The “line-crossing ceremony” is a seafaring tradition dating back to the Middle Ages. 

Few ships are the same but some things never change.  (Trusty)Shellbacks (those that have been initiated and sometimes call ‘Sons of Neptune’) meet as soon as they know for sure of the crossing and decide what and how to do everything.  Some can get really visious but their ideas are quickly out-voted. The hazing, and that is what it really is, depends on the size of the ship and it’s resources.

There is really only one rule – Physical hardship, in keeping with the spirit of the initiation, is tolerated, and each Pollywog is expected to endure a standard initiation rite in order to become a Shellback.  It is to be a fun time.  A time to remember, and we do.

An old (Shellback) captain had this to say about the crossing:

“Its effects on the minds of those engaged in preparing for its mummeries, who enjoy it at the time, and talk of it long afterwards, cannot easily be judged of without being an eye-witness.

A Let’s get the geography and important Equator  myths out of the way before we get into the ceremony.  I’m not a teacher so there will be no test later on and you needn’t take notes, unless you want to though I don’t know why.

In the Navy, the primary Navigator is usually the XO, with subordinates doing the mundane daily tasks.  The captain has to take the Navigators word for the ships position.  There is no line marking the equator, an imaginary line on the Earth’s surface equidistant from the North and South Poles.  Exactly when it is crossed is, more than not, an estimate.  If you were asleep when you crossed then at some point your head would be in a different hemisphere than your feet.  It is just there, accept it.  The captain may even adjust his course if he is close to an important point – International Dateline (Golden Shellback) or (Emerald Shellback) crossing the Equator at the prime meridian.

About those myths.  Some people will believe what they want.  There is even those who swear the world is flat, at least they don’t have to worry about an equator so they probably aren’t reading this.

1. Water rotation changes.  This is the primary belief. Large bodies of water are affected by the Coriolis Effect – when the rotating earth causes the winds to deflect to the right in the northern hemisphere and the left south of the equator.  Key word is ‘large‘ bodies of water which leaves out water rotation in the sink or toilet.
2. Equator is the hottest place on earth. No it isn’t.  Folks say “it is the closest to the sun so it must be the hottest.”  Sorry but “Death valley “in the United States holds the record, with a sweating temperature of 134 degree Fahrenheit. Of course this doesn’t mean equator is cool, it’s just not the hottest.
3. Moon appears to turn upside down.  I guess this has happened, but never been documented and just not at the Equator… oh, and it isn’t permanent.  I’ve never seen it but then I haven’t seen a lot of things.

There may be more but darn if I’ve heard them so let’s get back to the ceremony.  And besides, if you decide not to believe me and believe, instead, the myths take comfort in knowing that there are others out there who think the same way… you are not alone.

At the beginning, old ‘salts’ (Gobs, Tars, Sea Dogs, Swabbies, etc.) needed to ensure their new shipmates were capable of handling long, rough times at sea.  Now it is just a ceremony.  To be a (slimy)Pollywog, or ‘Wog’, was to be a newbie, an unseasoned sailor, in the early 1800s they were also called griffins.  But once the initiation was complete those slimy Wogs became trusty Shellbacks.

The whole ceremony is presided over by King Neptune and his Royal court, which includes Davy Jones.  You remember Neptune.  He was a Roman god, King of the Sea, who is always shown carrying his trident, a three-pronged spear.   The most senior Shellback is used for the ceremony as his stand-in, complete with trident.

While I’m thinking of it, that Davy Jones is nothing like the character in the Pirates of the Caribbean feature film series.  There are no tentacles coming from his face or stuff like that.  True, he is the captain of the Flying Dutchman, roaming the seas in search of sailors to serve upon his vessel for a century. In the story, his original purpose was to carry souls of those who died at sea from this world to the next on his ship.  But for the crossing he is King Neptune’s assistant, ready to claim any ‘wog’ that fails the initiation and carry him/her down to the briny deep, Davy Jones’ Locker.

Any ways, King Neptune’s court includes her Highness Queen Amphitrite, the Princess, the Royal Baby, and a Barber.

While the Shellbacks met and decided what was needed, the Pollywogs, by far the majority, were busy picking someone from each division to be the princess in King Neptune’s court. Of course because there could only be one the final choice was preceded by a beauty contest of men dressing up as women, each division of the ship being required to introduce one contestant in drag.  It was surprising the unusual clothes sailors were able to find in those days.  I never could figure out where guys would get dresses, bras, the whole works.  Maybe cross-dressers. Wonders never cease.

