Sailing ships

by E. Keble Chatterton

Greece lacked the advantage to be found in a Tigris, a Euphrates, or Nile. Her rivers are so short, and their descent to the sea so rapid, that navigation was utterly impossible. But for what she missed in rivers she was amply compensated in respect of the peculiar formation of the coast. Endowed with the same blessing that makes the west coast of Scotland so attractive (but happily without the drawback of the Atlantic immediately outside the lochs), Greece had her delightful inlets and arms of the seas running far up into the land. The peaceful waters of the Grecian archipelago, the mildness of its climate, the absence of tides, the comparative smoothness of the water—except for occasional squalls with a nasty short sea—these were factors every bit as encouraging for the art of navigation as ever the conditions that smiled on the Egyptians. In some respects they were more stimulating in proportion as the sea makes a better sailor than even the biggest river. Add to this that there was at hand an ample supply of good wood and that the southern shores of the Euxine were rich not merely in timber but in iron, copper and red-lead. Could the shipbuilder’s paradise possibly be more complete?

There was just one drawback from which, as it seems to me, the nations on the Mediterranean compared with the inhabitants of Northern Europe have always suffered: even till to-day, or at any rate up to the introduction of steam, the tendency of the Mediterraneans has been to build sailing boats rather than sailing ships. The very conditions that prompted naval architecture at all limited their scope. I mean, of course, that whereas along the coasts washed by the Baltic, the North Sea and the English Channel, the sea-farers had either to build a ship or nothing, the case in the Mediterranean was different. The treacherous waters of the North Sea or Baltic, the existence of dangerous sand banks and rushing tides, were an unfair match for delicately designed craft accustomed to sun-speckled seas. Although the Viking craft had their full complement of rowers, yet they were far abler ships than the over-oared boats of Greece and those of the early days of Rome. Right down to the time of the Spanish Armada, and after, the tendency was ever for the galley or galleass—the rowed ship rather than the sailing ship—to linger as long as possible, whereas in the North the reverse has been the case. I attribute the prevalence of the “galley” type of craft to two causes—the geographical conditions of Southern Europe and the abundance of slaves. When any amount of physical rowing power could be got with such ease and absence of expense, it was not likely that the sailing ship, per se, would advance. I think there can be no doubt at all that this condition of affairs kept back both the rig and design of shipping for very many years. The Southerner’s first aim was to create a craft that would be fast; the Northerner’s object was to have a ship that would be seaworthy. The difference between being able to ride out a gale and that of being able to manœuvre with all possible despatch in comparatively sheltered waters, will be found to be the basis of the characteristic features that separate the craft of Northern and Southern Europe.

Fig 11. Greek Ship.
From Bœotian fibula of the eighth century B.C.

In Fig. 11 we have some indication of a Greek sailing ship or boat of about the eighth century, when, as we have just said, there existed the great passion for the sea as a means to wealth. This illustration has been sketched from a Bœotian fibula, made of bronze, and now in the British Museum. The boat has not the appearance of being particularly seaworthy, although it is perfectly clear that she is a sailing craft. The aphlaston already alluded to will be noticed at the stern. The bow shows the Phœnician influence with its ram-like features, and this characteristic continued to exist with similar prominence till at any rate the beginning of the Christian era. Opinions differ as to whether the teeth-like projections at bow and stern are just the extending horizontal timbers. Personally, I believe they are separate fixtures with bronze or iron tips, those at the bow for preventing the ram going too far into the enemy’s ship; those at the stern affording a protection against being rammed by the enemy. The forestay leads down to what is apparently a primitive forecastle, and the man in the stern is standing on a platform, but so crude is the draughtsmanship that it would be unsafe to affirm that this was raised as high as the forecastle. Some have thought that this stern arrangement may denote a latticed cabin, but this seems doubtful. However, it is quite clear that the skipper is either steering or rowing with his foot as the primitive gondolier, while his mate is busy as the look-out. The design at the top of the mast has been thought to be a lantern, but it might also be a flag.

Fig. 12. Greek War Galley.
From a vase, c. 500 B.C.

Although not shown in this example, many of the early Greek ships had two forestays and a backstay. The mast was supported at its foot by a prop, and when lowered it lay aft in a rest, being raised and lowered by means of the forestays, like the custom of the Thames barge and the Norfolk wherry-man. Fig. 12 represents a war-galley taken from a Greek vase of about 500 B.C. It will be found in the Second Vase Room of the British Museum. The sail (ἱστίον) will be seen hanging from the yard, together with the brails as already described. The two halyards come down on either side of the mast. We should presume that, having the brails, the Greek ships were accustomed to reefing: but we have actual evidence from the expression used by Aristophanes “ἄκροισι χρῆσθαι ἱστίος,” “to keep the sails close-reefed.” Similarly Euripides has the phrase “ἄκροισι λαίφουσ κραπέδοις,” “under close-reefed sails” (lit. “with the outermost edges of the sail”). The reefing method is better shown in Fig. 13. If it came on to blow two hands would be sent aloft to go out along the yard. The brails one by one would be thrown up to the men, who would pass each brail once or thrice round the yard, according to the number of reefs required to be taken in. Fig. 13 shows a ship close-reefed. That this is no fanciful picture will be seen by the reader who cares to compare the relief on the tomb of Naevoleja Tyche at Pompei,[13] on which will be noticed one man on deck getting ready the brails to throw them up, while two other members of the crew are already out on the yard, and two more still are climbing up the rigging to help them, probably by taking up the ends of the brails.

Each yard was composed of two spars lashed together as in the Maltese galley and Japanese junk of to-day. The Latin word for a yard was always used in the plural—antennæ—to signify the two parts lashed in one. The boar’s head—a very favourite symbol for this purpose in early ships—will be noticed at the bow of the war-galley in Fig. 12. Above it is the forecastle, and running thence astern is a flying deck, in order that the fighting men might not hinder the work of the rowers. The two banks of oars will be immediately noticed. Astern sits the steersman with his two steering-oars. That which hangs from the stern below is the gangway for going aboard. The crew either hauled their ships ashore at night, or, laying out anchors from the bows seaward, carried stern ropes ashore to a rock. The gangway shown was lowered to the land side, and the crew came aboard from aft. The reader who is familiar with the Yorkshire cobble and the method adopted for beaching by the fishermen on the coast above the Humber will find additional interest in this.