Naval Sayings – Devil and the deep blue sea

Each month in the Modellers Shipyard free monthly email newsletter we take a look at a Naval Saying from around the world.

There are many sayings and expressions that originate from language used historically by sailors. These sayings described specific aspects of life at sea and maritime traditions, and often referred to parts of sailing ships. Many of these expressions date from the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Some, over time, have crossed over in to common use, and are still used today, although in many cases the meanings of sayings now are far removed from their original meanings.

Between the Devil and the deep blue sea – In difficulty, faced with two dangerous alternatives.

The phrase was originally ‘Between the Devil and the deep sea’ (and somes ‘the Dead Sea’ or ‘the Red Sea’). The sea turned blue much later and the phrase became well-known via the title of a popular song Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea, written by Ted Koehler and Harold Arlen, and recorded by Cab Calloway in 1931.

What’s the source of the original phrase? Well, we would really like to know. CANOE, the Committee to Ascribe a Nautical Origin to Everything, would have us believe that it has a nautical origin (well, they would wouldn’t they?). In her book ‘When a loose cannon flogs a dead horse there’s the devil to pay’ Olivia Isil unambiguously attributes a nautical origin to the phrase, albeit without providing any evidence for that.

Set against that there’s the explanation that this is from the usual meaning of Devil, that is, the supreme spirit of evil. If it’s that Devil we are talking about then the origin is straightforward – the Devil is bad and falling in the deep sea is bad, so when being caught between the two would be cause for concern.

People who like that explanation can point back to Greek mythology for an earlier version of the idea of being caught between evil and the sea. Homer’s Odyssey refers to Odysseus being caught between Scylla (a six-headed monster) and Charybdis (a whirlpool).

To explain the nautical theory we’ll need to define some sailing terminology.

“Devil – the seam between the deck planking and the topmost plank of the ship’s side”.

This seam would need to be watertight and would need filling (caulking) from time to time. On a ship at sea this would presumably require a sailor to be suspended over the side, or at least to stand at the very edge of the deck. Either way it is easy to see how that might be described as ‘between the devil and the deep sea’.

The first recorded citation of ‘the Devil and the deep sea’ in print is in Robert Monro’s His expedition with the worthy Scots regiment called Mac-keyes, 1637:

“I, with my partie, did lie on our poste, as betwixt the devill and the deep sea.”

Shipwreck – Loch Sloy

Each month in the Modellers Shipyard free monthly email newsletter we take a look at a Shipwreck from around the Australia and New Zealand.

With its rugged coastline and immense inland river systems, Australia and New Zealand has an extraordinary maritime heritage. There are more than 6500 historic shipwrecks that lie beyond Australia’s shores. Each has a unique story and an important place in our heritage. These encompass convict transports, clipper ships, colonial trading vessels, steamships, harbour craft and much more. Each month we will take a look at a shipwreck from around Australia and New Zealand.

Loch Sloywas a Scottish sailing barque that operated between Great Britain and Australia from the late 19th century until 1899. Her name was drawn from Loch Sloy, a freshwater loch which lies to the north of the Burgh of Helensburgh, in the region of Argyll and Bute, Scotland.

In the early hours of 24 April 1899, Loch Sloy overran her distance when trying to pick up the light at Cape Borda and was wrecked on Brothers Rocks, about 300 metres from shore off Kangaroo Island, South Australia. Of the 34 passengers and crew on board, there were only four survivors, one who died from injuries and exposure shortly afterwards.

Loch Sloywas built in 1877 by D. and W. Henderson and Company, Glasgow, Yard No 178 for the Glasgow Shipping Company, more commonly known as the Loch Line.

Under the command of Captain Peter Nicol, Loch Sloy was on passage from Glasgow to Adelaide and Melbourne with a load of general cargo and seven passengers, including 2 women; David Kilpatrick, a cook from Glasgow (25), George Lamb, a clerk from Edinburgh, (30), Robert Logan, a piano tuner from Inverness, (40), Alexander McDonald, an engineer from Aberdeen (34), Captain Osmond Leicester (30) and Mrs Leicester, (Real name Mary Donally, 37. Osmonds real wife Fermina had been abandoned) (30), of Liverpool, and Rosalind Cartlidge (25). In the early hours of 24 April 1899, she met with disaster on the coast of Kangaroo Island at the mouth of the Investigator Strait, South Australia. The ship overran her distance when trying to pick up the light at Cape Borda. She was too close inshore and the light was hidden by the cliffs between Cape Bedout and Cape Couedie. In the darkness of the morning she ran full on to a reef 300 yards from shore to the north of the Casuarina Islets in Maurpetuis Bay.

