Grog was an admiral before it was a drink. Today grog is the time-honored name of the stimulating rum and water mixture rationed once each day to the sailors of every ship and station of the British Navy. But in 1740 it was the nickname of the eccentric and garrulous Edward Vernon, Admiral, Royal Navy—known caustically to his men as “Old Grog.” Old Grog got this uncomplimentary sobriquet from the peculiar boat cloak, made of a coarse material called grogram, which he wore while walking the decks of his flagship. And on this hangs a tale.
In the late 1730’s, after a distinguished career in the Navy, Admiral Vernon entered politics and, as a member of the British Parliament, demanded more energetic military measures against Spain. Repeatedly assailing the government for its failure to face Spain’s challenge in the New World, he finally declared in a blaze of enthusiasm that he could capture Porto Bello, the mighty Spanish stronghold in Panama, with a squadron of only six ships. The government promptly called his bluff, gave him the six ships, and sent him off to live up to his word.
Old Grog surprised everybody, including the Spaniards. Porto Bello was caught unprepared for the attack and surrendered on the second day of fighting. When the news reached London, Vernon was the hero of the day, and remained so for years to come. But to the sailors of his small squadron, Old Grog was either a hero or a blue-nosed cheat, depending upon whether a man liked his rum neat or diluted with water. For it was Old Grog, after the capture of Porto Bello, who introduced watered rum to men long used to a pint a day of straight spirits.
The wily Admiral never dreamed he was starting a tradition, as he violently opposed strong drink in any form and cursed its ill effects on the morals of his men. He would have preferred to cut it off entirely, but condescended to try the weaker mixture, hoping it would serve as a preventive against the fevers that had decimated many previous expeditions to the Caribbean. The doughty sailors of his flagship, HMS Burjord, didn’t see it quite that way. Flushed with victory and mellowed by the rum, they raised their cups in a toast to Old Grog and the odd name stuck to the new drink as well.
Grog soon caught on throughout the Royal Navy and before long the provision of it became not only a tradition, but a statute of law. The amount of the rum ration, as well as the ratio of rum to water in the mixture, have been steadily reduced over the years. Today all men over the age of twenty are entitled to a daily tot of one eighth of an imperial pint of rum, or about ounces. Petty officers are allowed to take theirs neat, but other ratings receive it as grog, mixed with two parts of water to one of rum. In either case, it may not be saved up for a binge, but must be consumed on the spot. Those who do not wish to take it may receive a pay compensation of three pence per day. And incidentally, it is a punishable offense to sell or give one’s ration to another man.
The traditional daily ceremony for the issue of the grog begins with the sounding of “Up Spirits” on the boatswain’s pipe at six bells in the forenoon. On this signal, the Officer of the Day, the Master-at-Arms, the Supply Petty Officer, and the Butcher assemble at the door of the Spirit Room. The Master-at-Arms unlocks the two heavy padlocks, and the party files into the dimly lighted room among the casks, stowed “bung up and bilge free.” The Butcher taps a barrel, inserts a siphon pump into the bung hole, and carefully draws off the day’s total ration for the ship’s company. Neat tots for the Petty Officers are then issued, and the remainder transferred to a small cask, called a barrico (pronounced breaker). The barrico is then padlocked and carried from the Spirit Room to the always prominent location of the big oaken rum tub, with its shining hoops of brass and its inscription, “The Queen—God bless her.” Here the barrico is left in the care of a sentry.
Five minutes before “Hands to Dinner” is piped at noon, the Rum Call is sounded on the bugle, and each Mess sends its messman to the rum tub with a jug or “fanny” to draw the ration for his Mess. Again, under the watchful eye of the Officer of the Day, a rigid ceremony is performed. The requisite volume of water is carefully measured out and, after having been tasted by the Petty Officer of the Day to ensure it is not salt, is poured into the rum tub. The barrico is then unlocked and the rum emptied gently into the tub. With the dignity befitting his position, the Supply Petty Officer takes his stand at the rum tub opposite the Master-at-Arms and the Petty Officer of the Day. Briskly, each messman steps forward in turn and announces his mess number. The Petty Officer of the Day, carefully consulting his ledger, calls out the number of tots to which the represented mess is entitled. The Supply Petty Officer, bare to the elbow, fills the appropriate measure with grog and pours it into the mess fanny. One by one, the messmen get their issues and return to their messes where they serve it out to those entitled to it. When all messes have been served, any residue in the rum tub is poured down the scuppers while the Officer of the Day dolefully looks on.
Officers, who have their own wine messes, are not entitled to this ration except on special occasions when “Splice the Main Brace” is ordered. This salty expression comes down from the days of sailing ships when the tough and often dangerous job of splicing a new main yardarm brace—the heaviest rigging in the ship—merited the reward of a special issue of spirits. Today “Splice the Main Brace” is usually signalled only on direct order of the reigning monarch, while visiting a navy ship or station, or to celebrate a great victory as was done on VE Day and on VJ Day.