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Title: Ships of the seven seas
Author: Daniel, Hawthorne
Language: English
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SHIPS
OF THE SEVEN
SEAS
[Illustration: _The Santa Maria, the Niña and the Pinta_
_The most famous ships that ever sailed the seas_
_The Niña, shown in the foreground, was the smallest of the three, but
in her Columbus returned to Spain after the Santa Maria was wrecked,
and the captain of the Pinta seemed tempted to prove unfaithful._]
SHIPS
OF THE SEVEN SEAS
BY
HAWTHORNE DANIEL
AUTHOR OF
“IN THE FAVOUR OF THE KING”
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT
[Illustration: Decoration]
_DRAWINGS BY_
FRANCIS J. RIGNEY
GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1925
COPYRIGHT, 1925, BY
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES
AT
THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y.
_First Edition_
TO
NELLE R. DANIEL
MY WIFE
WITHOUT WHOSE ENCOURAGEMENT AND
ASSISTANCE THIS BOOK WOULD PROBABLY
HAVE BEEN BEGUN, BUT MOST CERTAINLY
WOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN COMPLETED
FOREWORD
In gathering material for a book of this kind one’s sources of
information are likely to be so numerous and so diverse as to defy
classification. Some of the information I have gotten first hand on
ships in which I have served or voyaged. Much more of it has been
picked up from countless scattered sources during twenty years or
more in which ships have been my hobby. More still, however, has been
consciously taken from books on ships and shipping that I have gathered
together or referred to during the time I spent actually in preparing
the manuscript.
Those books to which I have most often referred, and to the authors and
publishers of which I am particularly indebted, are as follows:
“Ancient and Modern Ships,” by Sir G. C. V. Holmes
“The Clipper Ship Era,” by Arthur H. Clark
“Dictionary of Sea Terms,” by A. Ansted
“Elements of Navigation,” by W. J. Henderson, A. M.
“The Frigate _Constitution_,” by Ira N. Hollis
“Lightships and Lighthouses,” by F. A. Talbot
“The Lookout Man,” by David W. Bone
“Mercantile Marine,” by E. Keble Chatterton
“Modern Seamanship,” by Austin M. Knight
“Sailing Ships and Their Story,” by E. Keble Chatterton
In addition to these I have received much assistance from the New
York Public Library, the American Museum of Natural History, the
Metropolitan Museum of Art, the U. S. Congressional Library, the
Marine Museum at the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis, and a
number of friends, who, knowing of my interest in ships, have brought
me some of the most interesting of the facts that I have used.
H. D.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE DEVELOPMENT OF SHIPS 1
II. THE DEVELOPMENT OF SAILS 34
III. THE PERFECTION OF SAILS—THE CLIPPER SHIPS 56
IV. THE DEVELOPMENT OF STEAMSHIPS 75
V. THE PERFECTION OF STEAMSHIPS 96
VI. STEAMSHIPS OF MANY TYPES 117
VII. SHIPS OF WAR 140
VIII. PORTS AND PORT EQUIPMENT 168
IX. THE ART OF SEAMANSHIP 191
X. THE SCIENCE OF NAVIGATION 215
XI. LIGHTHOUSES, LIGHTSHIPS, AND BUOYS 235
XII. SHIP DESIGN, CONSTRUCTION, AND REPAIR 252
XIII. SHIPPING LINES 267
XIV. THE IMPORTANCE OF SHIPS 279
APPENDIX. An Abridged Dictionary of Nautical Words
and Expressions 295
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
The Caravels of Columbus _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
An Egyptian Boat of 6000 B. C. 3
A Large Egyptian Ship of the 18th Dynasty 5
A Peruvian Balsa 7
An African Dugout 9
An Eskimo Umiak 11
An Eskimo Kayak 13
A Birch-bark Canoe 15
An Outrigger Canoe 17
A Phœnician Bireme 19
A Greek Trireme 21
Seating Arrangement of Rowers in a Greek Trireme 25
An early 16th-Century Ship 27
A Mediterranean Galley 31
An Egyptian Boat of the 5th Dynasty 35
An Egyptian Ship of the 12th Dynasty 37
A Roman Ship 39
A Viking Ship 41
A 13th-Century English Ship 43
A Galleon of the Time of Elizabeth 45
The _Amaranthe_ 49
A 16th-Century Dutch Boat 51
A Corvette of 1780 53
A British East Indiaman 57
A Black Ball Packet 59
A Whaling Bark 61
The _Red Jacket_ 63
The _Great Republic_ 65
The _Ariel_, 1866 67
A Gloucester Fisherman 69
An American Coasting Schooner 71
The _Charlotte Dundas_ 77
Robert Fulton’s _Clermont_ 79
The _Savannah_ 81
The _Great Britain_ 83
The _Great Eastern_ 85
The Steamship _Oceanic_ 89
The _Deutschland_ 93
The _Majestic_ 97
The _Leviathan_ 99
The _Berengaria_ 101
The _Mauretania_ 105
The _Belgenland_ 107
The _George Washington_ 111
The _Homeric_ 115
A Mail Liner 119
An American Intermediate Liner 121
A Cargo Liner 123
A Tramp Steamer 125
An Oil Tanker 129
A Turret Steamer 131
A Whaleback 135
A Great Lakes Freight Carrier 137
An English Warship of the Time of Henry V 141
A British Line-of-Battle Ship, 1790 143
The American Frigate _Constitution_ 145
A Steam Frigate—the U. S. S. _Hartford_ 146
The _Monitor_ 147
The _Merrimac_ 149
A Torpedo Boat 151
H. M. S. _Dreadnaught_ 153
A Submarine 155
A Modern Destroyer 157
A Modern Super-dreadnaught 159
A Battle Cruiser 161
A Scout Cruiser 163
An Airplane View of the U. S. S. _Langley_ 165
A Map of the Port of New York 169
A Map of the Port of Liverpool 171
A Map of the Port of Rio de Janeiro 173
A Map of the Port of Cape Town 175
A Map of the Port of Marseilles 177
A Tug Boat 179
A New York Harbour Ferry 181
A New York Harbour Lighter 183
A Mississippi River Stern-wheeler 185
A Modern Venetian Cargo Boat 187
A Page of Knots in Common Use 193
Bearings and Points of Sailing 195
How a Fore-and-Aft Sail Is Reefed 197
A Freighter Tied Up to a Pier 199
A Few Types of Sailing Ships Common in European
and American Waters 201
A Few Types of Sailing Boats to Be Found Around the
World 203
The Rigging of a Three-masted Ship 209
The Sails of a Four-masted Ship 213
Using a Cross Staff 217
Using an Astrolabe 221
A Sextant in Use, and a Ship’s Log 225
Using a Pelorus 229
Sounding by Machine 233
The Pharos at Alexandria 237
The Tillamook Rock Light Station 239
Cape Race Lighthouse 241
Minot’s Ledge Light 243
Bishop Rock Lighthouse 245
Fire Island Lightship 247
Automatic Buoys 249
A Ship on the Ways 253
A Floating Dry Dock 255
The _Olympic_ 259
The _Aquitania_ 263
The _Paris_ 265
The _Spray_ 281
The _Detroit_ 283
A Reconstruction of One of Caligula’s Galleys 284
A European Side-wheeler 285
A Hudson River Steamer 287
A Steam Yacht 289
An Experiment of 1924 291
INTRODUCTION
I remember well being thrilled as a boy by the tales of various members
of my family who had been engaged in the old “China Trade” and in the
operation of clipper ships and in whaling. These stories related to a
bygone age—a day when the American flag was seen in every part of the
globe.
Even in my own boyhood America had no merchant marine except for the
coasting trade and the freighters upon the Great Lakes. American
seamen had ceased to exist and the calling of an officer in the
Merchant Marine was no longer one that offered an attractive career to
the American boy. It is unnecessary here to go into the reasons for
the decline and fall of our nation upon the sea. The Civil War, the
introduction of steam propulsion, the development of the West, and in
addition a great number of economic changes, were some of the causes of
the disappearance of the American flag from the Seven Seas.
It was not until the outbreak of the World War that American business
men as a whole began to think seriously of the possibility of reviving
American shipping; it was not until 1916 that the Congress took
definite action to aid with constructive legislation; it was not until
our own country entered into the war that large results appeared. In
the past few years there has been an extraordinary revival of interest
in everything that pertains to the sea—the novels of Melville written
three quarters of a century ago have been revived in dozens of editions
and the sea stories of Conrad are among the best sellers. In the
same way, old books, old engravings, and crude old lithographs and
woodcuts relating to almost every form of ships and shipping have
been sought out and prized by an ever-growing circle of enthusiasts.
This is not a passing fancy; there is something more solid behind
it. I hope I am right in believing that the people of the United
States are again turning their faces to the sea. Over the sea our
ancestors or we ourselves have all come. We have filled the vacant
spaces from the original colonies on the Atlantic Coast to the new and
splendid civilization of the Pacific. No longer can we say “America
is sufficient for us; our thought and lives must stay at home.” We
are part of the world now, very dependent on the rest of the peoples
of the world for our own progress, and our own success, and even for
our own safety. This is shown by the fact that every school and every
college throughout the land is, in its teaching, paying more and more
attention to the affairs of mankind beyond our own borders. The study
of languages, the study of geography, the study of economics, of
international laws—all receive increased attention.
Mr. Hawthorne Daniel has rendered a conspicuous service in writing a
book which can be understood and appreciated by the average citizen.
Most of us are just “average citizens” and whether we live a thousand
miles from the nearest ocean or not, whether we have ever smelled salt
water or not, it will be a good thing for us to have some knowledge of
the great epic of ships and the men who have made them and sailed them.
FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT.
HYDE PARK, N. Y.,
_June 4, 1924_.
SHIPS
OF THE SEVEN
SEAS
SHIPS
OF THE SEVEN SEAS
CHAPTER I
THE DEVELOPMENT OF SHIPS
Imagine the world without ships. Mighty empires that now exist and have
existed in the past would never have developed. Every continent—every
island—would be a world alone. Europe, Asia, and Africa could have
known each other, it is true, in time. North and South America might
ultimately have become acquainted by means of the narrow isthmus
that joins them. But without ships, Australia and all the islands of
all the seas would still remain unknown to others, each supporting
peoples whose limited opportunities for development would have
prevented advanced civilization. Without ships the world at large
would still be a backward, savage place, brightened here and there
with tiny civilizations, perhaps, but limited in knowledge, limited in
development and in opportunity. Without ships white men could never
have found America. Without ships the British Empire could never have
existed. Holland, Spain, Rome, Carthage, Greece, Phœnicia—none of them
could ever have filled their places in world history without ships.
Without ships the Bosphorus would still be impassable and the threat
of Xerxes to Western civilization would never have been known. Greater
still—far greater—without ships the Christian religion would have
been limited to Palestine or would have worked its way slowly across
the deserts and mountains to the South and East, to impress with its
teachings the Arabs, the Assyrians, the Hindoos, and the Chinese.
Ships have made the modern world—ships have given the white man world
supremacy, and ships, again, have made the English-speaking peoples
the colonizers and the merchants whose manufactures are known in
every land, whose flags are respected all around the globe, and whose
citizens are now the most fortunate of all the people of the earth.
All of this we owe to ships.
* * * * *
Far back before the beginnings of history lived the first sailor.
Who he was we do not know. Where he first found himself water-borne
we cannot even guess. Probably in a thousand different places at a
thousand different times a thousand different savage men found that by
sitting astride floating logs they could ride on the surface of the
water.
In time they learned to bind together logs or reeds and to make
crude rafts on which they could carry themselves and some of their
belongings. They learned to propel these rafts by thrusting poles to
the bottoms of the lakes or rivers on which they floated. They learned,
in time, how to make and how to use paddles, and as prehistoric ages
gave way to later ages groping savages learned to construct rafts
more easily propelled, on which platforms were built, to keep their
belongings up above the wash of the waves that foamed about the logs.
And ultimately some long-forgotten genius hollowed out a log with fire,
perhaps, and crude stone tools, and made himself a heavy, unwieldy
canoe, which, heavy as it was and awkward, could still be handled much
more readily than could the rafts that had served his forbears for
perhaps a hundred centuries.
And with this early step forward in the art of ship-building came a
little of the light that heralded the approaching dawn of civilization.
* * * * *
[Illustration: AN EGYPTIAN BOAT OF 6000 B. C.
_This drawing was made from what is probably the most ancient known
record of a ship. The high bow and stern seem somewhat overdone, and it
is likely that they were less elevated than this picture shows them.
The carving from which this was taken, however, exaggerates them still
more._]
The very first pages of recorded history tell us of ships, and we know
that many prehistoric men were adept at building such boats as dugout
canoes. In Switzerland many signs have been found of a people who dwelt
there in the Stone Age, and among the simple belongings of this people
of great antiquity have been found canoes hollowed from single logs. In
the bogs of Ireland, and in England and Scotland similar dugouts have
been occasionally found, which had been buried in the course of time
far below the surface of the ground.
By the time the Stone Age came the dugout was perfected, and still
later other types of boats appeared. Perhaps the hollowed log suggested
the use of the curved bark of the tree as a canoe, and ultimately a
framework of wood was developed to hold the weight of the occupant
while a covering of bark kept out the water. The framework was
necessary for two reasons—first, to give the structure the necessary
strength to keep its shape; and second, to bear the weight of the
builder and his belongings. Other coverings, such as skins and woven
fabrics covered with pitch, came into use in parts of the world where
suitable bark was scarce.
The next step in the building of boats was a method of fastening pieces
of wood together in suitable form. This probably came from a desire
for boats of larger size, which required greater strength, for man
early became a trader and wished to transport goods. Bark could not
support a heavy hull, and dugouts are necessarily limited in size,
being constructed of the trunks of single trees, although dugouts fifty
or sixty feet in length, or even longer, are not unknown. Probably
the earliest boats of this new type were tied together by thongs or
cords. Even to-day the natives of Madras, in India, build boats by this
method, and similar types are to be found on the Strait of Magellan, on
Lake Victoria Nyanza in Central Africa, and in the East Indies. Many of
these have been very highly developed until now they are built of heavy
hand-hewn boards fitted together with ridges on their inner sides,
through which holes are bored for the thongs that lash them together.