The crew and passengers took refuge in the rigging, but one by one the masts broke and went over the side and the men were hurled into the breakers. There was little opportunity for her crew to save themselves. The ship had struck well off shore and only four men reached it – a passenger, two able seamen and an apprentice. None of the survivors remembered how they actually got ashore; they heard the crash of the masts, and then felt the wreckage bumping them about in the surf.

The four survivors, David Kilpatrick a passenger from Paisley, Renfrewshire, William John Simpson, the 19-year-old apprentice, and nephew of the captain, and two able seamen William Mitchell and Duncan McMillan, had to scale steep cliffs before they could even begin to get help. Kilpatrick was in a fearful state and could not climb up but eventually his companions helped him to the top, cutting his feet badly during the climb.

McMillan, the strongest of the survivors, left to find assistance, but after three days he had not returned, and the remaining three men decided to try to reach Cape Borda lighthouse. McMillan returned and finding the others gone, again set out for help, this time finding the May family, one of whom rode to the lighthouse where a search was organised.

The three other survivors were many miles from a settlement and were forced to survive on shell fish and dead penguins cast up by the sea. Unable to keep up with the others due to injuries and exposure, Kilpatrick was too ill to continue. The two others made him as comfortable Cape Borda Light station. They were without food, having given all they possessed to Kilpatrick, but the remains of two dead penguins were tied around their necks.

Mitchell subsequently stated that the ship was in fairly calm water half an hour before she struck. The boats might have been got out, but no attempt was made, the captain hoping to “bout ship” (change direction of the ship).

The body of David Kilpatrick was found nearly a month after the disaster. He was buried where found and his stone grave can still be seen today as a memorial to those who died in shipwrecks on Kangaroo Island’s west coast.

The ship’s wreck site is protected by the Commonwealth Historic Shipwrecks Act 1976

Naval Sayings – Push the boat out

Each month in the Modellers Shipyard free monthly email newsletter we take a look at a Naval Saying from around the world.

There are many sayings and expressions that originate from language used historically by sailors. These sayings described specific aspects of life at sea and maritime traditions, and often referred to parts of sailing ships. Many of these expressions date from the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Some, over time, have crossed over in to common use, and are still used today, although in many cases the meanings of sayings now are far removed from their original meanings.

Push the boat out – To spend generously. To spend more than one is normally accustomed to doing, often to mark a special occasion.

This phrase originates with the literal meaning, that is, pushing boats from wherever they are beached and into the water. People have for centuries built boats that were too large for an individual to move. Helping a seaman to push the boat out was an act of generosity – a similar to the modern-day act to helping to push a car that is broken down.

The phrase became used in UK nautical circles to mean ‘buy a round of drinks‘ sometime during the 1930s; for example, in J. Curtis’ You’re in Racket, 1937:

“This bloke you’re meeting up the Old Jacket and Vest to-night, let him push the boat out, the bastard. Surely he can pester for a tightener if you’re hungry.”

The meaning is made clear in Edward Fraser and John Gibbons’, Soldier and Sailor Words and Phrases, 1925:

Push the boat out, to, to stand treat.

By 1946, John Irving had listed the term as Royal Navy slang, with the specific ’round of drinks’ meaning – in Royal Navalese: a glossary:

“Push the boat out, to, a boatwork term used to imply paying for a ’round of drinks’.”

More recently, ‘push the boat out’ has been used more generally and has come to mean ‘behave extravagently; making a purchase that is rather beyond what one can afford’.

Shipwreck – Eleanor Lancaster 1856

Each month in the Modellers Shipyard free monthly email newsletter we take a look at a Shipwreck from around the Australia and New Zealand.

With its rugged coastline and immense inland river systems, Australia and New Zealand has an extraordinary maritime heritage. There are more than 6500 historic shipwrecks that lie beyond Australia’s shores. Each has a unique story and an important place in our heritage. These encompass convict transports, clipper ships, colonial trading vessels, steamships, harbour craft and much more. Each month we will take a look at a shipwreck from around Australia and New Zealand.

