Mainsails, Mizzenmasts and Mazatlán

or...

300 years of history in the cerveza Pacifico label

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Weary of writing about depressing (though maybe mildly interesting and sometimes informative) stuff like US politics, the relative safety of life in the US vs Mexico or comparing the oligarchies of north or south (separated by the Rio Grande and a bold line on a map) – every fiber of my being insisted I lean way back in my chair, lighten up, think about, and write about something sunny, breezy, and a bit fun. After all, isn’t sunny, breezy and fun a big part of living in, going to, or visiting Mazatlán?

Mazatlán. A port with rich nautical heritage – a history of schooners and windjammers and pirates. The sea, the harbors, the marinas, the sailboats. The label on the Pacificobottle has images of the harbor, a life ring buoy and an anchor. Stare at enough of those Pacifico labels sittin’ on a table at the Puerto Viejo while waiting for the sun to set and you may find yourself ‘three sheets to the wind’ and passersby will give you ‘a wide berth.’ (Of course that has never happened to me.)

So, yeah, you guessed where this is going. Where do these nautical sayings we use in everyday language originate? As beachoholic devotees of the historical port by the bay and sea, it might be fun to find out.

Three sheets to the wind: Very drunk. Again, what this writer has never been in Mazatlán.

Sheets aren’t sails, as landlubbers might expect, but ropes (or occasionally, chains). They are fixed to the lower corners of sails, to hold them in place, and there were usually three of them. If all three sheets are loose and blowing about in the wind then the sails will flap and the boat will lurch about like a drunken sailor. Now we say, ‘three sheets to the wind’, rather than the original ‘three sheets in the wind’. Sailors at that time had a sliding scale of drunkenness; three sheets was the falling over stage; tipsy was just ‘one sheet in the wind’, or ‘a sheet in the wind’s eye’. An example appears in the novel The Fisher’s Daughter, by Catherine Ward, 1824: “Wolf replenished his glass at the request of Mr. Blust, who, instead of being one sheet in the wind, was likely to get to three before he took his departure.”

A wide berth: A goodly distance. The distance one gives the ravenous, demonic Doberman on Tercera Potrero del Llano lunging at the fence whenever you get within fifty feet of his yard.

We now think of a ship’s berth as the place where the ship is moored. Before that though it meant ‘a place where there is sea room to moor a ship. This derives in turn from the probable derivation of the word berth, that is, ‘bearing off’. When sailors were warned to keep a wide bearing off something they were being told to make sure to maintain enough sea room from it. It dates back to the heyday of sail, the 17th century. An early use comes from Captain John Smith in Accidental Young Seamen, 1626: “Watch bee vigilant to keepe your berth to windward.”

This is more fun than writing about politics, crime rates and obscenely wealthy, megalomaniacal old white guys! I can visualize myself pacing the decks on an anchored square-rigger, grumbling “Arrrgghhhh”, checking the rigging (the ropes), staring up at el faro and making entries in the ships’ log.

Know the ropes: To understand how to do something. To be acquainted with all the methods required. A situation in which this writer has never been.

It may well have a nautical origin. Sailors had to learn which rope raised which sail and also had to learn a myriad of knots. (There is also a suggestion that it comes from the world of the theatre, where ropes are used to raise scenery etc.) The first citation comes in Richard H. Dana Jr’s Two Years Before the Mast, 1840: “The captain, who had been on the coast before and ‘knew the ropes,’ took the steering oar” That clearly has a seafaring connection, although it appears to be using the figurative meaning of the phrase, that is, ‘the captain was knowledgeable’, but without any specific allusion to ropes.

The term log-book has an interesting derivation in itself. An early form of measuring a ship’s progress was by casting overboard a wooden board (the log) with a string attached. The rate at which the string was played out as the ship moved away from the stationary log was measured by counting how long it took between knots in the string. These measurements were later transcribed into a book. Hence we get the term ‘log-book’ and also the name ‘knot’ as the unit of speed at sea. (One nautical mile is 1.15077945 statute miles.)

Touch and Go: A risky, precarious or delicate case or state of things – such that the slightest change could prove disastrous. Kinda like ordering lunch at a taco stand on a dirt street.

This meaning came about as an allusion to ships or stage-coaches giving a glancing blow, to the seabed or to the wheels of other coaches respectively, before continuing their journey. To collide might mean disaster but a mere touch meant a narrow escape and the ship/coach could continue to ‘go’. This was explained by Admiral W. H. Smyth in his Sailor’s Word-book, 1867: Touch-and-go, said of anything within an ace of ruin; as in rounding a ship very narrowly to escape rocks, &c., or when, under sail, she rubs against the ground with her keel, without much diminution of her velocity.