The boards are fastened together first, and later a frame is attached
to the interior. This construction makes a very “elastic” boat which
bends and twists in a seaway, but which, because of this “elasticity,”
is able to navigate waters that would prove fatal to the more rigid
types of crudely constructed boats. The Hindoos often use them in the
heavy surf that drives in upon the beaches from the Bay of Bengal.
[Illustration: A LARGE EGYPTIAN SHIP OF THE 18TH DYNASTY
_The overhanging bow and stern were common on most early Egyptian
ships, and the heavy cable, stretched from one end of the hull to the
other and supported on two crutches, was used to strengthen these
overhanging ends._]
The introduction of this construction made boats of considerable size
possible, and for the first time boats larger than anything that could
possibly be called a canoe were successfully floated.
From this form a further step was ultimately made in which the various
parts were fastened together by the use of wooden pegs, and this was
the most advanced type long centuries after the dawn of history. The
Nile was navigated by such boats at the height of Egypt’s civilization,
and Homer describes this type of boat as the one in which Ulysses
wandered on his long and wearisome journey home.
While the art of boat-building had been travelling this long, slow
way, the art of propulsion had not been idle. Long since, the simple
pole of the early savage had lost its usefulness, for men soon learned
to navigate waters too deep for poles. The paddle followed, and was
perfected to a very high point, as its use in all parts of the world
still testifies.
But further means were still to come, and by the time Ulysses started
on his journey from the fallen city of Troy, both the sail and the oar,
which for three thousand years were to be supreme as propelling forces,
had come into use.
In Ulysses’s boat, therefore, we see for the first time a combination
of structural features and propelling agents that compare, remotely
though it may be, with ships as they are to-day. A built-up structure
with a framework, propelled by sails—it was an early counterpart of the
ships of the present time.
Naturally enough this development did not take place simultaneously
in all parts of the world. The most advanced civilizations such as
those of Phœnicia, Greece, and China developed the most advanced
ship-building methods, just as they developed the most advanced arts
and sciences and thought and religion.
For instance, when Columbus discovered America a vital factor in the
development of ships was entirely unknown to the natives that he found.
No Indian tribe with which he or later explorers came in contact had
learned the use of sails to propel the canoes they almost universally
used. Civilizations of surprising worth, with art and architecture in
high stages of advancement, had existed and had practically disappeared
in Yucatan and Central America, and other civilizations of genuine
attainment were later found, by Cortes and Pizarro, in Mexico and Peru,
yet none of them knew the uses of the sail.
On the other hand, the Egyptians and the Phœnicians used the sail, and
twenty-five centuries before the discovery of America the Phœnicians
are thought to have sailed their ships around the continent of Africa
from the Red Sea to the Mediterranean.
But while the art of ship-building progressed more rapidly after the
development of the use of wooden pegs for fastenings, and the use of
sails and oars made possible more extended sea journeys, still the
development was slow, and until the discovery of the power of steam in
the latter part of the 18th Century no revolutionary changes in ships
took place.
Just when the method originated of first constructing the frame of the
ship and of covering this frame with planks, we do not know, but the
transition from the method in use at the time of Homer was simple and
the change was probably gradual.
[Illustration: A PERUVIAN BALSA
_These “boats” are really rafts made of reeds._]
It seems possible that the built-up boat may have had its origin in
the attempt of some savage to raise the sides of his dugout canoe by
the addition of boards in order to keep the water from harming his
goods.
But all of the history of boats up to the time of written history is
necessarily mostly surmise.
It is interesting to note, however, that every one of these basic
types is still to be found in use. In Australia, for instance, are to
be found savages whose boats are nothing but floating logs, sharpened
at the ends, astride of which the owner sits. Rafts, of course, are
common everywhere. Dugout canoes are to be found in many lands, among
which are the islands of the Pacific and the western coast of Canada
and Alaska. The birch-bark canoe is still common among the Indians of
America—particularly of Canada; the skin-covered boat is still used
commonly by the Eskimos, two types, the kayak, or decked canoe, and the
umiak, or open boat being the most common. I have seen the latter type
used also by the Indians who live on Great Bear Lake in northern Canada.
Boats fastened together with thongs or lashings are numerous in parts
of India and elsewhere, the Madras surfboats being, perhaps, the best
examples.
Boats built up of planks fastened together by pegs are to be found in
many parts of the world. I learned to sail in a boat of this type, but
very much modernized, on Chesapeake Bay. The other methods, very much
perfected, are still in everyday use among boat- and ship-builders.
Thus it will be seen that some knowledge of all these various types may
still serve some useful purpose, for one may find in everyday use all
the fundamental types of construction that have ever existed.
[Illustration: AN AFRICAN DUGOUT
_In this boat the builders have hollowed out the log but have not
otherwise changed it. It is a present-day counterpart of boats known
and used long before the dawn of history._]
One type of boat I have not mentioned, yet it is of time-honoured
ancestry and is still in daily use among thousands of people. This is
the outrigger canoe. In different parts of the world it has different
names. In the Philippines, for instance, it is called, in two of its
forms, _vinta_ and _prau_. These boats have one thing in common, and
that is an outrigger. An outrigger is a pole made of bamboo or some
other light wood, floating in the water at a distance of a few feet
from the boat itself. It is held rigid and parallel to the hull by two
or more cross bars. Sometimes there is an outrigger on each side but
often there is only one. On the smaller boats the outrigger consists
of a single pole. On larger boats, or those which are inclined to be
particularly topheavy because of the load they are intended to carry,
the size of the sail, or for some other cause, several poles may make
up each outrigger. The use of this addition is to secure stability,
for the boats to which they are attached are usually extremely narrow
and alone could not remain upright in the water, or at best could not
carry sail in a seaway, where the combination of wind and wave would
quickly capsize them. These outrigger canoes—and some of them are
capable of carrying forty or fifty passengers—are extremely seaworthy,
and the native sailors do not hesitate to take them for hundreds of
miles across seas often given to heavy storms. In the development of
ships, however, they play no part, for their only unique characteristic
has never been incorporated into ships of higher design.
It is interesting that while all the cruder types of boats are still to
be found in daily use in various parts of the world, the more highly
developed designs, up to those of the 17th Century, have disappeared.
Many of them, it is true, have influenced later designs, but most of
the marks they left can be traced only with great difficulty.
The earliest boats of which we have definite records are those
that were in use in Egypt about 3000 B. C. Some of these were of
considerable size, for carvings on tombs and temples show them carrying
cargoes of cattle and other goods, and show, too, on one side, as many
as twenty-one or twenty-two, and in one case twenty-six, oars, besides
several used for steering. Many of these boats were fitted with a
strange sort of double mast, made, apparently, of two poles fastened
together at the top and spread apart at the bottom. These masts could
be lowered and laid on high supports when they were not needed to carry
sail.
The boats themselves seem to have been straight-sided affairs with both
ends highly raised, ending, sometimes, in a point and sometimes being
carried up into highly decorated designs that at the bow occasionally
curved backward and then forward like a swan’s neck. The end of this
was often a carved head of some beast or bird or Egyptian god. On the
boats intended for use as war galleys the bow was often armed with a
heavy metal ram.
[Illustration: AN ESKIMO UMIAK
_This boat is structurally similar to the kayak except that it has no
deck. It is a larger boat, and will carry heavy loads and perhaps as
many as a dozen people. It is made by covering a frame with skins._]
These ships—for they had by this time grown to such size that they are
more than canoes or boats—often extended far out over the water both
forward and aft, and any concentration of weight on these overhanging
extremities had a tendency to strain the hull amidships. This was
offset, as it sometimes is to-day on shallow draft river boats, by
running cables from bow to stern over crutches set amidships.
While the Egyptians were the first to picture their ships, it is
not certain that they were the first to have ships of real size and
sea-going ability, for the very temples and tombs on the walls of which
are shown the ships that I have described have also the records of
naval victories over raiders from other lands who must have made the
voyage to the Egyptian coast in order to plunder the wealth of that
old centre of civilization.
The Egyptians, however, were never a sea-going people in the sense that
the Phœnicians were. But strange as it may be, the Phœnicians, despite
the fact that they probably invented the alphabet, did not make the
first record, or, as a matter of fact, any very important records, of
their great development in the ship-building art. The earliest picture
of which we know of Phœnician ships is on the wall of an Assyrian
palace and dates back only to about 700 B. C. which was after the
Assyrians had conquered the Phœnicians and had for the first time (for
the Assyrians were an inland people) come in contact with sea-going
ships.
By this time the Phœnicians had had many years of experience on the
sea, and the Assyrian representation shows a ship of more advanced
design than the Egyptians had had.
There are few records, however, from which we can gain much knowledge
of Phœnician ships, although we know they ventured out of the
Mediterranean and were familiar with the coasts of Spain, Portugal,
France, and even England, where they went to secure tin. And as I
mentioned earlier, they may even have circumnavigated Africa, and
it seems likely that they invented the bireme and the trireme, thus
solving the question of more power for propulsion.
A bireme is a boat propelled by oars which has the rowers so arranged
that the oars overlap and form two banks or rows, one above the other.
A trireme is similar except that there are three banks. With this
arrangement a boat may have twice or three times as many rowers (in
these old boats there was never more than one man to an oar) without
lengthening the hull.
To the Greeks we owe the first detailed accounts of the art of
ship-building and of ship construction. In early Greek history the
vessels were small and were usually without decks, although some of
them had decks that extended for part of their length. They carried
crews that ranged up to a hundred or more, and, in the democratic
fashion of the early Greeks, they all took part in the rowing of the
ship, with the possible exception of the commander. At this early
period great seaworthiness had not been developed, and there are
many accounts of the loss of ships in storms and of the difficulty
of navigating past headlands and along rocky coasts. Later, Greek
ships cruised the Mediterranean almost at will, but ship design and
construction had first to develop and the development took centuries.
Even in those days there was a marked difference between the ships
intended for commerce and those intended for war. The war vessels—and
the pirate vessels, which of course were ships of war—were narrow and
swift, while the ships of commerce were broad and slow: broad because
of the merchant’s desire to carry large cargoes, and slow because the
great beam and the heavy burdens prevented speed.
[Illustration: AN ESKIMO KAYAK
_These small canoes are made of a light frame covered with skins._]
During the period at which Athens reached her prime the trireme, or
three-banked ship, was the most popular. As a matter of fact, its
popularity was so great that its name was often given to all ships of
the same general type whether they were designed with two, three, four,
five, or even more banks of oars.
These many-oared ships reached a very high state of perfection during
the supremacy of Greece, and the most careful calculations were made
in order to utilize every available inch by packing the rowers as
closely together as was possible without preventing them from properly
performing their tasks.
The rowers, as I have suggested, sat in tiers, those on each side
usually being all in the same vertical plane, and the benches they
used ran from the inner side of the hull to upright timbers which were
erected between decks, slanting toward the stern. That is, in a ship
with three banks of oars, three seats were attached to each of these
slanting timbers and the footrests of the rower occupying the topmost
seat were on either side of the man who occupied the second seat in the
next group of three. The vertical distance between these seats was two
feet. The horizontal distance was one foot. The distance between seats
in the same bank was three feet.
I have gone into some detail in describing this arrangement, for
rowers—and from the later days of Greece on they were generally slave
rowers—were the motive power of ships for three thousand years or more,
and for more than a thousand years the many-banked ship was supreme.
[Illustration: A BIRCH-BARK CANOE
_In many parts of the world savage people have learned to build light
frames over which they have stretched the best material available to
them. The Indians of North America commonly utilize birch bark._]
Imagine these toiling galley slaves, chained in hundreds to the crowded
rowing benches, straining at the heavy oars. Tossed by the seas, they
labour unceasingly, stroke on stroke, to the sound of a mallet falling
in never-changing cadence on a block of wood. Hour on hour they strain,
heartened occasionally by a few minutes’ rest. Their eyes are all but
blinded by the sweat from their grimy brows. Their hands are calloused,
their bodies misshapen from long toil on the rowers’ benches.
Above them, on the wind-swept deck, they hear the clank of armed
men, the slap of sandalled feet. A lookout calls to the officer in
command—hurried steps—momentary silence—shouts and the sound of feet.
A messenger appears in the stifling space below. The sharp clap of the
mallet on the block increases its cadence. Faster and faster swing the
oars. Furious and more furious is the pace. A whip in the hands of a
brutal guard falls here and there on the naked backs of the helpless,
straining forms. Their strength is waning, their breath is coming
fast. A man collapses from the strain and pitches from his elevated
seat, half suspended by the chain around his leg, his oar trailing and
useless. From beyond their wooden walls they hear the muffled clank of
the oars of the approaching enemy.
Cries from on deck, and suddenly a crash. Broken oars are driven here
and there. Screams and oaths and orders and a great upheaval. Water
enters in a score of places. More screams—more oaths—cries for help to
a score of pagan gods—the water covers all. A great last sigh and one
more ship is gone: it is just a tiny incident in the history of ships.
As I have said, the Greeks developed marine architecture to a very
high point, and the bireme and trireme with which they began were
the first of a long series of developments until ultimately ships of
five, of eight, of even sixteen banks of oars are said to have been in
use, and there is a story, which probably was a figment of someone’s
imagination, of a vessel of forty banks! Such a ship may possibly have
been suggested—may conceivably have been built—but it seems certain
that she could never have been successful or practical.
Carthage, that great enemy of Rome, was a city of traders—a city that
depended on the sea for its wealth and, to a large extent, even for
its sustenance. Rome, on the other hand, grew to considerable size
without venturing on the sea. When she did first turn her attention to
the water, as her continued expansion forced her to do, she found that
Carthage crossed her course whichever way she turned. The result was
war.
But war between two cities separated by the width of the Mediterranean
had to be fought largely on the sea, and Rome, inexperienced as a
sea-going nation, was put to a severe test.
By chance, however, a Carthaginian quinquireme—that is, a five-banked
ship—battered by storm and abandoned by her crew, drifted ashore on
the sunny coast of Italy, and the Romans, quick to see the importance
of the happening, hauled her high and dry, measured her, and learned
from her battered hull the lessons they needed to know of ship
construction.
[Illustration: AN OUTRIGGER CANOE
_Sometimes these canoes have an outrigger on each side, and sometimes
they carry sails._]
They built on dry land sets of rowers’ seats, and while they taught
rowers to pull their oars in unison in these unique training benches,
they set to work with the energy that marked Rome out for great
success. Sixty days after they had felled the trees, they had a fleet
of quinquiremes afloat and manned.
