Sailor Mouth Saturday: Lee

The word lee is commonly heard in discussing the sea and sea terms. "Have I brought you by the lee," is one of those euphemisms that just about everyone but the dog uses around chez Pauline. But what does it really mean? Let us look closer, shall we?

According to Admiral W.H. Smyth writing in The Sailor's Word Book, the English word lee comes from the Scandinavian loe or laa which roughly translates as the sea. With that in mind, we know that the word always had two feet firmly planted in the water and probably came from our intrepid Viking ancestors. To English speakers, lee has long meant the side of a vessel opposite the side upon which the wind is blowing. Thus leeward versus windward and leewardly meaning a ship unable to keep up with the wind versus weatherly, a ship that is capable in almost any weather.

Larger ships may have a lee anchor; any anchor catted to the leeward side. All ships riding at anchor may refer to their lee anchor if indeed the kedge is to the vessel's lee.

The lee beams are those on her lee side, positioned at right angles to the keel. The lee boards are wooden frames that are attached to the sides of small, flat-bottomed vessels like wings to keep them from drifting to leeward. The lee side of a ship is considered to be the portion of her that lies, as the Admiral describes it, "between the mast and the side farthest from the wind, the other half being the weather-side."

The lee side of the quarterdeck, which is often relatively shielded from the wind, is said to be the prerogative of the captain. It is here aboard the dear Surprise that Patrick O'Brian's Jack Aubrey took his exercise daily on the advise of his physician and particular friend, Stephen Maturin. On men-of-war, the lee side of the quarterdeck was sometimes known colloquially as "the midshipman's parade" since they were often being instructed there by the ship's captain or lieutenants.

A lee tide runs in the same direction of the wind and must be taken into account in navigation as it can push a ship to leeward. Thus the lee gauge refers to being farther from the wind than another vessel, either friend or foe. A ship may take a lee lurch and roll to leeward when struck by a unusual wave on her weather side. The dangerous lee shore is directly on a ship's leeward side with the wind battering her into it.

When a ship is on a lee hitch the helmsman has allowed her to drift to the lee. Being under the lee-gunnel is slang for a ship being troublesomely over taxed by wind, weather, or enemy fire. "Take care of the lee hatch!" This is an order to the helmsman not to get off on a lee hitch.

And then there's that bit about being brought by the lee. A ship is said to be under the lee when she is in water near a weather shore where the wind is coming off the land and the sailing is easier than it might be further out. In the uncomfortable situation known as to lay by the lee or to be brought by or come up on the lee, a ship is run out, brought by the lee quarter and looses the wind in her sails. Thus, when one is brought by the lee, they are speechless, dumbfounded; something a loquacious person like your humble hostess finds very vexing indeed.

Happy Saturday, Brethren. I do apologize for the long absence and hope to have that corrected within the next month. Until than - and in between as well - may your ship be weatherly, and never troubled by being brought by the lee.

Header: The lovely Mouzho on a sunset sail via the wonderful Naval Architecture on tumblr

Sailor Mouth Saturday: Fresh

Tomorrow is Saint Patrick's Day: the day we're all Irish. Aside from corned beef, beer and all things green I always harken back to - and I'm really dating myself here - these very old Irish Spring soap commercials. Making a "strong" man "fresh" was what Irish Spring was about and thus, today's SMS word.

Fresh at sea generally refers to one of three things: water, wind or rigging. Let's look at them in that order, shall we?

Fresh water if, of course, that that is not salt. A ship freshens her water by taking on more casks of same for drinking and cooking but rarely if ever for washing. Other fresh water, particularly that from rain or snow, was used for that purpose. If none of that was to hand one might have the good luck to use the freshening from a local river. The so called fresh shot was the fresh water that came down stream from a large river and emptied into a body of salt water. As Admiral Smyth notes in The Sailor's Word Book, in such cases - particularly after a large dump of rain or with snow melt inland - "... fresh water is often to be found on the surface a good way from the mouth of the river." There is, in similar cases, the freshes which refer to the large deposits of silt and other materials swept into the oceans and gulfs by the world's mightiest rivers. With the Nile, Congo, Ganges, Mississippi and others, the discolorations in the salt waters can be seen from outer space.

In relation to rivers, a sailor with blue water experience may refer to one who works rivers and lakes pejoratively as a "fresh water jack." This was essential an insult and meant that the individual was just this side of a lubber. Samuel Clemens, as an example, might be called a fresh water jack by the likes of Richard Henry Dana, Jr. or Joseph Conrad. Sorry, Mark Twain...

Fresh water seas are those that are so large, they essentially behave like the ocean. Probably the best example of these is the Great Lakes at the U.S. and Canada boarder. Superior, Michigan, Huron Erie and Ontario are all example of lakes that are just as vast - and potentially deadly - as any gulf we know.

A fresh breeze is a brisk and often sudden wind but can also refer to the way a ship is handled in known channels of wind, such as the trades or gulf stream. A fresh gale is just a more powerful form of a fresh breeze. When a ship begins to feel the push of a fresh breeze, she is said to freshen her way. Fresh way is also said of a man who picks up his stride or sets out at a run. Fresh way is slightly different, and refers to a ships increased speed through the water; she gathers fresh way, for instance, after completing a successful tack when her sails once again catch the wind.

