Ship's Attitude
Ship's Attitude describes the orientation of a waterborne vessel in relation to the wind's direction. As the ship turns, this changes which part of the ship surface is blown upon, which determines how effectively the sails can employ the wind to drive the vessel forward. Different attitudes permit different degrees of speed and control, which can be advantaged or minimised by how the ship's hull and rigging are managed.
Contents
For the naval combat rule system, there are only four possible attitudes a ship has toward the wind, or "windward". When the windward is directly back the ship, the ship's attitude is "running." If windward is at a 60° angle abaft, or in back of the ship's beam (the ship's widest point), the attitude is "reaching." If windward is at a 60° angle forward, ahead of the ship's beam, the attitude is "close-hauled". And if windward is straight at the bow, the attitude is "head to wind."
Ship's Feel
When reaching, or "under a good reach," the ship gives its best sense of being alive. The sails fill cleanly, so that the ship seems to lean into its own strength. The hull's resistance to the water is best overcome at this attitude; the ship feels lighter while cutting through the sea instead of pushing against it. Above, the rigging tightens and hums overhead, with every line taking its share of the wind's force. Beneath one's feet, the deck holds a purposeful angle, producing a tilt that long-time sailors adjust to comfortably. Overall, the ship feels quick, balanced and nimble upon the wind.
When running, the stern lifts with each wave, followed by a downward shove that travels forward through the deck and the knees. Walking becomes awkward because as the stern wallows under the wind, it rolls broadly from side to side while surging forward in pulses. One moment the deck feels level; the next it tilts enough that sailors must widen their stance to keep balance. The movement is felt most strongly in the stomach and legs. Sleep becomes difficult because the body never settles into a regular rhythm. The rudder vibrates through the hull, the masts sway in slow arcs overhead, and every unsecured object aboard shifts unpredictably with the rolling of the ship. Thus, though a fair distance can be covered with this attitude, it isn't a pleasant experience.
When close-hauling, the ship works hard for every bit of distance it gains. The deck holds a constant slant, the sails strain tightly to one side and the hull beats against the water rather than settling into an easy motion. Each wave strikes more sharply, sending shocks through the timbers and spray across the forward deck. Movement aboard becomes cautious. Sailors brace before crossing open space, and the wind cuts across the ship instead of following comfortably from behind. Lines pull hard in their blocks, canvas snaps under pressure and the helm feels loaded, as though every small correction has to be forced out of the ship. The vessel makes progress, but grudgingly, with the crew and rigging held under continual strain. Close-hauling is employed as part of "tacking into the wind," so that the ship turns port and starboard against the wind to make headway in a straight direction.
When headed to the wind, the ship loses its useful hold upon the air. The sails flap, crack and hang uneasily, shaking the masts and sending loose ropes snapping across the deck. Forward movement dies away, and the vessel begins to feel uncertain beneath the feet, no longer pressing ahead but shuddering in place as the wind breaks around the bow. The deck may still pitch and roll, but without the firm pull of filled sails the ship feels loose in the water. The helm answers poorly, and sailors hurry to manage canvas before the vessel falls off to one side or is driven backward. It is an uncomfortable attitude, full of noise and hesitation, where the ship waits for the wind to catch her properly again.
Most often, a ship comes head to wind as part of the aforementioned tacking; when doing so, there is a danger of the ship being caught "in irons." In such cases, the ship has failed to pass through the wind, so that it no longer answers the helm at all. Instead, the bow hangs stubbornly into the wind while the sails thrash uselessly overhead, filling on one side for a moment before collapsing and snapping back again. Little forward movement remains, and the vessel drifts uncertainly with the sea while the crew struggles to recover control. Aboard ship, the feeling is deeply unsettling. The usual sense of motion and direction disappears, replaced by shuddering timbers, violent canvas and the sound of rigging cracking under confused strain. Orders are shouted quickly, sailors haul frantically at lines and the helm is worked with growing desperation, since every moment spent in irons leaves the ship exposed to waves, weather and enemy action without the ability to manoeuver.
See also,
Naval Combat
Wind Effects on Movement