Promptly they turned the prows of this new fleet toward the
Carthaginians—and were defeated.
But with the indomitable will that characterized the Romans for two
thousand years, they went to work again, and built a new fleet and a
more powerful one. This time some inventive Roman devised a kind of
hinged gangplank, which could be dropped upon the deck of an enemy
ship, maintaining its hold by a heavy metal barb which would penetrate
the decks. Across this bridge the Roman soldiers could rush, and by
this means could turn a naval battle into what was very nearly the same
to these land-trained soldiers as a battle on dry land, where hard
blows with sword and spear determined the result.
With this new apparatus the Romans, under Duilius, in 260 B. C., gained
a victory at Mylæ, off the coast of Sicily, and after three wars,
covering, with intervals between, 118 years, drove the Carthaginians
from the sea and razed their beautiful city to the ground.
It is not my purpose, in this chapter, to go into great detail in
telling of the development of ships from this time on, for the designs
were infinitely great, the variations numerous, and there were,
until the 19th Century, but two vital improvements—the compass and
a considerable improvement in the ability of sailing ships to make
headway against the wind.
Rome, during most of the centuries of her supremacy, controlled every
sea within her reach. The Mediterranean was entirely hers, and her
galleys and her soldiers ventured into the Atlantic and visited parts
of the world that seemed to stay-at-home Romans to be the very fringes
of the earth. The ships they built grew in size: the corn-ships, which
brought food to the capital from Egypt, are thought to have been as
much as 200 feet long, 45 feet broad, and 43 feet deep. When St. Paul
was shipwrecked he was in company with 276 others, and the ship they
were on carried a cargo besides. These ships carried three masts, each
having huge square sails, and on one mast was spread a square topsail
as well.
Roman ships that voyaged to Britain probably gave to the wild men of
the North—including those who later became the Vikings—the idea of the
sail, and probably all the people of northern Europe learned the use of
sails, directly or indirectly, from the Romans.
Ultimately Rome fell beneath the onslaughts of the Barbarians, and the
Mediterranean seat of power (although still called the Roman Empire)
moved to Byzantium, now called Constantinople.
Here Western civilization resisted for centuries the attacks of the
Mohammedans, until the great city on the Bosphorus fell before the
armies of Mohammed in 1453.
[Illustration: A PHŒNICIAN BIREME
_Despite the fact that the Phœnicians did more with ships than any
other ancient peoples before the Greeks and Romans, little is known of
Phœnician ships. They developed the bireme, an oar- and sail-driven
ship with two “banks” of oars, and circumnavigated Africa._
]
During all of the centuries that Constantinople had been holding out
against the growing power of the Mohammedans, the west and north of
Europe were being remade. For a time Western civilization seemed
doomed, for the Moorish Empire in North Africa had pushed across
the Strait of Gibraltar, had subjugated Spain, and had crossed the
Pyrenees into France, where, fortunately, their great army was put
to rout at the battle of Tours in 732. But although they were driven
from France they maintained their hold upon Spain, and not until the
Granada Moors were defeated by Ferdinand and Isabella in 1492 was
Spain again free of them. They controlled North Africa from Suez to
Gibraltar and introduced many Eastern ideas. It is probable that the
lateen sail, which originated in Egypt and is still in common use in
the Mediterranean, owes at least some credit to the Moors for its
introduction to western Europe.
In addition to the influx of Mohammedans, civilized Europe had to
contend with the hordes of barbarians that descended from the wild
country to the north of the Alps, for the most of Europe except its
Mediterranean fringe was a dark and barbarous land. But the centuries
that we call the Middle Ages saw a growth of culture, a growth of
learning, a growth of nationalism that were to make the modern world.
In all of this ships played a vital part.
The Vikings, with their open boats, propelled by oars and sometimes
aided by great square sails, terrorized Britain and northern Europe for
a time, even driving their boats up the Seine to the walls of the city
of Paris, which was then built on a tiny island in the river. But at
last the Saxons, under Alfred the Great, with the first ships of the
long series of ships that were built to protect England, drove the wild
sailor warriors away, and a new epoch had begun.
During this time Venice and Genoa had developed, and the ships that
sailed from those two cities were for a time the proudest of the world.
But their development was so largely commercial that it was only with
difficulty that they could maintain navies capable of protecting their
vast fleets, which were attacked by pirates, by the ships of other
cities, and by each other so constantly that sea-going was a hazardous
occupation, and ships perforce sailed always in convoys, or at least in
the company of other ships, for protection. Then in the north William
the Conqueror crossed the English Channel, defeated the Saxons at the
Battle of Hastings in 1066, and the foundations for the present British
Empire were laid. If the Saxons had developed a navy with which they
could have met and defeated the Norman conqueror on the sea, think of
the enormous difference it would have made in the history of Britain.
[Illustration: A GREEK TRIREME
_These warships were about 120 feet in length, and the sails and spars
were taken down and sent ashore if battle was expected. The oars were
operated by slaves._]
During the Middle Ages following the conquest of Britain, an
association of northern European cities, called the Hanseatic League,
was formed in order to protect their trade, and for a time proved to
be a very important factor in the maritime development of the north
of Europe. Had Venice and Genoa formed such a coöperative association
instead of frittering away their strength, bickering and fighting,
another story would have been written in the Mediterranean.
During all this time ships had been changing gradually in design. Oars
still drove the fastest ships of war in the Mediterranean, but sails
had taken a more important place, and now whole voyages were made by
means of sails alone.
The 15th Century came, and with it the fall of Constantinople; and with
it, too, in Genoa, that nautical city of Italy, the birth of a child
named Christopher Columbus. He grew to manhood and became a sailor, and
sailed on voyages here and there, and was wrecked finally on the coast
of Portugal. But here was no ordinary man. Thousands of other sailors
had had his opportunities, but none of them took so seriously the idea
that the world was round. The idea, of course, was not Columbus’s
own. It had received some attention for centuries among a few great
minds. But Columbus, not content with accepting the shape of the world
as a theory, wanted to make the voyage that would prove it. Already,
in the previous century, a great stride had been made in seamanship
by the introduction of the compass. This appeared mysteriously in
Mediterranean waters, from no definitely known direction, but it seems
probable that it came, by a very indirect route, from China, where it
had been known and used for many years. Probably this introduction of
the compass to the Western world was made by the Mohammedans, for they
traded as far east as the Persian Gulf—perhaps farther—and natives
of India, with whom the Chinese came into occasional contact, often
made the voyage from India to Muscat, so that it seems likely that the
compass came to Europe by this route.
But to return to Columbus. He took his idea to the King of Portugal,
and was turned away. From Portugal the penniless sailor turned to
Spain, and many times was refused by the monarchs of that country,
for they were busy at the time with the final expulsion of the Moors.
After several years of unsuccessful petitioning at the Spanish Court,
Columbus gave up and started on his weary way to France. But Queen
Isabella sent a messenger after him, and he was recalled and told that
he could make the attempt to discover the westward route to India with
the aid and under the flag of Spain.
On August 3, 1492, he sailed from Palos in command of three little
ships—three ships that are now more famous than any others that ever
sailed the seas; and with these ships—the _Santa Maria_, the _Niña_,
and the _Pinta_—he discovered a new world and opened new seas that
now are crossed and recrossed constantly by such a fleet of ships as
Columbus could never have imagined.
By the end of the 15th Century, as I have suggested, ships had gone
through a series of developments that had made them more seaworthy
and more reliable, but still, from the viewpoint of to-day, they were
crude and inefficient craft in which the modern sailor would hesitate
to venture on the smoothest of summer seas. The ships of war, so far as
the Mediterranean was concerned, still favoured the oar, and still used
sails as auxiliary power, although England and France, and the other
newer nations of the north of Europe, were developing sturdy ships
that depended almost solely upon sails, although they often carried
great overgrown oars called sweeps, with which the ships could be moved
slowly in the absence of the wind.
The galleys of the Mediterranean were no longer the many-banked ships
of Greece and Rome, but were, instead, low, narrow vessels with
huge oars from thirty to fifty feet long, to each of which several
men were assigned, thus securing the man power that the many-banked
ships had utilized with more numerous oars. In order to manage these
ungainly oars a framework was built out from each side of the ship,
and attached to this framework were the oarlocks. This arrangement
has its present-day counterpart in racing shells which, being barely
wide enough for the rowers, cannot balance its oars in locks attached
directly to its sides. Therefore a framework of steel rods is built
opposite each seat in order that the oarlock may be at such a distance
from the rower that he may get the necessary leverage to make each
stroke effective.
The Crusades, which began in the 12th Century, had acquainted western
Europe with many luxuries of the East hitherto unknown to the rougher
people of the West, and as a result, trade increased greatly,
necessitating the building of many ships, and as is always the case,
progress was made because new minds were put to work. In this case
ships improved. Metal nails, expensive as they were, for they were
made, of course, by hand, had come into use, and new designs took the
place of old.
The ship that, at the time of Columbus, was the most popular was the
caravel. To our eyes she was ungainly, crude, and unseaworthy, yet
these clumsy vessels, with their high sterns and overhanging bows, made
most of the early voyages of discovery—voyages that for romance, for
adventure, for danger, and for importance, rank higher than any others
that were ever made.
Two of Columbus’s three ships were caravels. The _Niña_, however, was
but a tiny cockleshell, only partially decked, that proved, by chance,
the most valuable of the three, for in her Columbus was forced by
circumstances to return to Spain after the _Santa Maria_ had been
wrecked by a careless helmsman on a far-off island in the world that
she had found, and the _Pinta_ had wandered away, the Discoverer knew
not where, in the hands of men tempted to be unfaithful to their great
commander.
[Illustration: SEATING ARRANGEMENT OF ROWERS IN A GREEK TRIREME
_While there were other arrangements that were sometimes used, this
seems to have been much the most common. The slaves who operated the
oars were chained in place, and in case of shipwreck or disaster were
usually left to their fate._]
So important was the work done by the _Santa Maria_ and the other
caravels of her day that were sailed by Vasco da Gama around the Cape
of Good Hope, by Americus Vespucius to the South American mainland,
by the Cabots to Nova Scotia and New England, and by other great
discoverers on other great voyages, that they warrant closer attention
than has been given to other passing types. With a fleet of caravels
Magellan sailed from Spain, crossed the Atlantic, skirted the South
American coast, discovered the land we now call Argentina, where he
found a people he named the “Patagonians” because they had big feet. In
subsequent accounts by a member of his crew these people were said to
be giants, although they are merely men of good height and strength.
From Patagonia, Magellan sailed south and entered a channel on each
side of which lay mighty mountains rising precipitately from the water.
The land to the south he named Tierra del Fuego—the Land of Fire—either
because of the glow of now extinct volcanic fires that he saw, or of
distant camp-fires of the natives which he sighted as he made the
passage, and this land for many years was supposed to be a great
continent that stretched from the Strait of Magellan, as the passage
Magellan found was later called, to the south polar regions.
From the western end of the Strait, Magellan steered to the north and
west, diagonally across the greatest expanse of water on the globe—an
ocean discovered only a few years earlier by Balboa when he crossed the
Isthmus of Panama, and named by him the Great South Sea, but renamed by
Magellan, because of the gentle weather he encountered, the Pacific.
In all the voyage across the Pacific he discovered but two islands,
although he sailed through the section occupied by the numerous
archipelagoes that we call the South Sea Islands.
[Illustration: AN EARLY 16TH-CENTURY SHIP
_This ship, while similar in many respects to Columbus’s_ Santa Maria,
_has made some advances over that famous vessel. The foremast is
fitted to carry a topsail in addition to the large foresail shown set
in this picture. On ships somewhat later than this one a small spar
was sometimes erected perpendicularly at the end of the bowsprit, and
a sprit topsail was set above the spritsail which is shown below the
bowsprit here._
]
After terrible suffering from scurvy, from lack of water, almost from
starvation, the little fleet of four ships (one had deserted just after
the Pacific was reached) finally reached the Philippines. Already
Magellan had sailed under the Portuguese flag around the Cape of Good
Hope to a point in the East Indies farther east than the Philippines,
so he was, actually, the first man ever to circumnavigate the globe.
In the Philippines, however, he was inveigled into an alliance with a
perfidious chief named Cebu, who, after witnessing Magellan’s death at
the hands of the natives of a neighbouring island (he was pierced in
the back by a spear), captured and murdered two of Magellan’s chief
officers, after which the dwindling band of adventurers burned one
of their ships, for they were short-handed, and sailed to the south
and west with the remaining three. Two more ships were lost ere the
Atlantic was again reached, and at last the _Vittoria_, the only ship
remaining of the original five, reached the Canaries, where thirteen
men out of the forty-four who still remained were thrown into prison
by the Portuguese governor, and only thirty-one of the original
two hundred and eighty returned to Spain to tell their wondering
countrymen the story of their travels. That voyage, saving only the
first voyage made by Columbus, was the greatest in the history of men
upon the sea.
These voyages, as I have said, were mostly made in caravels. None of
the ships was large, and Columbus’s flagship, the _Santa Maria_, was
below rather than above the average. Vasco da Gama’s ships were larger,
as were many others. But no other ship in history is so widely known
as that little vessel of Columbus’s, and a description of her, being a
description of caravels in general, is of double interest.
From bow to stern she measured but ninety feet, and she displaced about
one hundred tons. But more than that is needed to give one an adequate
idea of her limitations. The bow was high and awkwardly overhung the
water by twelve feet, not being carried gradually out as are the bows
of sailing ships to-day, but jutting ponderously forward from an almost
vertical stem. Amidships the deck was low, dropping down abruptly
about one fourth of the way aft. This midship deck (it was called the
waist) was unbroken for another fourth of the vessel’s length, and then
another deck was built at about the level of the forward deck, behind
which a high sterncastle reared itself aloft until it surpassed the
altitude of the forward deck, but fortunately did not jut out over the
water aft as the bow did forward.
These two raised sections at the opposite ends of the ship were
originally built with the idea of defense in mind. Ships for many
centuries had had raised platforms fore and aft, on which the men who
defended them could congregate in order to rain their arrows upon the
decks of enemy ships. So useful were these “castles” that often enemy
boarders were able to penetrate to the waist only to be driven off by
the rain of missiles on their heads. When gunpowder came into general
use tiny cannon were mounted in swivels attached to the bulwarks of
these “castles,” but old ideas were not easily got rid of, and for a
long time ships continued to be built with raised bows and sterns.