One can freshen rigging by adjusting ropes or cable, thus relieving pressure points and potential failure on or of same. To freshen the hawse, for instance, means to relieve the part of the cable that has been repeatedly exposed to friction from the hawse hole. This is necessary in times when a ship sits at anchor for some days. The term freshen the nip follows this rule and essential refers to the same duty. It also has been used to essentially mean "the sun is over the yardarm" for those officers who are ready for a glass.

The ballast is freshened when it is raked and/or moved to better purpose. Fresh grub are new stores taken aboard. A fresh spell means new men to taking on a repetitious task such as turning the capstan. And finally, your mate might be fresh meaning not that he is a bit too friendly but that he is just this side of drunk. As the Admiral puts it delicately, "excited by drink."

So cheers mates and a Happy St. Pat's. Perhaps a Guinness rather than a grog is in order. Slainte!

Header: Merchant's Quay at Newry; photo from the National Library of Ireland via Naval Architecture

Sailor Mouth Saturday: Clothes

The clothes make the man, or so we're told, but at sea words that would indicate things used for covering the body human to a lubber mean something very different. Here's a handy list from Peter H. Spectre's The Mariner's Book of Days 2013:

Apron ~ a strengthening timber behind the stempost.
Belly band ~ a band of canvas across a sail to prevent it from "bellying" - or stretching - from the force of the wind.
Bibbs ~ mast brackets that support the trestle-trees; also called hounds.
Bonnet ~ a piece of sailcloth attached to the foot of a sail to temporarily increase sail area.
Boot-top ~ band of paint defining the waterline of a hull.
Breeching ~ a backstay.
Buckler ~ a shaped piece of wood for caulking the hawseholes.
Cap ~ a fitting at the head of a mast or the end of a spar.
Cape ~ a pormontory.
Clasp ~ a hook that clasps a ring, or a stay, or a rope.
Collar knot ~ a knot used to fit shrouds to a mast.
Dress ~ to bedeck a ship with flags, pennants and bunting.
Earings ~ small pieces of line attached to cringles in a sail to be used when reefing [I can always tell this one from the ear adornment by the spelling; it is also part of that sailor's jargon meaning "from head to toe"; "from clew to earing."]
Girdle ~ a piece of rope passed around anything; also, a plank fastened over the wales of a wooden vessel.
Hood ~ a covering over gear, scuttle, or companion; also, the last plank of a complete strake in wooden shipbuilding.
Jacket ~ the outer layer of a double-planked hull.
Jumper ~ a rope used to prevent unwanted movement of a mast, spar or boom.
Mast coat ~ a gasket used to waterproof the opening where a mast penetrates the deck.
Quilting ~ a jacket of canvas, leather or rope to protect a bottle from breaking.
Skirts ~ the main body of a sail.
Slip ~ to let something go on purpose - i.e., to slip the anchor; also a launching way; also a space for mooring a vessel.
Strap ~ an iron bar for working a capstan; also, a metal band around a block.
Suit ~ a set of sails.

Finally, clothes may make the man but it seems this aphorism is proven doubly so in the case of Captain Oliver Hazard Perry, the Hero of Lake Erie from the War of 1812 whose famous flag hangs just to my right as I write. Thanks to my dear mate Captain Swallow, it is a constant reminder to go forward, be brave and never mind maneuvers: always go at them!

Header: Captain Oliver Hazard Perry by Edward L. Mooney c 1839 via Wikipedia

Sailor Mouth Saturday: Lay

"A rough hardy seaman, unus'd to shore ways; Knew little of ladies, but much of lay-days."

Or so Captain Cuttle explained of the merchant service in the 18th century. Lay-days were the express number of 24 hour periods as designated in a ship's bill of lading which said vessels was allowed in port. These days were specifically for the unloading of one cargo and loading of another and not for the convenience of the sailors. The less time this process took the better. The ship's owner had recourse to an overage of days - or even hours - in port by deducting a specified sum from what would amount to the crew's pay. No wonder so many merchant sailors went on the account...

To lay was the sea-speak for to come or go; lay aloft, lay forward, lay aft, lay out etc. As Admiral Smyth notes in The Sailor's Word Book, "This is not the neuter verb lie mispronounced, but the active verb lay." A mistake of semantics seen in unfortunately ill-researched nautical fiction. One may also lay a gun, which is essentially to aim a cannon. Not the easiest thing with a huge 24 in a rolling sea.

To lay in is the order for men to return from the yards or to man the capstan. Taking on provisions was sometimes spoken of as laying in sea stock and laying in the oars was the order from the coxswain to ship the oars of a boat. This would generally be preceded by the order to lay (or lie) on your oars, meaning to stop rowing. Lay out your oars then means the opposite: row harder.

Laying or lying out a yard: to go out toward the yard arms. Laying or lying along: when a ship is down sideways in a gale.

On can lay up; a ship by dismantling her or lay the land by almost losing sight of it. To lay-to is to set only one sail in a rough sea and can also be spoke of as to lie-to. Lay her course: this is the ability to sail in the direction desired, regardless of whether or not the wind is in your favor.