The Eleanor Lancaster was a 3-masted barque built at Maryport in 1839. Launched in 1840, and initially registered in Liverpool, it was operated by David Laidman (named after his wife, Eleanor Ann Hannah née Lancaster), with Captain P.Cowley as captain. In 1845, the ship was re-registered in London, and was operated by Soutter & Co, with Captain Francis Lodge in command.

The ship had a gross weight of 480 tons and was sheathed in copper until 1847, when it was re-sheathed in felt and yellow metal. Amongst its voyages, it sailed to Bombay, Port Phillip, Lima and Sydney.

The Lancaster was one of seven ships that sailed from Australia to San Francisco at the time of the California Gold Rush, leaving Sydney on 21 January 1849 and was the first to arrive in San Francisco on 2 April.Upon arrival, her crew apparently deserted and the captain used the ship along the Sacramento River, until she returned to San Francisco and was used as a bonded storeship until 1850.

On 7 November 1856, the ship was wrecked in a gale on Oyster Bank, Newcastle, New South Wales during passage from Newcastle to Melbourne with 640 tons of coal, under the command of Captain James McLean and with 15 crew. The crew clung to the rigging throughout the night and were finally rescued due to a seaman, William Skilton, who made several trips in a small boat to the wreck, despite raging seas.

The “Perilous Gate” is a 19th-century poem by an anonymous author, describing the shipwreck. It has been abridged into a song of the same name by Phyl Lobl.

Naval Sayings – Mal de mer

Each month in the Modellers Shipyard free monthly email newsletter we take a look at a Naval Saying from around the world.

There are many sayings and expressions that originate from language used historically by sailors. These sayings described specific aspects of life at sea and maritime traditions, and often referred to parts of sailing ships. Many of these expressions date from the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Some, over time, have crossed over in to common use, and are still used today, although in many cases the meanings of sayings now are far removed from their original meanings.

Mal de mer – Seasickness

Only the very luckiest amongst us will be unfamiliar with seasickness. The three dimensional freedom of a boat’s movement, as compared with the motion of land-bound vehicles, make this one of the worst forms of motion sickness, compounded by the sufferer’s knowledge that there is no escape when at sea and the misery is likely to last for some long time.

‘Mal de mer’ is French, of course, and came into the English language in the 18th century. John Adams referred to it in his Diary, in February 1778:

“The mal de mer seems to be merely the effect of agitation.”

The term had been in use in French for some time before that and is recorded with the ‘seasickness’ meaning by the late 16th century. It was also used in France to refer to another sickness of the sea, that is, ‘scurvy’, and, according to the OED, there’s a record of that usage dating from 1505.

Shipwreck – Taraua

Each month in the Modellers Shipyard free monthly email newsletter we take a look at a Shipwreck from around the Australia and New Zealand.

With its rugged coastline and immense inland river systems, Australia and New Zealand have an extraordinary maritime heritage. There are more than 6500 historic shipwrecks that lie beyond Australian and New Zealand shores. Each has a unique story and an important place in our heritage. These encompass convict transports, clipper ships, colonial trading vessels, steamships, harbour craft and much more. Each month we will take a look at a shipwreck from around Australia and New Zealand.

SS Tararua was a passenger steamer that struck the reef off Waipapa Point in the Catlins on 29 April 1881, and sank the next day, in the worst civilian shipping disaster in New Zealand’s history. Of the 151 passengers and crew on board, only 20 survived the shipwreck.

The Tararua was a screw-driven steamer with two 155 horsepower (116 kW) engines, measuring 222.6 ft (67.8 m) long, 28 ft (8.5 m) wide and 16.2 ft (4.9 m) deep. Built in Dundee by Gourlay Brothers in 1864, her original capacity was 523 tons (net) but alterations later increased her net tonnage to 563 tons.

Sailing from Port Chalmers, Dunedin at 5 pm on 28 April 1881, the Tararua was en route to Melbourne via Bluff and Hobart. Steering by land on a dark night, with clear skies overhead but a haze over the land, the captain turned the ship west at 4 am believing they had cleared the southernmost point. After breakers were heard at 4:25 am, they steered away to the W by S-half-S for 20 minutes before heading west again. At around 5 am, the ship struck the Otara Reef, which runs 13 km (8 mi) out from Waipapa Point.