So it was that the _Santa Maria_ had her forecastle and her
sterncastle. The former term is still in use on ships, and signifies
the quarters of the crew, which still are often placed in the bows of
ships. The sterncastle has no present-day counterpart, and the name,
too, has long since disappeared from ships.
The cabin of the great Admiral was aft, in the topmost section of the
sterncastle and was, from our point of view, not exactly palatial. It
had a bed, which looked more like a chest except that it had highly
raised head and foot boards of carved wood. There was a table, and
there was little else. A door opened on to the high narrow deck, and
windows (ports such as ships now use were not then thought of) opened
in the narrow stern high above the water.
The crews’ quarters were almost non-existent. Generally they slept on
deck, although there was room between decks for some of them. This
space, however, was not ventilated (that, of course, had little effect
on a 15th-Century Spaniard. Even the Spaniards of the lower classes
to-day seem somewhat averse to ventilation) and was devoted to cargo
and supplies. Below this space was the “bilge” which was filled with
stone for ballast. The raised forward deck was in reality just a
platform that incidentally formed a roof over the forward section of
the main deck—the deck, that is, that formed the waist—and beneath this
forecastle deck were protected spots where the crew could secure some
shelter from the weather. They cooked, when they cooked at all, on a
box of small stones that sat on the main deck just under the edge of
the raised forecastle. This crude fireplace was decorated by a large
square plate of zinc that stood upright, attached to one side of the
box, to serve as a windbreak.
Below, swishing around among the stone that formed the ballast, was the
ever-present bilge water that was always a serious problem in these
ill-built hulls. It was a never-ending annoyance, even in fair weather,
and had constantly to be pumped out or bailed out. And when these
ungainly craft met with heavy weather their situation was serious, for
the strains caused by the waves opened seams here and there, and often
allowed so much water to enter that foundering resulted. Even when
Spain, ninety years after Columbus, sent her vast Armada to threaten
England, only to have it defeated by Drake and his companions, and
scattered by the North Atlantic storms after it had rounded Scotland
in its attempt to return to Spain, ship after ship, tossed by the
boisterous seas, twisted and groaned and opened her seams, and sank in
the cold black water or drove head on to the rocky coast of Ireland.
The great storm they encountered sank twenty times as many ships as did
the fleet that so ably defended England.
And in such ships as these the hardy men of bygone times searched
out the unknown lands of earth, braved the storms of great uncharted
seas, braved, too, the unknown dangers which, exaggerated by their
imaginations, grew to such size as might have made the bravest quail.
And when their ships were dashed to wreckage on some uncharted rock, or
filled with water when their seams were spread, those who saved their
lives and managed to return to port, shipped again and faced the same
threatening dangers.
In the adventurous days that followed Columbus, ship design and ship
construction developed rapidly. The desire to carry heavy guns led to
placing them on the main deck where they fired over the low bulwarks or
wales which since then have been called gunwales. Then the desire to
carry more guns led to placing them between decks where ports were cut
in the sides of the ship for them to fire through. The British and the
French led in both design and construction, the British having built
ships of 1,000 tons as early as the reign of Henry V in 1413. But so
far as size was concerned, other nations followed suit, and when Medina
Sedonia came driving up the English Channel with the 132 ships of the
Spanish Armada stretched in its vast crescent, at least one ship was of
1,300 tons.
[Illustration: A MEDITERRANEAN GALLEY
_This ship is of the type used long after the Middle Ages. Several men
pulled each oar and all the oars were in one bank._]
But the oaken fleet of England, while it had no ship quite to equal
in size this giant Spaniard, was more than a match for the Don, and
Drake, that master of seamanship, refused to drive alongside the clumsy
Spaniards, but lay off, instead, and peppered them with gunfire, and
following them up the English Channel, fell upon those that dropped
behind.
The opening of the Americas and the East to trade and colonization
resulted in an expansion of ship-building such as the world had never
before known, an opportunity of which an oar-driven ship could never
have taken advantage.
Portugal, for a time—owing to her many colonial possessions, which
now have largely faded away—became a great sea power, which, however,
shortly suffered eclipse. Spain, despite the terrible catastrophe
that befell her great Armada, remained a power of real strength for a
century longer. The Dutch, those hardy sailors from the low countries,
for many a year sailed to and from their East Indian possessions,
proudly conscious of the fact that they were supreme upon the seas. And
the French, although their strength at sea was never clearly supreme,
nevertheless built navies and sailed ships second to none, or at the
least, to none but Britain.
But one by one these sovereigns of the seas gave up the place to
another, and the 18th Century saw a new ruler of the waves, when Great
Britain at last bested Napoleonic France at the Nile, at Aboukir, and
at Trafalgar.
By this time ships had grown greatly in size, and by the opening of the
19th Century the great three-decked line-of-battle ships were more than
200 feet in length, were 55 feet broad, and displaced 3,000 tons or
more. Such a ship could not be termed small even in the light of ships
of a century later.
But the opening years of the 19th Century brought forward an invention
which, laughed at and disdained by “wind-jammers” for half a century,
proved, at last, despite their jeers, the force that swept from the sea
all but a handful of the proud vessels that for nearly five thousand
years had spread their sails to the winds of Heaven and had gone to
the uttermost parts of the earth.
A hundred years after the _Charlotte Dundas_ had churned the waters
of the Forth and Clyde Canal and the _Clermont_ had splashed with her
paddle-wheels the waters of the Hudson, sailing ships had become rare,
romantic links to connect the modern world with that adventurous period
that lay before the era of invention and machinery.
With slow steps the 19th Century ushered in the recognition of the
power of steam—a new departure in the history of the world. But ere
five score years had passed, the wheels of factories whirred in
deafening array, electric motors whined with endless energy, and
huge propellers, spiralling through the deep green sea, drove great
ocean-going palaces from continent to continent, careless of winter’s
winds or summer’s sultry calms, all but thoughtless of the powers of
nature which, since the dawn of history, had been the ruling thought of
all of those who have ventured on the surface of the deep.
CHAPTER II
THE DEVELOPMENT OF SAILS
The origin of sails is buried in the darkness of prehistoric days.
Perhaps some hunter, paddling his dugout canoe before the breeze, had
his loose skin cape distended by the wind which continued to propel
him even when he stopped paddling in order to fasten his garment more
closely about him. No doubt something of this kind occurred many times
before some prehistoric observer noticed the cause and related to it
the effect. Perhaps, then, he held the skin up on his paddle or on his
staff, and sat back in comparative comfort while the breeze did his
work for him. Certainly such an origin is possible, and man’s desire
to accomplish certain ends without expending his energy unnecessarily
may, in this as in many other things, have led him to take so important
a step toward civilization. From using a skin held on his staff to
spreading the skin on a stick which in turn was held up by another
stick was but a step, and an excellent means of propelling his canoe
had been developed. The perfection of this method of propulsion,
however, was slow. How many years before the dawn of written history
such sails were in common use we do not know, nor can we guess with any
accuracy. It is probable, however, that the time was long, for the very
first accounts we have of ships tell us, too, of sails.
I have already traced the development of ships from this early time,
and it is not my desire to retrace my steps more than is necessary,
for ships have always progressed as their propulsion progressed, and
consequently the story of ships is also the story of propulsion. But
sails, it would almost seem, had less to do with the early development
of ships than oars, which for many thousand years after the dawn of
history were apparently more important in the eyes of men of the sea
than sails.
Because of this attitude toward oars, and perhaps, too, because of
the comparatively restricted waters in which ships originated, the
inventive genius of early designers seems to have been expended almost
wholly upon the perfection of the use of oars, until, as I have
explained, truly great ships were built in which much thought was given
to the proper seating of hundreds of oarsmen.
[Illustration: AN EGYPTIAN BOAT OF THE 5TH DYNASTY
_The double mast, shown in this drawing, was in common use in Egypt
about 3000 B. C. It is occasionally to be seen on native boats in the
Orient to-day._]
Sails, then, progressed little, save in size, beyond the skin that
first was stretched before the breeze in some remote savage genius’s
canoe, and, until the Crusades began at the end of the 11th Century,
sails and spars remained simple and, from the viewpoint of to-day,
comparatively inefficient. With a favouring wind ships could hoist
their sails and proceed merrily enough, but with a wind even mildly
unfavourable sailors sometimes lay in sheltered harbours for weeks or
got out their oars and proceeded on their way with strenuous labour.
When ships first began to utilize sails to go in directions other than
approximately that in which the wind blew is unknown. Certainly ships
propelled by even the crudest sails could do more than drift before the
wind, and as hulls became longer and deeper, they were, of course, able
to sail more and more to the right and left. When, however, ships first
were able to make headway against the wind is problematical. Certain
it is that for many thousand years after sails were known there seems
to have been no connection in the minds of ship-builders between the
use of sails and the construction of the underbodies of their ships so
as to interpose any especial obstacle to the water in order to prevent
the undue motion of their hulls _sideways_. Naturally enough, the very
earliest of ships was constructed with the idea of ease of propulsion
forward, but, so long as that object was gained, the shape of the
hull, apparently, gave them little thought save in so far as space
was needed for crew and cargo. Designs were brought out, of course,
that were increasingly sturdy and seaworthy, but fin keels, or similar
contrivances, are a development of recent times.
Ships there were, of course, even in ancient times, that were driven
exclusively, or almost exclusively, by sails, but the fact that these
ships, and many that depended largely on oars, were hauled high and dry
and carefully laid up during the less favourable seasons would seem to
prove that except under ideal conditions sails, as they were then, were
highly impractical affairs.
The earliest sails of which there is definite record are those shown in
carvings of ships on ancient Egyptian temples. These were hardly more
complicated than the skins of the theoretical savage who first utilized
the energy of the wind. They were made of cloth and were rectangular
and were stretched between two spars—one at the top and one at the
bottom—and these spars were raised and lowered in the process of making
or taking in sail.
[Illustration: AN EGYPTIAN SHIP OF THE 12TH DYNASTY
_It is possible that ships of this type were able, under ideal
conditions, to make a little headway, while under sail, against the
wind. It was not for many, many centuries, however, that sailing ships
were able definitely to make much headway in that direction._
]
Now this method of stretching a sail is not inefficient. The cloth can
be held more or less flat, and such a sail could, if the hull of the
ship were so constructed as almost to prevent lateral motion, propel
the hull in the direction it was pointed, even though that direction
were at right angles to the wind. If the hull were properly designed,
such a sail might readily be made to propel the hull at a little less
than at right angles, and, once that were done, the ship would actually
be making headway against the wind. It is quite conceivable that the
Egyptians had perfected this art—not, perhaps, with the sail I have
mentioned, but with a later development of this sail when the lower
spar had disappeared and the upper spar had become greatly elongated
and was set at an angle to the mast, so that from it depended a great
triangular sail, called, now, a lateen sail.
But authorities differ, and although there has been much argument as
to whether Roman ships of a much later date—for instance, the one in
which St. Paul was shipwrecked—could sail so as to make good a course
even slightly against the wind, the argument has still remained only
an argument, with neither side definitely able to make its case. And
this, it seems to me, proves that while perhaps under ideal conditions
and with some ships this highly important end was sometimes gained,
nevertheless, the ancients were not, by and large, able to sail any
course save when the wind was blowing from some angle of the half
circle toward the centre of which the ship’s stern was pointed, or, in
the language of the sea, when the wind was “abeam” or “abaft the beam.”
[Illustration: A ROMAN SHIP
_Although this ship was small the Romans built many that were not
surpassed for 1,700 years, and it was not until the 19th Century was
well advanced that the larger Roman ships were greatly surpassed in
size._
]
But while sails were not perfected, and consequently were of particular
use only when the wind was more or less astern, ships grew in size, and
consequently more sail area was required to propel them. This resulted
in the enlarging of the single sail until it grew clumsy and finally
resulted in the use of more than one sail, each spread from a mast of
its own. Later still, in these ships carrying several masts, one would
sometimes carry two sails, one above the other. Occasionally, ships
with but one mast similarly subdivided their great square sails. Roman
ships of the larger sizes—notably the corn-ships that brought food
to the capital from Egypt—developed this subdivision of sails, but
it was hardly more than a subdivision for more than a thousand years
after the time of Christ—in reality, not for 1,500 years, for even the
caravels of the time of Columbus had few actual improvements over the
earliest ships of the Christian Era. It is true that the lateen sail
had been adopted largely for use on the mizzenmast—or third mast from
the bow—and that that sail has more driving power than a square sail
when the ship is heading into the wind. But still ships were weak in
“going to windward”—that is, in making any headway in sailing into that
half of the compass’s circle that is marked by ninety degrees to the
right and to the left of the point directly toward the wind. This is
borne out by the complaints of Columbus’s men, who, when they found
themselves being driven westward day after day with the steady Trade
Winds from behind them, expressed their fear of never again being able
to return to Spain.
But, clumsy as these old sailing ships were, they came and went,
searching farther and farther into the unknown world, proving, beyond
doubt, that men have always been able to get along, even with crude
instruments, and that, in the last analysis, men are more important
than equipment.
So awkward in our eyes were the ships of Columbus’s time that when
replicas of his original ships were built in 1893, for the World’s
Fair at Chicago, and were sailed by Capt. D. U. Concas, an experienced
modern seaman, over the course Columbus took, the feat was looked upon
as extraordinary, despite the fact that Captain Concas’s knowledge
of winds, currents, and navigation was infinitely superior to the
great discoverer’s. So great were the steps taken in 400 years of
ship-building that this feat, far simpler than scores that are recorded
in the stories of the old adventurers, was hailed as heroic. But we
have accustomed ourselves to sailing ships that can be handled with
such marvellous ease that it would take an exceptionally able and
fearless sailor to handle even that replica of the _Santa Maria_ that
still is to be seen anchored in a park lake at Chicago. He would be
a truly fearless or a truly foolish man who would attempt to take
her across Lake Michigan in anything more than the mildest of summer
zephyrs.
But once the voyage of Columbus had taught Europe how little it really
knew of the world there came the insistent demand for better ships,
and as ships had by this time reached the point where far the greater
part were propelled by sails alone, the demand for the perfection of
ships resulted in the perfection of sails as well as the perfection of
hulls. England and Holland, together with the other northern European
countries, are largely responsible for this improvement, although
France for many years built the finest ships that sailed the seas.