Laying down, sometimes spoken as laying off, is the delineation of the lines of a ship from the draught at the beginning of building her.

And thus we find the end of another Sailor Mouth Saturday. See how that lays with ye...

Header: Gorgeous draught of a French frigate from the late 18th century via my good mates at Under the Black Flag (see sidebar)

Tools of the Trade: The Cut of Her Jib

JIB: A large triangular sail, set on a stay, forward. I extends from the outer end of the jib-boom towards the fore topmast head; in cutters and sloops it is on the bowsprit, and extends towards the lower mast-head. The jib is a sail of great command with any side wind, in turning her head to leeward. There are other jibs, as inner jib, standing jib, flying jib, spindle jib, jib of jibs, jib-topsail &c. Jib is also used for the expression of the face, as the cut of his jib. Also, the arm of a crane. To jib, is when, before the wind, the sail takes over to the opposite quarter; dangerous in strong breezes [and known a jibbing or gybing]. Clear away the jib! The order to loose it, preparatory to its being set. Flying jib; a sail set upon the flying jib-boom. Middle or inner jib; a sail sometimes set on a stay secured to the middle of the jib-boom.

~ from The Sailor's Word Book by Admiral W.H. Smyth

Header: the modern barque Alexander von Humbolt out of Bremen with four jibs set and a fifth furled on the bowsprit; photo c 2003 via Wikipedia

Sailor Mouth Saturday: From Arm To Zulu

We're changing SMS up today because nothing is worse than a lack of deviation. At least in my opinion. So here, for your consideration, if a curious list from A Mariner's Miscellany by Peter H. Spectre. These are words that may be familiar to any lubber, but their meaning at sea might leave him or her scratching their land-bound head.

Arm: the portion of an anchor between the crown and the flukes.
Bank: a shoal which is full of enough deep water to navigate a ship through.
Caboose: a cook station on the deck of a sailing ship.
Dead head: a spar or log, usually floating on end, which is mostly submerged and therefore a dangerous obstacle to navigation.
Earing: a line used to bend a sail to a spar.
Fox: a group of rope yarns twisted together.
Groin: a breakwater.
Hog: that unfortunate state of a badly constructed vessel where her bow and stern drop down while her wait rises up.
Indian head: a type of New England fishing schooner first seen around 1900.
Jackass: a canvas bag filled with oakum and stuffed into the hawsehole to make it watertight.
Kid: a tub for serving out soups and stews.
Leech: the after side of a fore-and-aft sail or the outer sides of a square sail.
Mole: a man made breakwater, usually constructed of masonry, and used as a landing for ships.
Nose: the stem of a vessel.
Ordinary: naval term for a vessel that is not sailing and laid up in port, but still in commission.
Pea: the point of an anchor's palm.
Quarter: the side section of a vessel from the aftermost chainplate to the stern. Thus "the wind on her quarter." This should not be confused with the quarterdeck, which is the raised deck at the aft of most ships without a poop.
Roach: the curve in the side of a sail.
Sheets: lines used to control the sails.
Throat: the part of a gaff nearest to the mast.
Up: the position of the helm which allows the vessel to fall off the wind.
Vast!: short for avast; an order to stop as in "Vast fighting!"
Whack: a sailors food ration.
Yankee: a jib topsail. Probably so called because of its development by colonial sailors.
Zulu: a lug-rigged fishing boat used on the coast of Scotland.

There; a whole flock of useful words from one SMS courtesy of that expert in all things seafaring, Mr. Spectre.

Header: A Ship in Storm by an unknown artist via my good mates at Under The Black Flag's Facebook page

Literature: Old Ship Riggers

Yes, we did a heap o' riggin'
In those rampin' boomin' days,
When the wooden ships were buildin'
On their quaint old greasy ways;
Crafts of ever sort an' fashion,
 Bin an' little, lithe an' tall,
Had their birthplace by the harbor,
An' we rigged 'em one and all.

Our riggin' was for sailors,
Tough an' hardy Bluenose dogs,
With their hands as hard as leather,
An' their boots thick heavy clogs,
They were nothin' much like angels,
But they'd learned their business right,
An' they trusted to our riggin'
When the sea was roarin' white.

~ "Old Ship Riggers" by H.A. Cody

Header: Harbor Scene by Franklin D. Briscoe via American Gallery

Sailor Mouth Saturday: Up

With the season upon us, and a New Year up for grabs, it seems there is no place to go but up. Or so we would like to think. Up is quite the popular word at sea, so let us take a look at it today.

"Up-and-down!" This is a call that would have been familiar on just about any ship of the Golden Age of Sail. They would all have some type of anchor or at least a kedge, after all. Up-and-down indicates the position of the cable when the ship, by the force of drawing in her anchor via a capstan or other like method, is situated directly over that anchor. This is the step before the anchor comes clean of the water and, once that is accomplished, the call of "Clean and dry for weighing!" might be heard.

Up and down can also refer to tackle. In this case it speaks to any combinations of same that will pull sails, anchors or payloads up or down.