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea: In difficulty, faced with two dangerous alternatives. I feel like that when I get caught between a Banda band and a roiling surf.

“Devil – the seam which margins the waterways on a ship’s hull”. This definition is from Admiral Henry Smyth’s Sailor’s Word-Book: An Alphabetical Digest of Nautical Terms, 1867. “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’.

Slush fund: Money put aside to be used to bribe or influence, especially in a political context. The stash of pesos in my secret pocket to be used in case of being pulled over by the policia.

A century after being coined as referring to half-melted snow, there was an alternative meaning of ‘slush’, or ‘slosh’, which was the fat or grease obtained from meat boiled on board ship. That invaluable guide The Gentleman’s Magazine, 1756, referred to it like this: He used much slush (the rancid fat of pork) among his victuals. William Thompson made it sound even less appetizing in The Royal Navy-men’s Advocate, 1757: “Tars whose Stomachs are not very squeamish, can bear to paddle their Fingers in stinking Slush.” It was considered a perk for ships’ cooks and crew and they sold the fat that they gathered from cooking meat whenever they reached port. This perquisite became known as a ‘slush fund. The author William McNally didn’t think much of the practice and included a description of it in Evils & Abuses in Naval & Merchant Service, 1839: “The sailors in the navy are allowed salt beef. From this provision, when cooked nearly all the fat boils off; this is carefully skimmed and put into empty beef or pork barrels, and sold, and the money so received is called the slush fund.”

Cut and run: Make a speedy or sudden departure from an awkward or hazardous situation rather than deal with it. What you do when you see the beach vendors coming your way.

It has been suggested that it has a nautical derivation and that it refers to ships making a hasty departure by the cutting of the anchor rope and running before the wind. That isn’t absolutely proven although the earliest known citation does come from a seafaring context. Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie Queene, 1590 has this line: “It [a ship] cut away upon the yielding wave.” The ‘cutting rope’ derivation was certainly accepted later in that century by David Steel, the author of the 1794 tome The Elements and Practice of Rigging and Seamanship: “To Cut and run, to cut the cable and make sail instantly, without waiting to weigh anchor.”

Loose cannon: An unpredictable person or thing, liable to cause damage if not kept in check by others. About 70% of the automobile and 95% of the bus drivers in Mazatlán.

From the 17th century to the 19th century, wooden warships carried cannon as their primary offensive weapons. In order to avoid damage from their enormous recoil when fired they were mounted on rollers and secured with rope. A loose cannon was just what it sounds like, that is, a cannon that had become free of its restraints and was rolling dangerously about the deck.

As with many nautical phrases, the use of ‘loose cannon’ owes something to the imagination as no evidence has come to light to indicate that the phrase was used by sailors in the days that ships actually carried cannon. The imagination in question belonged to Victor Hugo who set the scene in the novel Ninety Three, in 1874. A translation of the French original describes cannon being tossed about following a violent incident onboard ship: “The carronade, hurled forward by the pitching, dashed into this knot of men, and crushed four at the first blow; then, flung back and shot out anew by the rolling, it cut in two a fifth poor fellow… The enormous cannon was left alone. She was given up to herself. She was her own mistress, and mistress of the vessel. She could do what she willed with both.”

Go by the board: Finished with, as in thrown overboard. As in, my most recent engagement ring settled into the mud at the bottom of the Mazatlán harbor.

The board is the side or the decking of a ship. In common with many nautical phrases, ‘go by the board’ dates back to the 17th century. For example, John Taylor’s Works, 1603: “In this fight their Reare-Admirals Maine Mast was shot by the boord.” and The London Gazette No. 60/3, 1666: “Our Main-stay, and our Main Top-Mast came all by the board.” It isn’t clear exactly whether the phrase ‘go by the board’ originated with the meaning ‘gone over the side’ or ‘fallen onto the deck’. Admiral William Henry Smyth gives equivocal meanings in his listing of the term in The Sailor’s Word-book: An Alphabetical Digest of Nautical Terms, 1865: “By the board. Over the ship’s side. When a mast is carried away near the deck it is said to go by the board.”

Shiver me timbers. I had no idea how much Mazatlán has in common with all this evolved nautical jargon and how it relates so well to life in the historical, seafaring city which is Mexico’s largest commercial seaport.

Blimey, matey! I think I’ll have me a pint of history (a bottle of PACIFICO).

Credits: I appropriated heavily (albeit with some sporadic editing) from this website and I thank and acknowledge the authors and their invaluable information.

http://www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/nautical-phrases.html