Down to the 14th Century the ships of northern Europe showed strongly
the Scandinavian influence. The Vikings had developed ships similar
in shape to the whaleboats of to-day. They were double-ended affairs,
long, low, narrow, and fast, propelled largely by oars, but carrying,
generally, one large square sail set about amidships on a sturdy mast.
[Illustration: A VIKING SHIP
_These ships were developed by the Norse sea rovers for use in war,
and as the seas they sailed were generally rough their ships had to
be seaworthy. The result was a type that still leaves its mark. The
seaworthy whaleboats of to-day are very similar in shape._
]
In these ships the Norsemen regularly sailed the Baltic and the North
seas, where the elements give even the ships of to-day many a vicious
shaking. Yet these sturdy old pirates, for they were hardly more,
ploughed their way through storm and fog, without compasses, without
any method of determining their positions at sea except their instinct
and what guesses they could make—measuring voyages not by miles but by
days—coming, going, bent only on conquest and on pillage. Nor did they
confine themselves to the more or less landlocked seas. They launched
their sturdy boats from the narrow beaches of Norwegian fjords, and
with sturdy backs bent to sturdy oars, and great, colourful square
sails set when the wind was right, drove their ships to Scotland, to
the Orkneys, the Faroes, and to Iceland, and not content with that
drove on to Greenland, to Labrador, to Nova Scotia, and probably drew
up their ships on the shores of the very bay that waited yet another
half a thousand years ere the Pilgrims saw it from the unsteady deck of
the _Mayflower_.
In their open boats that tossed like flotsam among the angry waves,
these hardy mariners lived. Their food must often have been hardly
edible, their supplies of water hardly fit to drink, and comfort
there never could have been. Wet through by boarding seas, all but
unprotected from the cold of long sub-Arctic nights, or scorched by
the sun in breathless summer calms, their beards caked with salt from
the driving spray, or dripping moisture left there by the fogs, these
heroes of the sea swung their oars for days, for weeks, perhaps for
months, and feared the great Atlantic not at all.
They built these ships of theirs from the lumber that covered Norway’s
mountain-sides. They hewed the timbers, and fashioned them, and
made their ships as artists paint their canvases, not by the aid of
mathematics but by the aid of the innate art that was theirs and the
experience of generations of forefathers bred to the sea. They launched
their ships into the slate-gray waters of the stormy north, and stocked
them with rough food and rough implements. They shoved off from the
rocky coast of the land that had bred them and swung their great oars
over the crests of the surging sea, and clear of the land hoisted
their sails and were gone to new worlds far across the ocean.
[Illustration: A 13TH-CENTURY ENGLISH SHIP
_The Viking influence is still easily traceable in this ship, but the
forecastle and the sterncastle have put in their appearance. Also the
hull is heavier than and not so sharp as in the earlier Viking ships._
]
To us who live in a world so supercivilized that the Norseman’s wildest
dreams could not have approached the commonplaces of modern life, it
is difficult to imagine a crew of these stern and brawny men, fifty or
sixty strong, perhaps, with their barbaric helmets temporarily laid
aside, with their shields hung along the gunwales, and with their great
backs bending in unison to the oars. Seated on the heavy thwarts, their
supplies below their feet, their swords and battle-axes strewn about
carelessly, but handy to each calloused palm, they pulled for hours,
chanting their songs of war, roaring their choruses. Pausing now and
then to rest or to fill horn flagons from some supply of ale; tearing
with their teeth at salted fish or haunch of tough dried meat; changing
their positions now and then, perhaps, to keep their hardened muscles
from growing stiff; sleeping in the bow or stern, or down among the
bales and bundles that lined the long, low hull; wrapped in homespun
capes in rain or fog or driving spray—thus did these hardy mariners
sail to the west and home again. Leaving a land where life was hard,
they journeyed far to other lands at least as bleak as theirs, and
journeyed back again, not looking for the land of spice, or summer
seas, or far, romantic Cathay. Of such climes they knew nothing, nor
did they care.
As time passed these ships became heavier and broader, with more draft
and with higher sides, although they still retained the sharp stern
which was somewhat similar to the bow. The sails, however, developed
little and about the only complication was an additional strip of
canvas that could be laced to the foot of the sail, increasing its
area considerably. In light winds this was attached. In heavy winds it
was unlaced. This, by the way, was a common feature before the later
methods of reefing sails came into use.
But now we come to a time when ship designers began consciously to
refine the crude ships with which they were familiar. As a result,
sails from 1450 to 1850 went through a process of development far
exceeding the development that had taken place during those unnumbered
centuries from the time of the first sail up to 1450.
So complicated is the story of this development and so limited is the
space in a single book that I must content myself with utilizing only
the remainder of this chapter for the story of the development of sails
during the first 350 of these 400 memorable years, leaving for the
following chapter the story of the final perfection of sailing ships
which took place in the first half of the 19th Century.
[Illustration: A GALLEON OF THE TIME OF ELIZABETH
_The extremely high stern and the low bow shown in this drawing are
about as extreme as any in use during the period when high bows and
low sterns were thought to be good design._
]
It is not difficult to see what happened to make the development of
sails so slow a process. Not only sails, but also practically every art
and interest of mankind had received a serious setback with the decay
of Rome. The Dark Ages followed with their woeful ignorance, and it
was not until after the Crusades had been followed by the Renaissance,
which brought with it a renewed interest in every subject the people
of Europe knew anything about, that ships—and practically everything
else—began to recover from the fearful retrogression that had taken
place during the better part of ten centuries.
It was not, for instance, until the latter part of the 15th Century
that the bowsprit appeared in common use in northern Europe, although
this feature had, fifteen hundred or more years before, been in common
use on Roman ships, where it was used to carry a small square sail
called the “artemon.” The bowsprit seems to have originated as a sort
of mast that was set far forward in the bow, in order that a sail
spread from it would be in the best position to aid in swinging a ship
from one side to the other. In order to make this sail still more
effective by giving it greater leverage on the hull the mast was tilted
more and more forward until it projected far over the bow. From this
bowsprit a small square sail was spread, called, later, a spritsail,
and this development began to make real sailing ships of ships that
formerly had used sails for little more than auxiliary work.
But the Dark Ages ruined everything, and it was not until the Crusades
later re-introduced the people of northern Europe to those of the
Mediterranean that the northerners, who later became the greatest
seamen the world has ever seen, began to get away from the Viking
influence in the building of ships.
But once the shipwrights of England and Holland and France began to see
the advantages of even the crude ships that were occasionally sailed
by the Venetians and the Genoese to the bleak northern waters, the
improvement in northern ships began.
The single mast with its simple square sail was supplemented by another
mast and by the slanting mast at the bow that became the bowsprit, and
it became the custom in northern waters, as it already was the custom
in southern, to use two or three masts carrying square sails and one
mast carrying the triangular lateen sail.
The bowsprit was a crude affair but was highly important, which was
the reason for its continued use despite the fact that even in ordinary
weather in the open sea the pitching of the dumpy hulls often drove
the spritsail into the waves. Perhaps this troublesome feature of
the spritsail was partially responsible, as the desire for more head
sails certainly was, for the addition at the end of the bowsprit of a
short, vertical spar on which a new sail called the “sprit topsail” was
spread. In heavy weather this sail could be carried without plunging
it into the sea long after the spritsail, which was spread on a spar
mounted below the bowsprit, had to be taken in.
And now the masts of these ships began to undergo an important change.
Hitherto a mast was simply a long sturdy spar made of a single tree,
with a single square sail mounted on a single yard. The desire for
more canvas led at first to the setting of a triangular sail above the
square sail. This new sail was set with its lower corners made fast to
the extremities of the yard and with its apex at the apex of the mast.
Soon, however, a short yard appeared at the top of this sail, which in
the course of later developments became more and more rectangular until
finally it became the highly important topsail of the square-rigged
ships of to-day. As still other sails were added this topsail became
the sail that is carried for a greater part of the time than any other
of the square sails, for in heavy weather it is the last to be taken
in, and continues to hold its place long after its predecessor, the
great square sail below it, has been furled.
So successful was this topsail that ship-builders and sailors began
to think of ways of making it larger. Its size was limited to the
height of the mast above the great square mainsail. At first masts were
cut from taller trees, but soon a practical limit to this method of
securing additional height was reached, because of the limited size of
trees. Then it was that the topmast was invented. Another mast, only
slightly smaller than the first, was lashed with its base overlapping
the top of the mainmast, which, because the upper part was now of no
use, was again shortened. This proved satisfactory, and later another
section and another still was added until the mast had grown from one
simple spar into a structure made up of three or four or even five
rising one above the other until, in the greatest of all square-rigged
ships—the _Great Republic_, built in 1853—the mainmast, surmounted by
the topmast, the topgallant, the royal, and the skysailmasts, towered
almost half as high above her keel as the summit of Washington Monument
stands above its concrete base. But that was long years after the times
we are discussing, and such a ship was far beyond even the imaginations
of the shipwrights and sailors of 1500.
Years before this time, as I have already explained, ships had
developed raised structures at bow and stern, called forecastles and
sterncastles, and by now these had become integral parts of the hull.
But the hulls! It can be said with little fear of contradiction that
they had become the most ridiculous ships, in appearance at least,
that ever sailed the seas. Their sterns were built up and up into huge
structures that contained many decks and many cabins. Forward these
ships, more often than not, ran their ridiculous noses down until it
sometimes seemed as if they were inquisitive to learn what was beneath
the surface of the water. Above these weird hulls were three or four
towering masts, and forward was a long bowsprit that reared itself up
at so steep an angle as to suggest that it feared that the bow, at the
very next moment, would surely go completely beneath the sea.
The mast farthest astern—which in a three-masted northern ship was then
and still is called the mizzenmast—for many years carried only a lateen
sail. Finally, however, the part of this triangular sail that ran
forward of the mast was eliminated, although the spar itself was still
the same. But finally this long spar was cut off where it met the mast,
and it became the gaff of the sail that now is called, on square-rigged
ships, the spanker. On this mast, too, above this lateen sail that,
pollywog-like, was losing its tail in its growth into a spanker, it
slowly became the custom to set sails similar to those which on the
other masts had come into common use above the great square sails that
were set nearest to the deck.
[Illustration: THE _AMARANTHE_
_A British warship of 1654. This ship is an excellent example of
the ships that were in use just before the jib began to put in its
appearance. The lateen sail on the mizzenmast is similar to the one
used on the caravels, but both the rigging and the hull are greatly
refined as compared with the ships of the time of Columbus._
]
This growth, of course, was slow. The life of a single sailor was not
enough to see the general acceptance of more than one or two of these
steps, for seamen are conservative when it comes to changes in their
ships, and are not given to the rapid acceptance of revolutionary
improvements. But by comparison with the slow development of the
preceding thousand years changes were coming with almost breathless
speed.
It was during this period that another important improvement was
introduced. I have explained how, on cruder ships, it was the custom,
when more sail area was needed, to lace a separate strip of cloth to
the foot of the great square sail. This extra piece of sail was called
the “bonnet” and sometimes another similar piece called the “drabbler”
was laced to the foot of the bonnet. If the wind increased until less
sail was desired these two extra sections of the sail were unlaced and
the sail area was reduced by that much. In earlier times the sail was
sometimes puckered up by passing lines over the spar and tying them so
as to make the sail into a bundle more or less loosely tied, depending
on how much or how little the sail area was to be reduced. But now came
the introduction of “reef points” which, down to the present day, are
still the accepted method of reducing sail.
Reef points are short pieces of rope passing through the sail. The ends
are allowed to hang free on opposite sides of the canvas. On square
sails there are two or three rows of these running across the upper
part of the sail. When the captain orders sail reduced the men go into
the rigging, lie out along the yard supporting the sail to be reefed
and pulling the sail up until they reach the first row of reef points,
proceed to tie the two ends of the points together over the top of the
sail. This ties a part of the sail into a small space, reducing by that
much the area spread to the wind.
This great improvement, together with the new arrangement of sails,
began to make sailing ships into structures that, more or less, were
reaching out toward the perfection that led ultimately to such speed
and ease of handling as never before was thought possible.
[Illustration: A 16TH-CENTURY DUTCH BOAT
_It was on boats of this type that the jib seems first to have been
used. To-day in Holland one sees a similar boat, called a schuyl,
which is almost identical with this, except that it utilizes a curved
gaff at the top of the mainsail._
]
The topmasts, topgallantmasts, and others, too, by this time were no
longer being lashed rigidly in place but were being arranged so that
they could be partly lowered by sliding them lengthwise through their
supports.
All this time hulls were improving, and the ridiculous sterncastles
finally reached their climax and began to recede. And then came a
new development that gave the builder of ships the final thing they
needed, so far as the sails themselves were concerned, to make possible
the ultimate perfection of sailing ships. This was the adoption, in
place of the awkward spritsails and sprit topsails, of the triangular
“jibs” and staysails that are a conspicuous part of most modern sailing
vessels.
Perhaps this highly efficient triangular sail did not spring,
Minerva-like, fully formed, from the head of any mediæval
ship-designer. It first appeared in use on small boats, and perhaps
appeared there in triangular form because of the impracticability
of mounting a bowsprit capable of carrying the common but awkward
spritsail. Another reason, perhaps, for its triangular form, was the
fact that the stay leading from the bow to the masthead, while it lent
itself to holding a sail, caused any such sail to be triangular in
shape because of the angle at which the stay was stretched.
Nor was a triangular sail in itself a change from the old order of
things. For more than two thousand years the lateen sail had been in
use, and a lateen sail is much the same shape as a jib or a staysail.
Its principal difference lies in the fact that its direct support is
a spar, while the support of a jib is a rope which serves also as a
support for the mast. And so it is easy to imagine some old Dutch
sailor—for the jib appeared first in Holland—rigging up a kind of
makeshift sail on his fore stay, seeing that, because a lateen sail
worked astern, another sail so similar in shape might work at the bow.
Perhaps he was laughed at for his pains, for sailors are sensitive
to appearances and a triangular sail at the bow of a boat in the
early 16th Century was different from anything to which sailors were
accustomed, and consequently, in their eyes, was, no doubt, ridiculous.