The first lifeboat was holed as it was launched, but the second lifeboat carried a volunteer close enough in to swim to shore and raise the alarm. A farmhand rode 35 miles (56 km) to Wyndham to telegraph the news. However, while a message reached Dunedin by 1 pm, it was not marked urgent, and it took until 5 pm for the Hawea to leave port with supplies. Meanwhile the wind and waves had risen. Around noon, six passengers who were strong swimmers were taken close to shore; three managed to get through the surf, with the help of the earlier volunteer, but the others drowned. On a return trip, one man attempted to get ashore on the reef, but had to give up; another three drowned trying to swim to the beach. Another boat capsized trying to get a line through the surf. Eight of its nine crew survived, but the boat was damaged, and the locals who had gathered on the shore could not repair it. The remaining boat could no longer reach the ship, due to the waves, and stood out to sea in hope of flagging down a passing ship to help. The Tararua took over 20 hours to sink, with the stern going under around 2 pm and the rest disappearing overnight. The last cries of the victims were heard at 2:35 am. Only one man managed to swim safely from the ship to shore.

About 74 bodies were recovered, of which 55 were buried in a nearby plot that came to be known as the “Tararua Acre”. Three gravestones and a memorial plinth remain there today.

A Court of Inquiry found that the disaster was primarily caused by the ship’s captain failing to establish his correct position at 4am, before changing course to head west. An able-bodied seaman was also blamed for not keeping a proper lookout, from which breakers would have been heard in time to avoid the reef. The court recommended that steamers should carry enough lifebelts for all their passengers (there were only twelve on the Tararua) and that a lighthouse should be built at Waipapa Point. The lighthouse began operating in 1884.

The Tararua had a narrow escape on a previous voyage in 1865, suffering no damage after grounding on a beach at Cape Farewell.

New Kit – Field Gun & Limber – WW1 18pdr Quick Firing

The 18 pound QF Field Gun, or simply 18-pounder Gun, was the standard British Empire field gun of the World War I era and was used on all fronts during the First World War. It was produced in large numbers and formed the backbone of British, Australian, Canadian & New Zealand artillery forces in all the main theatres of the First World War. Australian and New Zealand forces employed the 18-pounder Gun on Gallipoli and the Western Front.
Its calibre (84mm) and hence shell weight were greater than those of the equivalent field guns in French (75mm) and German (77mm) service.

The 18-pounder was a quick-firing horse-drawn field gun designed to be towed behind a limber and six horses. The gun barrel was wire bound nickel-steel with a single-motion screw breech with a cartridge extractor. It fired a fixed round of shell and cartridge fixed together, which was known as “quick firing” in British terminology. The lower carriage comprised a single hollow steel trail fixed to the centre of the axle-tree. The limited traverse saddle supported the elevating mass and a shield. Traverse controls were on the left and elevation on the right of the saddle. Recoil was by a hydraulic buffer with telescopic running-up springs to return the barrel to its firing position.

The limber was towed between the gun and horse team and carried 24 rounds of ammunition. Each gun was accompanied by a wagon and limber carrying the gun detachment (none were carried on the gun limber) and 48 and 28 rounds respectively. In action the limbers were placed beside the guns and their steel bodies provided an extended shield to protect the detachments against small arms fire.
The towed weight of the gun and loaded limber was 40 cwt, the wagon and its limber were about 37 cwt. Each battery also held a second wagon and limber per gun, giving first line ammunition stocks of 176 rounds per gun.

The first versions were introduced in 1904 and later versions remained in service with British forces until early 1942. During the interwar period the 18-pounder formed the basis of early versions of the equally famous Ordnance QF 25 pounder, which would form the basis of the British artillery forces during and after World War II, in much the same fashion as the 18-pounder had during World War I.

The Royal Australian Artillery Historical Company is restoring a field gun and limber see – www.artilleryhistory.org/ad_18_pound_project.html

The model of the Field Gun and Limber (Carriage) comes complete with all parts and fittings and comprehensive full colour English building instructions.

Size: L: 550mm, W:125mm, H:90mm, Skill Level: 2 and a Scale: 1:15

Available now for only $210.

To get this model now – CLICK HERE.

Naval Sayings – Get underway

Each month in the Modellers Shipyard free monthly email newsletter we take a look at a Naval Saying from around the world.