Topgallant masts, topmasts and royal masts were sometimes referred to as upper masts. As Admiral Smyth notes, "any spars above these are termed poles." Upper works are the parts of a ship that stand above the water as she goes. The upper counter, or counter, lies between the transom and the railing, and the upper deck is, of course, the highest continuous deck on a ship.

The so called upper transit is spoken of in navigation. From The Sailor's Word Book:

The passage of a circumpolar star over the meridian above the pole...

Up is often part of an order, as one might reasonably imagine. Here is a by no means complete list of what you might hear in such regard aboard any ship from pirate schooner to 74 gun man-of-war:

Up anchor! To weigh the anchor; as Admiral Smyth notes, "every man to his station."

Up boats! Hoist the ship's boats to their davits, most probably in preparation for getting under weigh.

Up courses! Haul up the sails hanging on the lower yards: mainsail, foresail, mizzen et cetera.

Up her helm! Put the bow of the ship to windward. Also sometimes spoken as "Put her a-weather!" In such case it should be remembered that the rudder will need to answer to leeward to accomplish this maneuver.

I hope your mood is up, as is my tankard to honor all the Brethren. Huzzah!

Header: Two Ships at Anchor by Andries van Eertvelt via Under the Black Flag on Facebook

Tools of the Trade: Making Sails

The sailmaker's art has always been just that: an art. Passengers aboard ships in the Great Age of Sail commented again and again on the precision of sailors making sails. This all important craft required an equally precise set of tools. Generally speaking, these were:

The sailmaker's bench
A bench hook to hold the sailcloth taut while sewing seams
Needles of different sizes, and a small case - usually of leather or cloth - to hold them
Stabbers and spikes used to make holes in the canvas for fitting eyelets, cringles and so on
Knives, scissors and sharpening stones for both
A seam rubber for smoothing seams, working the rope into the surface of the sail to reduce chafing when the sail was being hoisted up or taken in
Seam gauges and a tape measure
At least two sailmaker's palms; one for seaming and the other for roping. The former being more delicate and the latter having at least two layers of leather at the thumb to guard against the sailmaker being cut by the heavy rope or twine.
Wax for lubricating the ropes. This had the added benefit of waterproofing the rope or twine as well.

Here is an early 19th century recipe for sailmaker's wax from Peter H. Spectre's A Mariner's Miscellany:

4 pounds of beeswax
5 pounds "slush" or tallow from the galley
1 pound turpentine

All these ingredients should be melted together in a double boiler, and then turned out after the congealed for use in the form of small cubes or chunks.

As Robert Whyte wrote after his experiences at sea in the mid-19th century:

I was surprised at the expedition and neatness with which [the sailors] sewed with their coarse needles and long thread.

The art is still alive and well today and will hopefully be passed on to the next generation, and the next, and the next.

Header: Toy Ships by John Thomas Peele via American Gallery

Sailor Mouth Saturday: Stay

Last Wednesday we talked about staysails and how they began to appear on European ships in the 17th century. It probably goes without saying that researching that post led me to the myriad uses of the word stay at sea. And here is what I found, for the most part courtesy of our old friend Admiral Smyth and The Sailor's Word Book. Rather than paraphrase the master, here is the initial entry under stay:

A large strong rope extending from the upper end of each mast towards the stem of the ship, as the shrouds are extended on each side. The object of both is to prevent the masts from springing, when the ship is pitching deep. Thus stays are fore and aft; those which are led down to the vessel's side are backstays.

This is a point unfortunately missed in less well researched nautical fiction. In such cases, the afterstays are referred to as backstays. That's a mistake that will usually find me setting that book aside no matter how intriguing the story may be.

Stays, like sails, are named according to their position on the ship. The forestay is attached from the foremasthead down to the bowsprit's end. The mainstay goes forward to the end of the stem, upon which the bowsprit rests. The mizzenstay is attached to the mainmast and so on. A staysail may be attached to any of these stays, depending on situation and need, but the most familiar staysails are the jib and flying jib attached to the forestays.

Stay can also mean to tack. Thus one hears of a ship "missing stays" when she fails to catch the wind appropriately to perform the tack. She is said to be in stays when she is actually in the process of successfully going around. As the Admiral points out:

A vessel in bad trim, or lubberly handled, is sure to be slack in stays, and refuses stays, when she has to wear.

And that will never do.

Stay apeek is a term which notes that a ship's cable and forestay are in line (the cable being attached to an anchor). This can be either good or dire, depending on the tide and weather conditions.

Masts that incline toward a ship's bow are said to be stay-forward. This is the opposite of rake, when the masts are inclined aft.

Stay-tackles are the rigging, which is usually able to be moved, which allows for hoisting boats and other items. These are generally, but not always, designated as fore and main to coincide with the fore and main yards.

And, of course, a staysail is a triangular sail attached to a stay. But I didn't really need to tell the Brethren that, did I?

Header: Old Timer in Rough Seas by Montague Dawson via Under the Black Flag on Facebook; the old timer's stays are clearly visible thanks to the incomparable artistry of Mr. Dawson

Tools of the Trade: Staysails

While reading A Short History of the Sailing Ship by Romola and R.C. Anderson last night, I came across a curious few paragraphs that brought into focus something I had never thought much about before. From the book:

... we begin to find 'staysails,' which were triangular sails of much the same shape as the lateen mizzen, set on the stays of the masts and topmasts. These begin to appear in pictures after 1658, though they can be found in lists of stores a few years sooner.