But the “ridiculous” sail proved efficient, as sometimes happens in
other things, and because of its efficiency and its simplicity it began
to take its place as an accepted form.
[Illustration: A CORVETTE OF 1780
_This ship shows the new sail plan overcoming the old. The masts carry
topsails, topgallantsails, and royals, and what was formerly a lateen
sail on the mizzenmast has become a spanker. Furthermore, while the
ship carries jibs, she has not yet parted with her spritsails._
]
All this description of its origin is, of course, purely imaginary.
I have no information as to how it originated, but I offer the
explanation I have given as a plausible surmise. The earliest actual
representation of a ship using this sail is, so far as I can learn,
on a map sent in 1527 from Seville by one M. Robert Thorne to a
Doctor Ley. On this map, like so many of its time, there are numerous
decorations and pictures. One of these is a small craft, Dutch in
appearance, which carries a combination of sails not unlike those of
a simple sloop of to-day. It is somewhat as if a lateen sail had been
cut in two vertically a third of the way back from the forward end, and
the two pieces mounted separately—the triangular section depending from
the fore stay, and the remainder from a spar similar to what we now
call the gaff. This interesting old map was called to my attention by
a mention of it made by E. Keble Chatterton in his “Sailing Ships and
Their Story.”
But this triangular sail, while it was in common use from so early
a date on small boats, did not appear on ships of the larger sizes
until the latter part of the 17th Century and the first part of the
18th. At this time the lateen sail was still in evidence although it
was beginning to undergo the first of the changes I have mentioned,
while the fore and mainmasts now commonly spread two square sails, and
sometimes three; and sometimes, too, this third sail, instead of being
square, was triangular, as the earliest topsails had been.
But the latter part of the 17th Century brought the first real steps in
scientific design. Men began to study the disturbances set up by the
passage through the water of various shaped hulls, and began to replace
rule-of-thumb methods of design with designs based on more or less
scientific conclusions. This also began to show itself in the design
of masts and spars and sails. Long since, the steering oar, which for
centuries was mounted on the starboard or right-hand side of the ship
near the stern, had given way to the rudder, hung astern as rudders are
still hung, and now the science of ship design began the steps that
ultimately resulted in the _Flying Cloud_ and the _Great Republic_ and
those other clipper ships that in the 19th Century set records for
speed that many of our steamships of to-day cannot equal.
Throughout the 18th Century ships were gradually improved along these
scientific lines until, in the merchant service, the beautiful ships
of the British East India Company, with their piles of snowy canvas,
their shining teakwood rails, and their graceful spars, were the
proudest ships that had ever sailed the seas. In the naval services
the greater ships had taken a less beautiful form but had grown into
the impressive if awkward line-of-battle ships of which an excellent
example is still to be seen in the _Victory_, Nelson’s famous flagship,
which the British still proudly, and properly, maintain at Portsmouth.
But now begins the super-perfection of sailing ships—the development of
the clippers, those beautiful structures of wood and iron and canvas
that for a brief time so surpassed every other ship on every sea as to
set them apart in an era of their own. These were ships of such beauty
and speed and spirit that they stand clearly separate and alone.
CHAPTER III
THE PERFECTION OF SAILS—THE CLIPPER SHIPS
In the 17th Century a new people began to make their mark in the
world of the sea. Formerly the development of ships had been almost
exclusively, at least for two thousand years, in the hands of
Europeans—the Mediterranean peoples first, and later, the peoples of
northern Europe.
One of the important reasons for the north European interest in ships
had come about as a result of the discovery of the New World and, with
that, the discovery that the world was actually round. That dynamic age
now often called the age of discovery opened up new lands that lent
themselves to colonization, and because Europe was filled with energy
and was in a proper frame of mind to take advantage of the opportunity,
important colonies sprang up in the Americas, in the Pacific, and in
Africa.
From the point of view, however, of influences on the development of
ships these colonies, in themselves, had, with one exception, little
effect. This one exception was the row of British colonies that lined
the Atlantic Coast of North America from the Bay of Fundy to Florida.
Here there began to grow up a people whose forebears had known the
boisterous seas of northern Europe, and who were scattered along a
narrow coastline where they found ready and at hand the best timber
in the world from which to build ships. Furthermore, the fisheries of
this coast were rich, and, too, traffic between these colonies soon
sprang up and demanded ships to carry it, for roads were either bad or
were non-existent and the great boulevard of the sea lay outside the
entrances to the numerous fine harbours that indented the coast.
[Illustration: A BRITISH EAST INDIAMAN
_These merchant ships, which sailed from England to the Far East, were
almost as much like warships as they were like merchantmen. They were
finely built, but they took their time on their voyages out and back._
]
At first, naturally enough, the ships that were built were small, but
by the beginning of the 18th Century the business of building ships was
an important one, particularly in New England. So important was it, and
so well and so cheaply were ships built in this new part of the world,
that Europeans found it to their interest to buy ships from the many
yards that dotted this coast. This business continued to increase in
the American colonies until, in 1769, according to Arthur H. Clark, in
“The Clipper Ship Era,” 389 vessels, of which 113 were square-rigged,
were built. All of these, it is true, were small, none of them
being over 200 tons, but the business was flourishing and valuable
experience that later proved of great importance was being secured.
During this same time “The United Company of Merchant Venturers of
England Trading to the East Indies,” or, as it was later generally
called, the East India Company, was gradually developing, for the long
voyages from England to the East, those magnificent ships that now are
universally referred to as East Indiamen.
So lucrative was the trade that these ships were engaged in, for it
was a carefully controlled and legalized monopoly, that truly great
amounts of money were made for the stockholders of the company and for
the officers of the ships. And because the trade was exceptionally
profitable these ships were wonderfully built and cost sums that, for
those days, were huge. The ships, because they were navigating waters
frequented by pirates and might be called upon to fight their way both
out and back, were almost ships of war, and the discipline on board
was more like the discipline of ships of the British Navy than like
that of ordinary merchant ships. The crews were spick and span in neat
uniforms. The men were drilled as carefully as man-of-war’s-men, and
the crews were large, and consequently their work was not hard.
The ships themselves were built in the finest possible manner, and the
cost of one 1,325-ton ship built for this service is said to have been
more than a quarter of a million dollars—£53,000 to be exact—a sum
truly huge for those days, and one not exactly to be sneezed at to-day.
This great company, with its monopoly that sometimes made it possible
for a ship to earn 300 per cent. on her entire cost in a single round
trip from England to India or China, was organized in 1600. The fact,
however, that there was no competition for them to face resulted in a
conservative outlook that made for slowness rather than for speed, and
little actual advance in the science of design of either hulls or sails
came as a result of the building of these costly and sturdy ships.
For two and a third centuries, however, this grand old company
continued, and during that time many a fortune was built up for the
investors, but finally the people of Britain rebelled at this monopoly,
and Parliament, in 1832, withdrew the charter and threw open the trade
to the East to other British lines.
[Illustration: A BLACK BALL PACKET
_Ships of this type carried the transatlantic passengers of the early
part of the 19th Century. Because of the demand of the owners of the
Black Ball Line and of its competitors, America, where these lines
were owned and where their ships were built, developed the designers
who ultimately gave the world the clipper ships._
]
But the conservatism of the sea is strong, and, while other lines took
advantage of the opportunity to send their ships to the East they
patterned them more or less after the ships of the East India Company,
and little effort was made to secure speed.
But later, in 1849, the Navigation Laws which limited trade between
Great Britain and her colonies to British ships, were repealed, and
foreign carriers were, for the first time, permitted to enter this
lucrative field.
This was the end of one act and the beginning of another, for the
repeal of these laws gave the opportunity it needed to that new
country, now a nation, that for two hundred years had been teaching
itself to build ships of the trees from the rocky soil of New England.
But a little more is needed to understand just why the ship-builders
of the United States of America were in a position to leap so suddenly
into prominence among the carriers of ocean freight.
For two hundred years, as I have said, Americans had been building
ships, and in that time the industry had had its ups and downs.
British legislation, in colonial days, had had its adverse effect. The
Revolutionary War, and, later, the War of 1812, had dealt disastrous
blows at American shipowners, but these people were of sea-going
stock, and each time they recovered. Then, after the War of 1812, and
particularly after the long Napoleonic struggle was brought to an
end in 1815, trade between the new American nation and Europe, and
particularly between America and Britain, developed by leaps and bounds.
International commerce grew as it had never grown before, and, shortly,
lines of “packets”—that is, passenger ships running regularly between
two ports—went into service between Britain and America.
The Black Ball Line was the first of these. Its ships were
distinguished by a large black circle on the foretopsail below the
close reef-band, where it would be visible as long as the ship
carried even a shred of sail. The earlier ships of this line were
from three hundred to five hundred tons, and before long more than a
dozen were in service. They sailed regularly and for the first ten
years of the line’s existence averaged, according to Arthur H. Clark,
twenty-three days for the voyage east, and forty days for the return,
the discrepancy between these two being due to the prevailing winds of
the North Atlantic which, on the route these ships sailed, are from the
southwest. The Gulf Stream, too, or rather the continuation of the Gulf
Stream, sometimes known as the Gulf Stream Drift, aided them on their
eastward voyages.
[Illustration: A WHALING BARK
_With a lookout at the masthead these ships cruised all over the earth
in the first half of the 19th Century._]
During the thirty years following the founding of the Black Ball Line
a number of other similar lines were founded, notably the Red Star
Line, the Dramatic Line, and the New Orleans Line from New York. All
of these, and others, were American owned, and with the opening of the
Erie Canal, which gave access to the Great Lakes, and opened a vast new
land, trade greatly increased.
These ships were not large at first, but gradually they increased in
size until, in 1849, the _Albert Gallatin_, of 1,435 tons, became the
largest of the lot, although a number of others approached her in size.
These ships were in a new kind of service. Before the origin of the
Black Ball Line there had been few passenger ships. More often than
not ships had accommodations for passengers, as the East Indiamen
had, but ships had seldom, prior to the opening of the 19th Century,
devoted much space to passengers. In a later chapter I shall discuss
the reasons for this. But once ships began to carry passengers to
the practical exclusion of freight, speed became desirable, and the
North Atlantic packets were designed more and more with speed in mind.
This resulted in a demand for really scientific naval architects and
because Americans were the ones chiefly interested in building faster
ships, and because, too, the packet lines could afford to pay for their
services, able men turned their attention to this important problem.
Thus it was that, between 1816 and 1849, a demand on the part of the
American packet lines for faster ships produced in America a group
of designers who evolved a type of sailing ship that the world has
never seen surpassed for speed on the wide stretches of the open sea.
And thus it was, too, that with the repeal of the Navigation Laws in
England, America was able to put into service between Britain and
the Far East such ships as made conservative British seamen gasp for
breath ere they, too, set about following, with eminent success, in
the footsteps of their transatlantic brothers. Then, instantly, the
gigantic rush of gold hunters to California gave added impetus to the
demand for faster ships, and almost overnight the era of the clipper
ship had begun.
[Illustration: THE _RED JACKET_
_The clipper ship that made the fastest trip across the Atlantic ever
made under sail. Her record from Sandy Hook to Rock Light was thirteen
days, one hour._
]
According to Arthur H. Clark’s “The Clipper Ship Era,” which contains
a complete and fascinating account of this whole period (and it is
actually a story for a book rather than for a mere chapter into which
it is impossible adequately to compress it), the first clipper ship
ever built was the _Ann McKim_, a ship built at Baltimore in 1832.
During the War of 1812 a number of Chesapeake Bay ships which came to
be called “Baltimore clippers” proved very successful as privateers.
These ships were fast, and probably the name “clipper” had some
connotation at the time suggesting speed. But these “Baltimore
clippers” were not, as the word was later used, clipper ships in the
true sense. The _Ann McKim_, as I have said, was actually the first of
these.
This ship was an enlargement to scale of one of the small, fast sailing
vessels which two hundred years of ship-building experience had taught
American shipwrights to construct. The _Ann McKim_, then, was a
small sailing ship built by the foot, so to speak, while her smaller
counterparts had been built by the inch. Her proportions were identical
to those of the small fry that skimmed about Chesapeake Bay. Only in
size and in the elaborateness of her finish did she differ.
Before the advent of the _Ann McKim_, no one seems to have thought of
building a ship of her size—she was 143 feet long—on any lines but
those which for so long had been accepted as proper for a ship, and
they were far different from the lines accepted for small boats. But
despite her originality the _Ann McKim_ proved to be fast.
It seems to be true that this ship did not directly affect ship design.
But in the next nine years a number of fast ships appeared, and then
John W. Griffiths, a young naval architect of New York, in a series of
lectures on the subject of ship design, laid down the basic rules that
brought into being those beautiful ships—of which there were never more
than a handful, by comparison with the other ships of the world—that
suddenly leaped into world-wide prominence.
To the uninitiated, the changes proposed by Griffiths seem unimportant
and perhaps uninteresting, for it resulted only in sharper bows and
finer lines, in the movement, farther toward the stern, of the ship’s
greatest beam, and of “hollow” water lines—that is, the curve of the
hull aft from the bow along the water line was concave before it
became convex, as it long had been for its whole length on other ships.
The first ship to be built along these new lines, and therefore the
first clipper ship of the new order of things, was the _Rainbow_, which
was launched in 1845. It is interesting, too, to note that, while she
was lost—perhaps off Cape Horn—on her fifth voyage, few of the later
clippers ever broke the records she set. Griffiths, with the touch of
genius that he had, had instantly approached such perfection as mortal
man can reach.
[Illustration: THE _GREAT REPUBLIC_
_The greatest clipper ship ever built. Unfortunately, before she made
her first voyage she caught fire and had to be sunk. She was refloated
and refitted, but never made a voyage in her original rig. When new
masts were put in her they were made smaller than the first ones.
Still she turned out to be one of the very fastest of the clippers._
]
And unlike the _Ann McKim_, the _Rainbow_ did affect ship design. It
is true that critics announced that these new ships would capsize
from the very weight of their spars, that they could not stand up in
a boisterous sea, that they were freakish and ridiculous. But still
they were built, and there were races out to China and back again; and
sometimes they brought to New York the news of their own arrivals at
Canton or Shanghai.