There are many sayings and expressions that originate from language used historically by sailors. These sayings described specific aspects of life at sea and maritime traditions, and often referred to parts of sailing ships. Many of these expressions date from the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Some, over time, have crossed over in to common use, and are still used today, although in many cases the meanings of sayings now are far removed from their original meanings.

Get underway – Begin a journey or a project.

We are familiar with this little expression but, like other idioms that we absorb without question when learning the language, it doesn’t make much literal sense. Why ‘under’? Why ‘way’? It turns out that a confusing of several seafaring words had a bearing on the coining of this nautical phrase.

‘Way’ doesn’t mean here road or route but has the specifically nautical meaning of ‘the forward progress of a ship though the water’, or the wake that the ship leaves behind. Way has been used like that since at least the 17th century; for example, this piece from Samuel Sturmy’s Mariners Magazine, 1669:

“If you sail against a Current, if it be swifter than the Ship’s way, you fall a Stern.”

This usage continued into the 20th century and was also used in aviation as well as shipping. In 1911, The Times reported:

“He shut off his engine and by so doing took the ‘way’ off the biplane.”

The term ‘under sail’ and ‘underway’ appear at first sight to be quite similar. The former seems easy to interpret, as sailing ships are literally under the sails when in motion, but what are we under in ‘underway’? That is easier to understand when we know that this ‘under’ was originally ‘on the’. Knowing that, ‘on the way’ makes sense. ‘On the way’ migrated to ‘underway’, probably due to the influence of the Dutch word ‘onderweg’, which translates into English as ‘underway’ but to 17th century sailors must have sounded more like ‘on the way’.

More confusion enters with doubts over the phrase’s spelling. The term ‘weigh anchor’, and the fact that when ships are loaded with cargo and ready to sail they are weighed down, has led to the phrase being written as ‘under weigh’. This a common enough misspelling to have become almost standardised; so much so that, in his 1846 Nautical Dictionary, Arthur Young wrongly suggested that under weigh was in fact the correct original spelling:

“Under way, this expression, often used instead of under weigh, seems to be a convenient one for denoting that a ship or boat is making progress through the water, whether by sails or other motive power.”

There seems little to justify it, but Young must have had some success in promoting that view as many prominent 19th century authors, including Thackeray, Herman Melville and Charles Dickens, all spelled the term that way – or should that be that weigh?

The word ‘way’ is now flourishing as the converse of ‘no way’, but as ‘a ship’s progress’ it is all but defunct. The loss of the association with shipping has removed the incentive to spell the phrase ‘get under weigh’ and ‘get underway’ is now commonly used (although some still prefer to use the two-word form for ‘get under way’ and reserve the single ‘underway for the adjectival ‘the underway ship’).

Shipwreck – Absalom 1863

Each month in the Modellers Shipyard free monthly email newsletter we take a look at a Shipwreck from around the Australia and New Zealand.

With its rugged coastline and immense inland river systems, Australia and New Zealand has an extraordinary maritime heritage. There are more than 6500 historic shipwrecks that lie beyond Australia’s shores. Each has a unique story and an important place in our heritage. These encompass convict transports, clipper ships, colonial trading vessels, steamships, harbour craft and much more. Each month we will take a look at a shipwreck from around Australia and New Zealand.

The Absalom was a wooden ketch that was wrecked at the Macleay River bar at Trial Bay, New South Wales in 1863.

The Absalom was built for the timber trade, and W. Pickett was to be her commander. She spent the early years of her career traveling to the Shoalhaven. By 1857 she had moved to include Wollongong. She spent much of 1858 traveling to Brisbane Water.

During 1861 she made trips to the Shoalhaven and Moruya River. During one of these trips, she came across two crew members of the Cambrian Packet, which had sunk in a squall off Port Aiken. The ship’s master, Edward Jones, and a seaman named Dalton kept themselves afloat for over an hour before they were rescued by the Absalom, which returned them both to Sydney.

By 1862, the Absalom was trading in the Macleay River, with J Fraser as master. On 29 March 1863, she was attempting to beat out of the river, but missed stays and ran upon the South Spit at the Heads, and in a few minutes went to pieces. Mr McKenzie, the pilot of the area, was quickly in his boat, and rendered all the assistance that could be given. All hands were saved, but the vessel and cargo, consisting of more than six hundred bushels of maize, were totally lost.

The crew were returned to Sydney by the Woolloomooloo. The Absalom was uninsured, and belonged to Mr J Hubbard.