Stays, of course, are the large ropes that are attached high on masts and run down to the deck. These ropes keep apposing tension on the masts so that the don't simply crack and fall over under the strain of the sails. On large ships, stays may be attached at various points and even to other masts creating the web of rigging familiar to anyone with an eye for tall ships. The engraving above, of the Sovereign of the Seas commissioned in England in 1637, shows the intricate network of stays - both fore and back - that would be common in any large ship. Note, however, that despite her near full sail posture, there is not a staysail to be seen.

The Andersons go on to speculate that the use of the staysail aboard European vessels came not only from observation of lateen sailing ships in the Mediterranean, but also from the need to place a sail where ever one could when a ship was in distress:

Probably [the practice of setting staysails] began as a 'jury rig' - that is to say, an emergency rig after damage by weather or battle. A letter of 1639 speaks of setting a mizzen on the mainstay for this purpose...

Just as any port in a storm, so any sail in a pinch. We must assume, therefor, that once sailors saw the advantage of staysails not only in speed but in maneuvering, the thing stuck. A quick perusal of these paintings by master marine artist Geoff Hunt will show that the use of staysails - particularly on jib and bowsprit - became old hat by the 18th century.

Another simple but fascinating piece of the evolution of the sailing ship.

Header: Sovereign of the Seas engraving c 1637 via Wikipedia

Horror on the High Seas: Dead

The word dead has a lot to do with Hallowe'en, which if we're honest is a celebration of the dead. So what better word for our Sailor Mouth Saturday during Horror on the High Seas week? I mean, we did devil last year.

We've discussed dead reckoning before, that amazing ability of our ancestors to make an educated guess about the positioning of their ship in blue water without reference to the stars or the planets. A keen trick if you could pull it off, but potentially deadly if your guess was wrong.

Many times the word dead has to do with components of a ship or her rigging. Dead doors are those attached to the inner bulwark of a ship's quarter gallery, this being the private latrine of the commanding officer. Since the quarter gallery is shifted slightly outward from the hull - for obvious reasons - dead doors are set in place to keep water out should the quarter gallery proper be, as Admiral Smyth puts it, "carried away." Wooden blocks, often made of elm, are used as stationary harnesses for rope to pass through; these blocks are known as dead eyes which comes from the older term, dead man's eyes. It is thought that the "dead" in this instance refers to the blocks' lack of movement.

The timber just at the midship bend, about a third of the length from her head, is known as a dead-flat. The dead-rising, by contrast, is the area of a ship near the stern post and is usually a reference to her bottom rather than her deck. Dead ropes are those which do not run through a block. Dead wood is used to correct certain inherent aberrations in a ship's keel; the blocks used were known individually as dead wood knees.  Dead works refers to the entire part of the ship which is above the water line when that ship is fully laden.

Dead lights are the shutters which can be attached to the outside of the stern windows which light the commanding officer's cabin in larger ships. These are fastened shut in anticipation of dirty weather. Dead lights is also a term for swamp gas or the elusive jack-o-lantern.

Dead can also be applied to weather conditions and navigation. A dead calm indicates no wind whatever, a sailor's nightmare. This is similar to a dead-lown, which Admiral Smyth tells us in The Sailor's Word Book is a "completely still atmosphere." Dead on end refers to a full backing wind blowing in the exact opposite direction from the ship's course. Dead upon a wind is to slightly better advantage with the ship braced up and close hauled while hard tacking.

The dead months signified winter, and a dead lift was the act of moving a "very inert body" - perhaps your fallen mate. Dead weight is the amount a merchant vessel must pay for goods she did not ship. Dead pay was that given for a man on a ship's books who did not appear when compensation was handed out; as the Admiral puts it "as was formerly practiced with widow's men."

Dead men's effects were those sold via auction at the main mast when a mate died. The purchaser would often have his pay docked in the ship's books to compensate for whatever he had won at auction. This was not always done for each man, but was often reserved for those who had no family to return any belongings to.

A dead ticket is a document, signed by surgeon and commanding officer, that certifies the man is in fact dead at sea. This was the first step to clearing the seaman off the ship's books.

Finally there is the curious ritual of the dead horse, which was performed on merchant vessels. When work for which the seaman were paid via advance, such as preparing to put out to sea, was completed, the men - at least in theory - would once again begin earning new funds. At this point the effigy of a dead horse was dragged around the decks to represent the end of "fruitless labor." The doll horse was sometimes run up the yardarm thereafter and cast overboard, according to Admiral Smyth "amidst loud cheers." Now there's something most of us have never heard of but that was probably witnessed by more than one traveler in the 19th century.

And so an end to our discussion of dead. Horror on the High Seas week continues on the morrow and marches right on to Hallowe'en. Don't miss a minute, Brethren.