So quickly had Griffiths’s ideas of ship design taken hold that in the
four years from the launch of the _Rainbow_ until 1849—when the repeal
of the Navigation Laws permitted foreign ships to compete for business
between Britain and her colonies and the rush to California opened
up another profitable field—a number of these new clipper ships were
making regular voyages.
The story of the first American clipper ship to carry a cargo of tea to
Britain from China is an interesting one, and I can do no better than
quote directly from Mr. Clark’s account of the voyage in “The Clipper
Ship Era.”
“The _Oriental_,” says Mr. Clark, “sailed on her second voyage from
New York for China, May 19, 1850 ... and was 25 days to the equator;
she passed the meridian of the Cape of Good Hope 45 days out, Java
Head 71 days out, and arrived at Hong-kong, August 8th, 81 days from
New York. She was at once chartered through Russel & Co. to load a
cargo of tea from London at £6 per ton of 40 cubic feet, while British
ships were waiting for cargoes for London at £3:10 per ton of 50 cubic
feet. She sailed August 28th, and beat down the China Sea against a
strong southwest monsoon in 21 days to Anjer, arrived off the Lizard
in 91 days, and was moored in the West India Docks, London, 97 days
from Hong-kong—a passage from China never before equalled in point of
speed, especially against the southwest monsoon, and rarely surpassed
since. She delivered 1,600 tons of tea, and her freight from Hong-kong
amounted to £9,600 or some $48,000. Her first cost ready for sea was
$70,000. From the date of her first sailing from New York, September
14, 1849, to her arrival at London, December 3, 1850, the _Oriental_
had sailed a distance of 67,000 miles, and had, during that time, been
at sea 367 days, an average in all weathers of 183 miles per day.”
[Illustration: THE _ARIEL_, 1866
_Which, with the_ Fiery Cross, Taeping, Serica, _and_ Taitsing,
_sailed what was, perhaps, the greatest race ever run. After sailing
16,000 miles from Foo-Chow, China, to London, the_ Ariel, Taeping,
_and_ Serica _docked in London on the same tide, the_ Taeping _the
winner by only a few minutes. The other two were only two days behind,
although the first three took 99 days._
]
Such performances were not rare for these ships, and because they were
the rule, rather than the exception, the reputation of clippers grew
apace, and interest rapidly grew in their comparative speed. Thus it
was that many races were sailed, half around the world, during which
every stitch of canvas possible was carried for every mile of the way,
and captains studied winds and currents with such care and success that
well-matched ships were often in sight of each other off and on during
voyages of thousands of miles.
The development of the clipper ship was rapid, and her decline was
almost equally fast. Eight years after the _Rainbow_ took the water
Donald McKay, an able designer and builder, launched the _Great
Republic_, one of the very largest sailing ships ever built. While this
ship has been surpassed in size by several later sailing ships, no
other ship ever built was designed to carry so enormous a press of sail.
The mainmast of this great vessel was a huge “stick” 131 feet long and
44 inches in diameter. Above this were the topmast, 76 feet long; the
topgallantmast, 28 feet long; the royalmast, 22 feet long; and the
skysailmast, 19 feet long. All of this was topped by a 12-foot pole.
The great structure of the built-up mainmast towered more than 200 feet
above her deck.
But this greatest of all sailing ships was destined never to take a
voyage with these gigantic masts and spars. Just after she had finished
loading in New York for her first voyage, a warehouse fire ashore
dropped embers in her rigging and she was so badly burned that she was
sunk in order to save what was left. Her beautiful masts had had to be
cut out of her during the fire, and when she was finally raised and
rebuilt freight rates had fallen so far that it was not thought best to
re-rig her in her original dress. A reduced rig was installed, making
possible a great reduction in the size of her crew, but even with her
reduced rig she crossed the Atlantic from Sandy Hook to Land’s End in
13 days.
Until the Civil War broke into the peaceful development of America,
clipper ships were built in many yards, although the introduction of
iron as a ship-building material was giving Britain the upper hand
again, after the Americans had temporarily wrested it from her. This
introduction of iron in itself would have caused the elimination of
America from mid-19th Century ship-building, but the Civil War laid a
heavy hand on the young country, and American ships largely disappeared
from the sea, save along the Confederate coast where great fleets lay
in wait for fast blockade runners that slipped out to Bermuda and the
Bahamas for cargoes of European goods to take through the blockade to
the needy South.
[Illustration: A GLOUCESTER FISHERMAN
_Such schooners as this are common in the New England fishing fleets.
They are seaworthy and fast, and probably the men who sail them are
the greatest seamen of our time._
]
England, however, had once more found herself, and soon her yards were
building clipper ships that equalled the Americans—surpassed them, some
say, but more than one challenge for an ocean race was issued by groups
of Americans only to find no takers in British shipping circles. Now
and then, it is true, British ships outsailed American. But now and
then, too, Americans outsailed their transatlantic brothers, so it is
difficult to decide as to their relative merits.
But there is no doubt of one thing—the greatest ocean race ever
sailed was one in which five British tea clippers were engaged. The
_Ariel_, _Taeping_, _Fiery Cross_, _Taitsing_, and _Serica_ sailed from
Foo-chow, China, within two days of each other, on the 29th, 30th,
and 31st of May, 1865, all bound for London. Forty-six days later the
_Fiery Cross_ rounded the Cape of Good Hope, followed by the _Ariel_,
which also made that meridian in forty-six days; the _Taeping_ in
forty-seven days; the _Serica_ in fifty days; and the _Taitsing_ in
fifty-four days. Through June and July they sailed, and on August 9th
the _Fiery Cross_ and _Taeping_ sighted each other. The ships passed
the Azores in the following order, _Ariel_, _Taitsing_, _Fiery Cross_,
_Serica_, and _Taeping_, all closely grouped. From there to the English
Channel the race continued, with each ship unacquainted with the
position of the others, save occasionally when their courses brought
them together. Yet on the morning of September 5th, two of these ships
sighted each other as they entered the English Channel. As they came
closer together each recognized the other—they were the _Ariel_ and the
_Taeping_, which had left Foo-chow within twenty minutes of each other
more than three months before. Up the Channel they raced, side by side,
and on September 6th, these two ships, and the _Serica_, which had
sailed up the Channel four hours behind them, docked in London on the
same tide and all three of them within an hour and forty-five minutes
of each other, the _Taeping_ the winner by a few trifling minutes.
Nor were they far ahead of the other two, which docked on the 7th and
9th. Three ships had sailed 16,000 miles in 99 days, and the other two
in 101. Never before or since has a long ocean race shown such evenly
matched ships.
[Illustration: AN AMERICAN COASTING SCHOONER
_Square-rigged ships have largely disappeared because, among other
things, their crews were large. These schooners, which sometimes have
four or five masts, can be handled by small crews and consequently are
able to continue to vie with steam._
]
But the days of the clipper ships were numbered. Steam was already
making inroads, and when the Suez Canal was opened in 1869, steamships
could make the voyage to the East through the narrow waters of the
Mediterranean and the Red Sea, where sailing ships were impotent to
follow, in much less time than even the clippers could round Cape Horn.
And so there passed from the sea what were probably the most beautiful
of all the ships that ever sailed its dark blue surface. Yachts there
may be whose fragile lines are just a bit more delicate, whose sails
are bleached more white. But such comparison is odious. It is as if Du
Barry were compared with Juno. Now and again a watchful eye may still
see a square-rigged ship being impudently towed about some teeming
harbour by some officious tug, and occasionally a fortunate voyager may
see one with her sails set as she harnesses the wind to take her half
across the world. But the romantic days of sail have gone. The voyages
from London to China around Good Hope, from New York to San Francisco
around the Horn—they are things long past. Steam and a ditch through
the sandhills of Suez did it. And now another ditch through the hills
of Panama has double-locked the door, and sail is gone.
But hold! Sail is nearly gone, and yet it is here!
No more do fleets of monster ships with towering masts spread square
sail after square sail to the honest winds of heaven. They, it is true,
have almost disappeared, and what is left is not to be compared with
what is gone. Yet in these days of steam and coal, of grimy stokers and
machines _called_ ships, there still remains, to gladden the eye of the
white-haired men who sailed the clipper ships a half a century and more
ago, a type of sailing ship that has proved to be so handy, so capable
and efficient, that all the machines of a machine-mad world have not
been able to drive them from the sea.
These are the schooners and the other craft whose sails, based on those
old Dutch vessels that first used the jib, are of a different design.
The clipper ships and their predecessors were “square-rigged” ships. A
schooner is a “fore-and-aft” rigged ship, and to-day the “fore-and-aft”
rig is the only rig in common use.
It will have been seen, from this account, that the development of
sails was slow. Century followed century and ships progressed but
little. Even the most rapid period of development covered the four
centuries, from 1450 to 1850, so that, while fore-and-aft sails have
reached their present stage more rapidly than square-rigged ships,
still the story is one that covers centuries.
I have already told of the origin in Holland of the jib, which seemed
to grow out of the lateen sail. It was from that beginning that the
“fore-and-aft” rig developed.
The narrow waterways of the low countries demanded a type of sail that
could be handled more easily and could sail closer to the wind than the
square sail could. This the fore-and-aft sail did, and so it filled an
important need. I have not the space, in what remains of this chapter,
to trace its growth in all its detail. Furthermore, E. Keble Chatterton
has done so admirably in “The Story of the Fore-and-Aft Rig.”
Let it suffice to say that the growth has been more a perfection than a
series of revolutionary changes. At first the rig was crude. The sails
were laced to the masts, for hoops sliding on the mast and to which the
sail is made fast, while now almost universal, were then unknown. A
boom was used to spread the foot of the sail, but not until the famous
yacht _America_ crossed the Atlantic and won the cup that still is held
in America as the greatest racing trophy in the world was the foot of
the sail laced to the boom.
Many times I have sat at the wheel of the _America_ as she lies in the
basin of the U. S. Naval Academy at Annapolis, her masts denuded of the
pile of canvas that drove her to that famous victory, and thought of
her and of the little group of men whose careful thought resulted in
her triumph. Such men as those, in the thousands of years through which
ships have grown, have been the men who have made possible the growth
of the dugout canoe with its sail of skin into the _Great Republics_
and the _Americas_ and, later, the _Majestics_. Such men as those have
aided greatly in the advance of civilization.
I have space here for but one more thing. The Dutch, as I have said,
were responsible for the origin of the fore-and-aft rig, and Europeans
largely developed the yawl, the ketch, the brig, and several other
forms that use fore-and-aft sails. But schooners are the most numerous
of these and they originated, as their name did, in a New England
shipyard. The story is an old one and well known, but I shall include
it here, for it is the only case of which I know in which a new ship
form together with its name appeared so abruptly.
It was in Gloucester, Massachusetts, that port now famous for the
ablest schooners that sail the seas, that the schooner originated. In
1713 an ingenious builder built a boat and placed in her two masts
bearing fore-and-aft sails. For a head sail he spread that triangular
canvas now so common, but this was the first time that these sails, all
long familiar, had been arranged according to the now common plan.
She left the stocks and floated lightly on the water, and an interested
spectator cried, “Look! See how she scoons!”
The owner must have been a man of wit as well as originality for he
replied: “Very well. A scooner let her be.” And schooner she still is,
but in the two centuries since that time her form has impressed itself
on many thousand ships, and the port that gave her birth has gained a
reputation that is world-wide as the port of the ablest schooners and
the ablest sailors that ever graced the great expanse of ocean.
CHAPTER IV
THE DEVELOPMENT OF STEAMSHIPS
From the day a really successful steam-driven vessel first moved
herself awkwardly in the water until the _Majestic_ slid from her
German ways was not much more than a hundred years. But that hundred
years shows more of progress in the development of ships than the
preceding thousand. So breathlessly rapid has been the development of
steamships that there are men still alive who remember them as frail
experimental craft upon which little dependence could be placed.
“Sail,” said the citizen of a hundred years ago, “is a dependable mode
of propulsion. Steam is a ridiculous power, or at best a dangerous and
highly experimental one.”
“Steam,” says the “landlubber” of to-day, “is satisfactory for me.
Sailing is a foolhardy business.”
And neither the century-old viewpoint nor the new one is entirely right.
* * * * *
Steam was vaguely recognized as a source of power even in early
Egyptian history, and several times before the birth of Watt
inconsequential experiments were made with it.
There is a story, not now accepted as true, of one Blasco de Garay,
who in 1543 experimented at Barcelona, Spain, with a boat propelled
by steam. It was not for another 100 years, however, that steam
was practically applied. But as early as 1690 it is known that
Thomas Savery and Denis Papin proposed the use of steam as an aid
to navigation. Papin even built a model boat in which a crude steam
engine was installed. A man named Newcomen seems to have been the
builder of the engines used in these and other early experiments. One
engine built by this experimenter was used in 1736 in a boat built by
Jonathan Hulls in England.
That great American, Benjamin Franklin, whose genius touched such a
diversity of subjects, saw, as early as 1775, that paddle-wheels were
inefficient machines, and called attention to the fact, suggesting
that an engine be devised to draw a column of water in at the bow, to
project it forcibly astern in order to give the ship headway. This
method was tried but before much success had been attained, all engines
being of such low power, the screw propeller had been perfected and
the water-jet system was dropped, although in 1782 James Rumsey built
a boat of this type on the Potomac. In France a steamboat built by the
Marquis de Jouffroy is said to have been operated in 1783. This boat
was 150 feet long and ran with some degree of success for about a year
and a half. Jouffroy has sometimes been given credit for the invention
of the steamboat. In 1788 a small vessel of strange design was driven
at four or five miles an hour by William Symington in Scotland.
This boat was built at the expense of a Scotch banker named Patrick
Miller. Two years before this John Fitch, a New Englander, built a
fairly successful steamboat that was propelled by steam-driven oars.
Symington’s experiments were continued and another boat that made seven
miles an hour was running in 1789. Still more successful was another of
Symington’s boats, the _Charlotte Dundas_, when, in 1802, she towed two
loaded vessels, totalling nearly one hundred and fifty tons at three
and one-half miles an hour for a score of miles in the Forth and Clyde
Canal. The project was abandoned, however, because of the effect of the
agitated water on the banks of the canal. The _Dundas_ was, of course,
driven by a paddle-wheel. Symington continued his efforts but was
unfortunately handicapped financially, and when Lord Bridgewater, his
next backer, died, he withdrew from the field, reduced to poverty.
