This predilection for sea idiom is assuredly proper in a maritime people, especially as many of the phrases are at once graphic, terse, and perspicuous. How could the whereabouts of an aching tooth be better pointed out to an operative dentist than Jack's "'Tis the aftermost grinder aloft, on the starboard quarter." The ship expressions preserve many British and Anglo-Saxon words, with their quaint old preterites and telling colloquialisms; and such may require explanation, as well for the youthful aspirant as for the cocoa-nut-headed prelector in nautic lore. It is indeed remarkable how largely that foundation of the English language has been preserved by means of our sailors.
This phraseology has necessarily been added to from time to time, and consequently bears the stamp of our successive ages of sea-life. In the "ancient and fishlike" terms that brave Raleigh derived from his predecessors, many epithets must have resulted from ardent recollections of home and those at home, for in a ship we find—
| Apeak, Apron, A-stay, Bonnet, Braces, Bridle, Cap, Catharpins, Cat-heads, | Cat's-paw, Cot, Cradle, Crib, Crow-foot, Crow's nest, Crown, Diamond, Dog, | Driver, Earings, Eyes, Fox, Garnet, Goose-neck, Goose-wing, Horse, Hose, | Hound, Jewel, Lacings, Martingale, Mouse, Nettle, Pins, Puddings, | Rabbit, Ribband, Saddle, Sheaves, Sheets, Sheepshank, Shoe, Sister, | Stays, Stirrup, Tiller, Truck, Truss, Watch, Whip, Yard. |
Most of the real sea-terms are pregnant with meaning; but those who undertake to expound them ought to be tolerably versed in the topic. Thus perhaps there was no great harm in Dr. Johnson's being utterly ignorant of maritime language, but it was temerariously vain in that sturdy lexicographer to assert that belay is a sea-phrase for splicing a rope; main sheet, for the largest sail in a ship; and bight, for the circumference of a coil of rope; and we long had him on the hip respecting the purser, a personage whom he—misled by Burser—at once pronounced to be the paymaster of a ship; as the then purser was, in fact, more familiar with slops, tobacco, pork, dips, biscuit, and the like, than with cash payments—for, excepting short-allowance dues, he had very little meddling with money matters. But the Admiralty have recently swamped the well-known and distinctive nautical title—despite of its time-honoured claims to repute—and introduced the army appellative, PAYMASTER, in its stead.
The pithy conciseness of the brackish tongue renders it eminently useful on duty. In some of their sea-phrases the French, our great rivals, use a heap of words more than we are wont to do. An instance is given—supposing a ship of the former met with one of ours, and they should desire to salute each other, the English commander would sing out, "Man ship!" but the French captain would have to exclaim, "Rangez du monde sur les vergues pour donner des cris de salut!" By the way, there is a ben trovato respecting the difficulty of doing our naval tidings into French: a translator of note made quite a mull of a ship being brought up by her anchors, and of another which was stranded from borrowing too much; while "a man-of-war riding easily in the road at Spithead" was rendered "Un homme de guerre se promenait à cheval à son aise sur le chemin de Spithead." Some of the French terms, however, are recommended by their Parisian stamp, as in calling iron bilboes "bas de soie"—the waist-netting "Saint Aubinet"—the quarter-gallery a "jardin d'amour:" but similar elegance was not manifested in dubbing the open-hearted thorough-bred tar "un loup de mer."
In the work before us, the nautical import of the terms is duly considered, and the orthography, as far as feasible, is ruled by authority and custom, with an occasional slight glance at the probable etymology of the words—slight, because derivation is a seductive and frequently illusory pilot. Our language is said to have been arraigned by foreigners for its hissing enunciation; but, regardless of the rebuke, our pundits have, of late, unnecessarily increased the whistling by substituting the sibilant s for the vocal z, in all sorts of cases. Happily this same s not being yet acclimatized to the galley, Jack will continue to give tongue to an enterprizing cruize after Portugueze merchandize, and there anent.
The plan of our work may be said to comprise the treating de omnibus rebus nauticis, for many branches of knowledge are demanded of the intelligent seaman. Thus in Naval Architecture, the terms used in the construction of ships, the plans and sections, and the mechanical means of the builders, are undoubted requirements of a sea word-book. So also in Astronomy, or that portion of nautical science constituting observations which are necessary to the determinations of the navigator. In Mathematics, especially the branch distinguished as practical, the doctrine which teaches whatever is capable of being numbered or measured, requires verbal elucidation, not so much for the educated youth, as for him who labours under difficulties—who is
"In canvass'd berth, profoundly deep in thought,
His busy mind with sines and tangents fraught."
Many of the words in our columns are not de facto sea-terms, but as they are in rife and familiar use on ship-board, they obtained a lodgment; whence it becomes rather a difficult matter to mark a boundary for nautic language. Various expressions are also retained which, though unused or all but obsolete, occur so frequently in professional treatises and antiquated journals, that their exposition may often be welcomed by a general reader: they are here introduced, not as worthy of revival, yet as necessary to be understood when fallen in with. And it should be remembered, that—especially during our last conflict with France—so many combined enterprises occurred, that the most general naval and military phrases pertained, in a manner, to both arms of the service.
What may be termed mere galley-slang also demands explanation, since even officers are sometimes ashore—I was going to say at sea—respecting its purport; and I recollect at a court-martial holden on a seaman for insolence to his superior, the lingo used by the shrewd culprit was liable to be thought respectful or otherwise according to the manner of utterance, and he was admitted to the benefit of the doubtful meaning. Still it must be admitted that all vulgarisms, as far as practicable, should be indignantly spurned from our noble English language—a language unequalled for excellence in fluency, capacity, and strength. A stern critic may also, and in truth, aver that terms are included on our roll the which are not altogether of maritime usage. This we have admitted, but the allegation will be greatly weakened on scrutiny, for they are here given in the sense entertained of them in nautic parlance. Such are generally illustrative of some of the lingual or local peculiarities of sea-life, or borne on its literature, and therefore are necessarily admitted as having a footing in maritime philology. Some of our misused words and archaic phrases are, by influence of the newspaper magnates, brought across the Atlantic, and re-appear among us under the style and title of Americanisms: after which fashion, in the lapse of time and the mutation of dialect, vocables once differing in origin and meaning may become identical in sense and sound.[A]
[A] As for example the word alarm, alarum, a bell, from the German lärm; but the military alarm on a drum is the Italian all'arme.
Finally, Natural History, a taste for which is a substantial blessing to the sailor, is too vast a department for our professional pages. However, a few requisite definitions of the familiar products of the air, earth, and water are introduced. Numbers of marine birds and many fishes—so often misnamed—are entered upon the muster; and especially those which the blue-jackets vote to be very good eating; yet, as a reverend author has well observed, we should, in such cases, recur to the probable state of their appetites at the time of experiment. The most general nautic dishes and refections are likewise cited, to the making of which most of our sea-cooks are competent—there being no purée, entremet, or fricandeau to trouble them. But though they