Header: Moonlit Night by Stefan Popowski c 1910 via Old Paint

Tools of the Trade: The Weather Gauge

The idea of today's tool will be very familiar not only to the Brethren but to readers of nautical fiction. Having the weather gauge seems an all important point in winning a sea battle. Explaining why this might be is, to my mind, more difficult than achieving it. Readers of O'Brian will recall Dr. Maturin puzzling over the finer points of this strategic maneuver on more than on occasion. The question even came up in the movie Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World and found poor Killick insisting that Jack draw his examples for the weather gauge "not on the cloth."

In plain terms, having the weather gauge simply means that a ship is to windward of her opponent.

Is the weather gauge really an advantage? According to Falconer's New Universal Dictionary of the Marine, originally published in 1815, the answer is no. The caveat being that most sailors would tell you emphatically yes. Rather than try to paraphrase the master, here are William Burney Falconer's comments on the advantages of weather gauge:


1. The weather-gage is the sooner clear of smoke; and of course that line can better observe the signals which are spread, than the ships to leeward can, which must have the continuance of both its own and of the enemy longer.
2.  If the weather-ships are more in number than the enemy's they can detach some from their squadron; which, bearing down upon the rear of the enemy, must infallibly throw them into disorder.
3. The fire-ships of the weather-line can, when they are ordered, more easily bear down upon the enemy than those of the lee can ply to windward, which can never be done against a line in action; but the weather fire-ships can bear down against all the resistance that can be made by the enemy.

Falconer tells us that the disadvantage for the weather ships is in, for all intents and purposes, running away. As he so delicately puts it, "the weather-line cannot decline the action, without the dangerous expedient of forcing through the enemy's line."

There are advantages to the lee gauge, however, as Falconer notes:

1. If one, two or more of the ships to windward should be disabled, they must inevitable drive to leeward, and become a prey to the enemy.
2. The ships of the lee-line can more readily bear away before the wind, and have their places supplied by ships from the corps-de-reserve, in case of being disabled or meeting with any disaster.
3. The line to leeward can keep their ports longer open in a strong wind with a high sea, when those to windward in all probability may be obliged to shut the ports of their lower tier of guns, to prevent the water from rushing in between decks, which may be attended with the most fatal consequences.
4. The lee-line can more easily observe the men on the decks of the ships to windward, as they heel, and when the smoke does not interrupt their sight; at which time the marines and topmen may easily take aim at and destroy them with muskets and carbins.

Of course, the lee gauge has its own disadvantages including a lack of control over the timing of the battle and the ever present danger of an enemy ship breaking away from her line and coming up on the lee gauge ship or ships from behind.

The weather gauge has gone by the board now that ships of battle are outfitted with motors instead of sails. But you'll never convince an old salt - or an old soul - that the weather gauge isn't of great advantage in battle regardless of situation.

Header: USS Essex vs. HMS Alert August 13, 1812, painting by John B. Dindale

Sailor Mouth Saturday: Wear

Today's word comes to SMS via a suggestion from my good mate and long time member of the Brethren, Blue Lou Logan (whose blog you really should be following). Wear came to his mind while reading a Booty post of two Friday's gone; the one about the sailing ship in the hair. The word, at this point in the evolution of sailing etymology, is sometimes said to be synonymous with veer. But that may be both an over and an understatement.

According to Webster's there are a staggering twenty-two definitions for the word wear - twenty-three if one counts wear and tear, which figures into the use of the word at sea. None of them address that use otherwise, however. Wear in all its forms seems to come from the Middle English weren which itself derived from the Anglo-Saxon werian: to wear as in to carry or have on the body or person.

At sea, a man may wear his slops and hat, but wearing is something the ship herself does. To wear - or wear round - the vessel is to put her head away from the wind in an effort to bring her around to another course. This maneuver is the opposite of tacking wherein the ship's head it brought up to the wind.

Admiral Smyth, in The Sailor's Word Book, brings the point home more specifically:

In veering or wearing, especially when strong seas render [tacking] dangerous, unseamanlike, or impossible, the head of the vessel is put away to the wind, and turned round 20 points of the compass instead of 12 and, without strain or danger, is brought to the wind on the opposite tack. Many deep-thinking seamen, and Lords St. Vincent, Exmouth, and Sir E. Owen, issued orders to wear instead of tacking, when not inconvenient, deeming the accidents and wear and tear of tacking, detrimental to the sails, spars, and rigging.

Readers of the Aubrey/Maturin series by the dear Patrick O'Brian will recall that Lucky Jack Aubrey was fond of the wear rather than the tack "when not inconvenient."

As Admiral Smyth notes, wear and tear is also a seaman's term indicating the deleterious effects of decay and stress on all of a ship from keel to cloud scrapers during the course of a cruise.

Wear - or veer - can also be used in relation to tension, particularly on a ship;s rope and cable. To wear a buoy is to let out line to which a buoy has been attached, slackening it as it goes. This is used to retrieve a ship's boat or an unfortunate mate who has gone overboard. The wearing cable is that one which is slackened during unmooring and to wear away the cable is to let is go slack and run out.

To wear and hall is a maneuver meant to concentrate the force of a number of men hauling on a rope. The cable is pulled taut and then allowed to slack three times before giving it a serious heave. One can imagine a repetitive shanty being sung to make sure the timing of that last pull was perfect. The wind can also be said to wear - or again veer - and haul; generally speaking she wears aft and hauls forward.