The day before the crossing a boatswain’s mate announces the arrival of King Neptune and his court.  The formal meeting of the CO and the King  signals the beginning of the festivities and all (beep) brakes loose.  The established order changes to a controlled “chaos” as the Pollywogs revolt!  Shellbacks beware!  With the exception of senior officers no Shellback is safe.

During this time I’ve seen guys tied up, hosed down, kidnapped, and things better left unsaid.  Shellbacks expect some kind of Pollywog Revolt they just never know what form it will take and what will happen.  I remember one crusty sea dog who had to lock himself in the electrical shop. He had to make a head call and that ended that siege.  And there was a Chief who was suddenly jumped by those working for him and tied to a chair for hours.  I, myself, was among a group of Shellbacks taking refuge on the bow against a horde of Pollywogs with a fire hose.  We got very, very wet that day.  They say that revenge is sweat… it is.

The day of the crossing should have been named Shellback Day.   We would normally awake  at 0600 to a recording of a bugle playing Reveille but on the morning of the crossing a voice followed the bugle with “All right you slimy Pollywogs, get up!” Breakfast for Shellbacks was sumptuous but for Pollywogs it was as green, tastless (bleep).

All (Slimy) Pollywogs formed up on the focsle, most of us (stupidly) in shorts or cutoffs, and from there crawled to the stern.  Crawling wouldn’t have been too bad if it wasn’t for the gauntlet of shellbacks along the way, each with a sheleelei… er, cutoff sections of firehose with one end taped and used as a handle.  These paddles were soaked in saltwater and when used by the right person the ‘WHACK’ can hurt!  In my case crawling was hazardous because the ship used homemade deck-tread on the weather deck – sand mixed with deck paint to cause coarseness and eliminate sliding – which does a number on bare knees.

Just before reaching King Neptune’s court everyone visited the Royal Barber.  Fortunately the next port stop was too close to allow for hair to grow back so his cutting was limited to ‘pretend’, although I do remember a young lieutenant who was disliked and ended up losing half of his moustache.

Now was the time when you finally met King Neptune.  Groveling at his feet every Pollywog was charged and interrogated.  The ONLY outcome was “guilty”, regardless of the offense.  Every once in a while someone would deny his offense.  Mistake.  Davy Jones would have to administer a “truth serum” (hot sauce + after shave) or put whole uncooked eggs in their mouth.  Amazing how fast initiates became ‘guilty’.

After the interrogation one crawls sideways a few feet to meet the Royal Baby, the fattest of the Shellbacks.  He would be sitting there wearing only an oversized diaper with a (axle grease, hair chopping, etc.)-covered belly.  The mixture might vary but it was always yucky.  A Pollywog had to ‘kiss’ his belly button.  Not just a light peck but a full-faced ‘smack’ was required or one might get a raw egg smashed on the head and a Royal assist.  Heck, depending on his mood, you might get that egg anyway.  It’s not all bad, it is almost over.

Pollywogs have to make amends for the charges just read by King Neptune.  Some had stocks you had to stand in. Others thought a long bag would be just the thing.  In my case it was the bag, a laundry chute that the cooks had been filled with food garbage and kept hidden for over a week.  In the local heat it was gross.  The closed end had been cut-off and you were told to crawl through.  What you weren’t told is that (1) someone would be standing on the other end so you couldn’t get out and (2) earlier Pollywogs had gotten sick and the bag included vomit to the ingredients.

Picture this, you’re covered in (bleep), your hairs is a mess from seeing the Royal barber, there is (bleep) on your face and up your nose, and you are tired and sore from all that crawling.  One more stop awaits… the Royal Bath.  A nylon parachute, or maybe it is a large piece of canvas, has been filled with water.  At it’s edge are three large Shellbacks.  You are asked “What are you?” and given the heave ho.  Your natural response is “I’m a Pollywog.”  Wrong answer, and down you go again.  When you yell “I’m a Shellback!” they let you out and you are down.   Now, wasn’t that fun?

Navy Log USS Fiske DD-842....Posted on 9-16-2014

CROSSING THE EQUATOR