared another large handful of grease into what remained off my hair. I stood up, and the numerous shellbacks who milled about to watch the show, began to cackled and howl at my new haircut. I was subjected to a few seconds of ridicule, and then was blindfolded again and led to the next stage of my initiation.

The presence of a barber during line crossing ceremonies finds its roots in Greek mythology. Myriobiblos, the online library for the Church of Greece, tells us that young men in ancient Greece completed a rite of practice known as “trichokouria.” During this rite initiates had their heads shaved after offering “sacrifices to Apollo.” (Screen 1). The line crossing ceremony is presented as a baptism into the Realm of King Neptune and as such it grants the initiate the “right” to travel the sea unmolested. The Barber, therefore, is a direct descendant of the “trichokouria” ritual. His ridiculous costume, behavior, and mockery of serious rites are perfectly inline with the spirit of Carnival.

Carnivalesque Events My initiation continued after leaving the barber, and I completed a short series of events. The first of these was “walking the plank,” at which I was made to believe that I was about to step off the ship. I stood on a wooden board stretched between two cinderblocks, while still blindfolded and had the distinct feeling that I was about to fall twenty feet into the sea. The effect was improved by random announcements on the ships public address system cautioning the “rescue swimmers” to be on the look out for sharks. I stepped off the plank holding on to a life jacket and, much to my relief, was met by the ship’s deck only inches below. A cold bucket of salt water in the face completed the illusion. At the next station I met another shellback dressed as a doctor whose brief examination revealed that I was a “slimy low-life pollywog.” His prescription was a large dose of a nasty concoction of salt water, horseradish and hot sauce administered orally from a huge turkey baster.

The next event was known as the “Whale’s Belly” probably the most disgusting trial in the entire ceremony. A long blue tarp was spread out on the deck, and three weeks worth of rotting garbage was spilled onto it. My task was to lie flat on my stomach and “swim” through the trash. The sight and the smell of the mess were nearly overwhelming and induced retching. Shellbacks, posted on either side of the tarp, made sure that I was completely covered in the foul smelling mixture. They made a show of beating me with rubber hoses while I “swam.” One of them shoved the remains of a chicken carcass in my mouth and another stuffed my pants full of trash. I suffered through two laps of that stinking pile. All of the events I participated during the line crossing ceremony were conducted in the spirit of Carnival. In the book The Golden Bough, Sir James Frazer discusses the events and the atmosphere of a Carnival festival. He describes a chaotic time where “every man may say and do as he pleased.” Frazer discusses people dawning disguises and acting with “impunity” (Frazer 350-351). All of these aspects of Carnival were demonstrated during my line crossing ceremony. There were costumes and masks. Shellbacks assaulted the uninitiated with no fear of recourse. The entire ceremony was a wild festival of sights, sounds, and smells.

The Royal Baby Covered from head to toe in the filth of the “whale’s belly,” I was led to the Royal Baby, also known as Triton, who was played by the fattest shellback aboard dressed only in a diaper. He sat on a plastic bucket filled with what looked like feces, but was actually very thick grease. He cooed and squealed when I knelt before him, and then reaching

down into the bucket he rubbed a handful of the grease onto his copious belly. In his belly button he placed a maraschino cherry, which I had to retrieve using only my teeth. I had just succeeded in biting down on the cherry stem and avoiding the nasty mess when someone pushed my head down and fully coated my face. I gagged and retched again while all around me shellbacks laughed and danced. This meeting with the “Royal Baby” has connections with ancient Greek mythology. Gods and Mortals in Classical Mythology written by Michael Grant and John Hazel describes Triton as one of the many sons of Neptune and Amphitrite. The King and Queen’s “baby” is often represented in myth as a “merman.” Triton is said to have similar powers to his father (Grant 408). While Triton held no resemblance to this lesser god during my ceremony, his inclusion in any form is significant in that he is yet another mythical character in this unusual rite.

Queen Amphitrite and King Neptune Having completed the stages of the initiation and covered in all manner of slop, filth and garbage, I was brought before the Royal Court to be presented to Queen Amphitrite. The Queen was played by a male shellback dressed in a polka dotted, two piece bikini with a mop hair. Two red ribbons tied into the mop formed pigtails. His lips, painted red with lipstick, stood out brilliantly under his heavy mustache. The Queen giggled girlishly and presented a hairy foot for my inspection. Seeing my hesitation he roughly demanded that I give his big toe a kiss, which I did, albeit, reluctantly. King Neptune then demanded my attention. Neptune serves as the central figure in the line crossing ceremony and aboard the C.G.C. Polar Star he was played by the

most senior shellback in the crew. He was dressed in a white toga and sandals. On his head and face were tied two long, white, stringy mops which did duty as his hair and beard. In his right hand he held a broom handle topped with a golden plastic pitch fork. A paper crown, taken from a Burger King drive-through, topped his head and completed the mock-regal effect. Neptune sat upon his throne, placed centrally on the flight deck, and governed the proceedings. I approached Neptune with my head bowed, and he inspected the work his court had completed upon me. I was a bedraggled sight with what remained of my hair slicked flat with grease, my clothing soaked with sea water and garbage, my face nearly completely black with machinery grease, and my shoes making a squishing noise as I walked. I looked and smelled like something cast into a landfill. The King looked pleased with what he saw and smiled at me. Reciting an oath he made me swear that I would follow the laws of his domain, and should I ever find myself crossing the equator in the future, I would perform this ceremony on any “landlubbers” who may be under my protection. I gladly agreed. He tapped me on the head with his trident and promised me protection from sharks, squids, eels and other sharp toothed and slimy residents of the deep. King Neptune and Queen Amphitrite are both descended from Greek mythos. Grant and Hazel tell us that the ancient Greeks worshipped Poseidon as the “principle god of seas and waters.” Poseidon was said to be a wrathful god and much chaos was associated with him. He was attributed with the ability to cause and control storms at sea and was even given the power over “earthquakes.” The Romans later adopted Poseidon and credited his powers to “an old Italian water-deity Neptune” (Grant 341-344). Grant and Hazel go on to describe Queen Amphitrite as a Greek “sea-goddess” who became the

object of Neptune’s affection when he saw her dancing under the waves. Neptune became infatuated with her and sent a dolphin to convince her to become his wife (Grant 44). The gods Neptune and Amphitrite stand in for Dionysus and Hertha in this bizarre celebration, and while some aspects have been changed to suit a watery environment, the basic elements of Carnival shine through.

Why? Why, after having experienced this degrading, humiliating and down-right disgusting ritual, do I not feel sullied? Why am I not angry with my shipmates for treating me so poorly? Perhaps I simply have a thick skin, or maybe I was caught up in the “mirth and exuberance” of the moment. These are both true to some extent, but they don’t go deep enough. I believe if my shipmates had gone soft on me, I would have felt cheated. I would have felt that I had dishonored a sacred tradition. As ridiculous as it seems, on some level I would have been afraid of angering Neptune and earning his wrath along with the disdain of the generations of sailors that came before me. Probably the most rational explanation, though, is that I didn’t want to let my shipmates down. Life at sea is dangerous; sailors have to know that they can trust their mates with their lives. By taking every torture that they could invent and by suffering every humiliation, I told them, “You can trust me. I am not someone who will shy away from a challenge no matter how distasteful it may be.” Therefore, I am proud, not ashamed, to call myself a shellback.

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