In common parlance, then, the word wear came to mean not only the maneuver but also to pay out, to turn, or to change. A man may wear his opinion, or he may wear of a prize.

Finally weir is a very ancient English word for any form of seaweed, where mermaids and fishes play.

Happy Saturday, Brethren, and a thankee to Lou for the timely suggestion.

Header: Barquentine Mercator wearing to starboard; picture c 2007 via Wikipedia

Sailor Mouth Saturday: Low/Lower

Today's word can distinguish many an item and action aboard ship. From weather to great guns, from stem to stern, there is no shortage of uses for low and lower.

Low and aloft indicates a ship with every sail out. She is the visual equivalent of the phrase: "There is not a moment to lose." I am always brought to mind of the great clippers, making all speed around the Horn to the gold fields of San Francisco.

Low sails, conversely, is a ship under courses and close reefed topsails. In this position she may be preparing for dirty weather. A low masted ship is one whose masts are short for the size of the hull.

Low latitudes are those 10 degrees north or south of the equator; high latitudes being the poles. Low tides can be described as low water, which is also a sailor's term for being in dire straights and/or without money.

Lower lifts are those which sustain the main, fore and crossjack yards. Lower breadth sweep refers to shipbuilder's draughts. It is, for the most part, an estimate of timber needed for the building of the widest part of the ship's hull.

Lower hold refers to the space in a merchantman where cargo is kept, often also referring to purpose built "in between" or 'tween decks. Lower hold beams are those that prop up these lowest decks.

Lower deckers are the heaviest cannon carried by a man-of-war, and are therefor generally positioned on the lower decks of these ships. Lowering is a term for a sudden bank of clouds or fog, as if the sky itself seems to lower onto the ship.

Lower handsomely! An order best described by Admiral Smyth himself:

To ease down gradually, expressed of some weighty body suspended from tackles or ropes which, being slackened, suffer the said body to descend slowly.

This order is opposed to lower cheerly, which indicates the need for expedition in the handling of the load.

And so we'll leave low and lower alone and go forth on our course. Fair winds and following seas to one and all, and a mug o' grog to warm you on yer way.

Header: Sunset on the Beach Arsene Chabanian via Old Paint

Sailor Mouth Saturday: Room

The word room was familiar to English speaking seamen in various capacities when Drake ruled the waves.   As Admiral Smyth notes in The Sailor’s Word Book, the word was interchangeable – or perhaps stood in the stead of – the more modern term large in regard to sailing.  The term going room, according to the Admiral, was documented in England as early as 1578.  Used in this sense, the phrase meant the same as going large: sailing “with the wind free when studding-sails will draw.”  This might also be expressed as rooming or running to leeward.

Larger ships of old and to some degree to this day, had rooms.  They were, of course, not proper rooms as in a home or even cabins per se, depending on the type, but were nonetheless referred to as rooms.  In no particular order, and doubtless with a careless omission or two, one might find in a frigate or particularly a man-of-war such rooms as:

Cook room: another, more ancient, term for the galley.

Sail room: generally on the orlop deck, an enclosed space where spare sails can be kept clean and – in particular – dry, thus free of mold.  In very large ships more than one sail room might be kept.

Light room: attached to the powder room or magazine, this was where flints and slow match would be kept for the great guns.

Powder room: where the volatile black powder was kept for guns and small arms.  Like the sail room, dry conditions here and in the light room were absolutely necessary.

Gun room: located on the after-gun deck of larger ships, this was where gun deck officers and/or warrant men would take meals.  In frigates and smaller ships, this room might be located in steerage.

Ward room: generally above the gun room, this was where lieutenants and midshipmen slept and ate.

Bread room: another dry room often lined with sheeting of some kind and used to store bread and ship’s biscuit.

Spirit room: often located next to the bread room in the hold, this room contained the ship’s liquor and was frequently kept under lock and key, for obvious reasons.

The term sea room, still used today, indicates a ship running along free of seen or unseen dangers such as shore, shoals, reefs etc.  In such case, she is said to have “good offing”.

Happy Saturday, Brethren, and a mug of grog to y’all.

Header: Lee Shore by Edward Hopper via American Gallery

Booty: La Grace

The generous gentlemen rogues over at Under the Black Flag (who I utterly and reprehensibly failed to mention last Friday) posted the above video to YouTube a while back.  Entitled La Grace Pirate Ship, this five minute montage will make you remember why you love the sea, and wish you were back aboard ship searching for that next prize.

Happy Friday, Brethren.  Be sure to click over to UtBF when you have a moment and read a few of their piratical posts (some may even be a little familiar...)  And follow them on Twitter while yar at it.

Literature: Musings on Fore and Aft Rigging

The fore-and-aft rigging in its simplicity and the beauty of its aspect under every angle of vision is, I believe, unapproachable. A schooner, yawl, or cutter in charge of a capable man seems to handle herself as if endowed with the power of reasoning and the gife of swift execution.

~ Joseph Conrad

Header: Two Sailing Boats by Iwan J. Azis

Sailor Mouth Saturday: Point

The word point at sea often refers to guns, both great and small; or at least it did when ships were made of wood and men made of iron (as was the case in the era of the gorgeous painting of USS Constitution with her studding sails set above). But there were other points to be made upon wave, and we won’t skimp on any of them today.


A point of land is similar in nature to a head. It is an outcropping that reaches into the sea, projecting out and making a handing place for lighthouses and customs ports.

Point brass or point iron is a shipbuilding term referring to a particular type of plumb bob. A pointer is the arrow or indicator of an instrument, as in the pointer of a compass. Pointers, on the other hand, are props that shored up the hulls of whaling ships to help them through icy and iceberg-laden waters. This was also the term for braces used to support the bilge of any wooden ship; they were placed on the diagonal across the hold to prevent the ship’s timbers from “loose-working”: coming apart due to the heave and swell of the water on which she rode.

Pointing refers to rope and is the process by which the ends of it are tapered by hand to make them easy to fit through holes, such as the eyes of a sail. These pointings were sometimes tarred, making them similar to the end of a modern shoelace. The eye holes were thus referred to as points.

The details of a seaman’s – and particularly an officer’s – duty were known as points of service. As Admiral Smyth admonishes in The Sailor’s Word Book, these “ought to be executed with zeal and alacrity.”

As to the guns, a pointer-board was a piece of wood used to point a ship’s guns. To point a gun was, of course, to train it on a target.

Point blank and point blank range come to the English idiom not through seafaring but archery. Prior to the introduction of gunpowder into Europe, archers were highly prized in warfare both on land and sea. Practice of archery was an all-important pastime for such men (and women, as it turns out). The pre-Medieval term for what we might imagine as a bull’s eye on the practice-butt was a “blank”. Thus we come to point blank; not close or straight on but a direct hit of the arrow onto the blank.

Point blank range for the great guns aboard ship during the Age of Sail was considered between 300 and 400 yards, with some variation for the size of the bore. This was how far the ball – there is no accurate measurement for shot, chain, etc. – could fly before succumbing to gravity and beginning to arc toward the ground or water. Once guns were rifled, the use of the term fell out of favor other then to mean quite literally pressing the gun to an object and firing.

Finally, in the language of the old Royal Navy man, a point-beacher was – to use the delicate turn of phrase mastered by Admiral S – “a low woman of Portsmouth.” The engravings of Rowlandson easily come to mind.

Happy Saturday, Brethren; more tomorrow for Seafaring Sunday.

Header: Catching a Zephyr: USS Constitution off Gibraltar, 1804 by masterful marine artist Patrick O’Brien (these O’Brian/O’Brien guys really know their nautical stuff!)

Sailor Mouth Saturday: Out

Aboard ship, one would have heard today’s word a fair amount in the Great Age of Sail, usually in connection with another word or phrase. Most commonly we have outboard meaning the outer part of the ship and the opposite of inboard. Also outside planking, another shipyard idiom for the wales of a ship.


Out rigger is a term familiar even to the most lubberly among us. It generally calls to mind pictures of Polynesian canoes with a balancing wooden extension that keeps the narrow craft from tipping as it glides along under oars or sails. The term was also used to indicate a large beam or log that would have been attached to a ship at her waterline in preparation for careening. This type of out-rigger was used to secure the masts and take away some of the strain on them from the opposite tackles necessary to pull her over on her side. Another word for such devices in British sailor speak was “outlicker”.

An outer-jib was a sail particular to sloops of the 18th and early 19th century. Along with the foresail-jib, the outer-jib was set from the foremasthead and secured at the jib-boom. An out-haul or outhauler was the rope used for hauling out the tack of these sails, or the studding sail or boom sail in square-rigged vessels.

Moving mud out of canals or channels was once termed out-holling and outlet is, of course, where a river or stream empties into a large body of water. Outregans is an ancient term for canals that are navigable by boat.

A ship can out sail another, going faster in a head-to-head race or sailing a course in less time. Ships might be out of commission, not in use and barely manned if at all. They may be out of trim, which means not that they are unclean or ill-kept but that the ship is not sailing to its best ability for lack of balance either in sails and rigging or in the way her hold is stowed.

Out oars is the order from the coxswain for men to slide their oars out and set to work. Out boats is the order to hoist a ship’s boats into the water. Of course no true sailor is unfamiliar with the bosun’s call to rise and shine: “Turn out or your laniard will be cut down!” Time to roll out of your hammock, mate, or you’ll hit the blanks otherwise.

The word outlandish, which in modern English refers to something quirky or down right weird, was originally a seaman’s term for being in a foreign land. As Admiral Smyth puts it:

Jack [finds himself in] a place where he does not feel at home, or [around] a language which he does not understand.

To my mind, and even to my ear, this makes much better expression of the word than the way we now use it. Perhaps that is a sign that I’ve steeped too long in the seafarer’s grog.

Finally, the ultimate compliment from one sailor to another was to refer to a mate as the out-and-outer. As the Admiral tells us, this signified “thorough excellence; a man up to his duty, and able to perform it in style.” That last is perhaps the best part; who doesn’t want to be remembered, after all, for their panache?

Header: Painting of ships in full sail by Geoff Hunt