[Illustration: THE _CHARLOTTE DUNDAS_
_Before the_ Clermont _was built, this boat had operated successfully
on the Forth and Clyde Canal in Scotland. The objection to her was
that she stirred the water up so that she injured the banks of the
canal._
]
But all of these were merely preparatory to the first steamboat that is
to be accepted as a thoroughly practical affair. In 1807, after several
years of travel in Europe where he inspected all the steam engines of
which he could learn, and where he experimented with a steamboat of
his own design on the Seine, Robert Fulton built the _Clermont_ in
New York. Her engine, or at least the major part of it, was built in
England and shipped to New York where it was installed in the first
definitely successful steamboat ever built. The _Clermont_ was 133 feet
long and 18 feet wide, and made the run from New York to Albany, a
distance of about one hundred and fifty miles, in thirty-two hours.
But the _Clermont_ had a greater task in the breaking down of prejudice
than ever she had in propelling herself through the smooth waters of
the Hudson on her round trips between New York and Albany.
The first steamer to make an ocean voyage was a boat named the
_Phœnix_, built in 1809. She was driven under her own power from
Hoboken, New Jersey, on the Hudson River, opposite New York City, to
Philadelphia.
So rapid was the increase in the number of steamboats that by 1814
a contributor to the columns of the _Gentlemen’s Magazine_ wrote
that “most of the principal rivers in North America are navigated
by steamboats. One of them passes 2,000 miles on the great river
Mississippi in twenty-one days, at the rate of five miles an hour
against the descending current,” which, if true, tells a dramatic story
of the rapid development of this new apparatus.
During the next decade a number of boats and small ships were built,
in the hulls of which steam engines were placed, and on the masts
of which the ever-present sails were spread to guard against what
were, evidently, the inevitable breakdowns. But another step in the
development of steamships was to be made. Up to 1818 steam-driven
ships had been used only on inland or on coastal waters. But in that
year a 380-ton full-rigged ship was built in New York City and was
equipped with paddle-wheels operated by a steam engine of seventy-two
horse power. (Some say this engine developed ninety horse power but
the measurement of the power of engines was then at best an inaccurate
science.)
After a number of trials, this ship, which was named the _Savannah_,
crossed the Atlantic in 1819 taking twenty-five days from Savannah,
Georgia, to Liverpool. The passage attracted much attention, even
though the ship had been under power for only a part of the time. This
did not prove, however, that her engines were not capable of more
extended operation. They were stopped for the excellent reason that the
fuel ran out. While this voyage created widespread interest it also
suggested to the wits of the day the necessity for a fleet of sailing
ships to accompany the steamers of the future in order to keep them
supplied with fuel.
Later, when the _Savannah_ returned to America, her engines were
removed, but she had served a useful turn, and she is accepted as the
first steam-driven ship to cross the Atlantic.
With this mark to shoot at, the progress of steamships became more
rapid, although for sixty years most of them that were intended for
deep-sea work carried masts and spars from which sails could be spread.
[Illustration: ROBERT FULTON’S _CLERMONT_
_The first completely successful steamboat ever built. Others built
before the_ Clermont _were made to go, but this ship carried passengers
for years._]
Confidence in steam grew slowly, and with reason, for the engines were
anything but reliable, safety appliances were unknown or inadequately
understood, and steam-driven vessels often broke down, or worse still,
blew up. So common was this latter happening that an advertisement that
appeared in an American paper enlarged upon it. The notice went on to
say that there had been much talk about the explosions that had taken
place on the vessel that was being advertised but that that was no
cause for alarm for “not a passenger has been injured.”
The engines were single-cylinder affairs, with their parts, more often
than not, improperly designed and imperfectly machined. Good lubricants
were unknown and proper lubrication was almost impossible, with the
result that parts wore out and shrieked dismally at their treatment.
The boilers were crudely made of iron, riveted together by hand, so
that leaking seams were, apparently, the rule, when any pressure was
generated. Pressure gauges were long in coming and the safety valves
worked so imperfectly that the engineer’s first notice of any excess
pressure was often the bursting of a steam pipe, the further widening
of a leaking seam, or, worse still, the sudden, and sometimes tragic,
eruption of the whole boiler.
Then, too, another trouble affected the boilers. They were, more often
than not, unprotected from the weather, and, their design being of
the simplest, it was difficult, when the temperature was low, to get
up enough pressure to operate the crude engines. They burned wood, at
first, and ate cords of it, so that frequent stops were necessary in
order to secure more fuel. There were no condensers, and so steamboats
that sailed on salt water often ran out of fresh water for their
boilers. Furthermore, good insulation had not been developed, and
occasionally, when the perverse machines seemed ideally happy, when the
cylinder energetically turned the awkward paddle-wheels with a will,
to the tune of creaking bearings, clanking joints, and hissing steam,
the whole vessel was thrown into a furor, the engine was stopped, the
passengers and crew were forced to turn to in an effort to save the
ship from some fire or other, started by a red-hot fire box, or a
burning ember from the funnel.
[Illustration: THE _SAVANNAH_
_The first steamship to cross the Atlantic._]
Such were the difficulties that the pioneer steamboat-men had to face,
and it speaks well for their patience and nerve that they hung on until
improvement after improvement turned those dangerous and imperfect
machines of theirs into the safe and almost flawless examples of
mechanical artistry that now propel so many thousands of hulls in every
part of the world.
In 1820 the General Steam Navigation Company was formed in England, and
this, the first steamship company, may be considered, properly enough,
a highly important influence in the development of steamships, for
the merchant ships of the world are almost exclusively in the hands of
lines of greater or lesser strength, and it is these lines that make
possible the building and operation, and consequently the perfection,
of such vessels.
In the next few years a number of steamships were built in America, in
Great Britain, and on the continent, and in 1825 a 470-ton ship—the
_Enterprise_—made a voyage from England to India, 11,450 miles, around
Good Hope, in 103 days during but 39 days of which she was under
sail exclusively. This accomplishment, together with others less
spectacular, added impetus to the growing popularity of steam, and
by 1830 Lloyd’s Register listed 100 steamers, and there were others,
particularly in America, not included in that list. The Register
published in 1841 announced that in 1839, 720 steamers were owned in
England, Scotland, and Ireland.
In the ’thirties steam navigation went ahead by leaps and bounds, and
before the ’forties came, a steam-driven vessel—the _Great Western_—had
crossed the Atlantic in 15 days, which was well under the fastest time
for sailing ships of her day, and only 2 days over the fastest crossing
ever made by a sailing ship. The _Red Jacket_, a clipper, crossed in
1854 from Sandy Hook to Rock Light in 13 days, 1 hour.
But with the rapid increase of steamships arose a condition due to the
change in economic conditions and the widening power of Great Britain
that was of the greatest value in the development of shipping and
consequently of steamships.
Steam had been applied to machinery on land no less than to the
propulsion of ships. Factories sprang up, railroads slowly spread their
tentacles over Great Britain, the continent, and the American seaboard,
and commerce consequently became more rapid. Goods were shipped in
ever-increasing amounts, and the widening field of business called men
here and there who formerly had done what overseas business they had
had through the captains of ships, or through supercargoes and agents.
[Illustration: THE _GREAT BRITAIN_
_An awkward and unsuccessful ship. She proved, however, when she was
wrecked, that for ship construction iron is stronger than wood, and
proved, too, that double bottoms, bulkheads, and bilge keels, which
were new departures when she was built, were most desirable in ships
of her size._
]
Great Britain, in addition to, or perhaps because of, her growing power
as a centre of manufacture and shipping, thrust out her long arms
to India and China, to Australia and New Zealand. The growth of the
population at home and the opportunities for colonists in America, in
Australia, and other parts of the world, resulted, almost for the first
time, in the construction of ships intended solely for the purpose of
carrying passengers and mails. A large travelling public was, for the
first time in history, beginning to appear.
In the ’forties, therefore, began a division of ships into two major
classes—carriers of freight and carriers of passengers. Sailing ships
were still greatly more numerous than steamships and, as a matter of
fact, the finer sailing ships were still considered the aristocrats of
the sea. But as steam engines were perfected, and particularly after
the screw propeller was invented by Colonel John Stevens, an American,
early in the 19th Century, and perfected by F. P. Smith, an Englishman,
and John Ericson, the Scandinavian-American, steamships increased in
power, in speed, in reliability, and consequently in popularity.
This period saw the beginning of a number of new steamship lines,
some of which, notably the Cunard and the Royal Mail, are still in
existence, although they are now operated on a scale that could never
have been imagined even by their forward-looking founders.
And now, as if for the purpose of aiding this great increase in the
efficiency and size of steamships, came another development, without
which the leviathans of to-day would be impossible, and but for which
the beautiful clipper ships which were brought so close to perfection
in the middle of the 19th Century might still be supreme upon the
seas, or at least might still be able to hold their own against their
steam-driven sisters.
It was the rolling mill, a thing prosaic enough to-day, that made
possible the great increase in the size and strength of ships. The
rolling mill and the screw propeller are still the basic improvements
that have led to the building of most of the ships on the high seas
to-day.
The first suggestion of the use of iron plates for the building of
ships was received with withering sarcasm. How could ships be built of
iron when everyone knows that iron will sink? But even in the face of
such criticism ships were built, and they were not only built—they were
launched and they floated.
[Illustration: THE _GREAT EASTERN_
_A ship that was built half a century too early. This huge vessel,
built in 1857, was designed to make the voyage from England to
Australia without refuelling. She never made the voyage to Australia,
but was used to lay the Atlantic cable. She was ahead of her time, for
engines had not developed to the point where she could be properly
propelled._
]
So far as I can learn the first boat to be built of iron was launched
in 1777 on the Foss river in Yorkshire. Later several lighters for
canal work were built, one in particular being constructed near
Birmingham in 1787. Less spectacular, but still highly important, was
the introduction of iron for special uses in wooden vessels. This later
grew into what came to be known as “composite” construction. The year
1818 is sometimes given as a definite date for the recognition of iron
as an accepted ship-building material because in that year a lighter
named the _Vulcan_ was built in the vicinity of Glasgow, but it is
known that several iron hulls were built prior to that time. An iron
steamboat named the _Aaron Manby_, after her builder, was operated for
twenty years on the Seine after being built in England in 1821. She
crossed the English Channel under her own power and made the trip from
London to Paris. Still, however, there were many doubters, and not for
more than twenty years was an iron ship of large size built. In 1843
the _Great Britain_, a ship of 3,600 tons, was built of iron, and this
vessel was a notable step in the advancing art of ship-building. She
was 322 feet long, 50 feet 6 inches broad, and was equipped to carry
260 passengers and more than a thousand tons of freight—surely no mean
vessel, even to-day.
This ship, as a matter of fact, proved a highly important affair, for
she proved many things to the wiseacres of the day. I am indebted to E.
Keble Chatterton, author of “The Mercantile Marine,” for his valuable
story of her building and her adventures.
So great and so unusual was this ship that, according to Mr.
Chatterton, no contractor could be found who was willing to construct
her. Consequently, the Great Western Steamship Company constructed her
itself.
She turned out, says Mr. Chatterton, to be “an awkward, ill-fated
monstrosity,” but despite the fact that she did not prove that the
combination of screw propeller and iron construction were successful,
she did prove, after she ran ashore on the coast of Ireland, where
she remained for eleven months exposed to the weather, before she was
refloated, that an iron hull could withstand far more strenuous strains
than any wooden hull could hold up under.
This ship, furthermore, was divided into watertight compartments
and was equipped with bilge keels, which are accepted to-day as an
excellent method for lessening a ship’s rolling.
By the time the American Civil War broke out in 1861, steam had made
such definite strides that there were few to question its supremacy
over sail.
The navies of both the North and the South were, except for a few
out-of-date ships, exclusively steam driven. Then, in 1862, the
Cunard Line built the _Scotia_, a 3,300-ton iron steamer, driven by
paddle-wheels. She had seven watertight compartments and a double
bottom, the value of these having been proved by the unfortunate _Great
Britain_, and she crossed the Atlantic in eight days and twenty-two
hours—a record not to be ignored even to-day with the records of the
_Mauretania_ and the _Leviathan_ before us. Many ships on transatlantic
routes to-day cannot equal that record, and for the first time the
outstanding records of the fast sailing ships were finally and
completely outclassed.
But before the _Scotia_ slid from her ways the _Great Eastern_ was
launched. So great was she and so unusual that she created a furor in
the shipping world that even yet has not entirely subsided.
The idea of building so great a ship originated because of the desire
to carry a large passenger list and a great cargo from England to
Australia without having to coal on the way. This desire led to the
designing of a ship of truly huge proportions. She was driven both
by paddle-wheels and by a screw propeller, and was 679 feet 6 inches
long, 82 feet 8 inches beam, and her tonnage was 18,900—dimensions that
were not surpassed until 1905 when the White Star Line launched the
_Baltic_. She was under construction for four years, being launched in
1858.
So huge was the _Great Eastern_ that her engines, which were of only
3,000 horse power, were inadequate, and she never proved to be a real
success, financially or mechanically, although her hull proved to be
staunch enough, despite the little past experience her designers and
her builders could profit by in her construction.
This great ship was equipped with six masts, each capable of carrying
sail, five funnels, two paddle-wheels, and a propeller. She never
voyaged to Australia, but she did cross the Atlantic, and from 1865 to
1873 she was used for laying the first Atlantic cable. In 1888 she was
beached and broken up. She, however, was ahead of her day. Engines had
not developed to the point where ships of her size could be properly
powered, and she merely stands for the courage and inventiveness of the
mid-Victorian ship-builders who dared to undertake so vast and so new a
task.
With the exception of the _Great Eastern_, however, ships increased
only gradually in size, and their increases in speed were approximately
parallel to their growing tonnage. The _Great Eastern_ was an
attempt—an unsuccessful attempt—to leap ahead half a century. But the
semi-failure of this ship did not retard the growth of ships. Perhaps,
even, it aided that growth.
And now again a new development puts in its appearance in the world
of ships—a less spectacular one than the introduction of steam,
less spectacular even than the introduction of iron, but important,
nevertheless. In the ’seventies steel was first introduced as a serious
competitor to iron for the construction of ships. Its greater strength
and its comparative lightness were its principle claims to superiority,
but so important are those that while the Allan liner _Buenos Ayrean_,
launched in 1879, was the first steel sea-going ship, to-day every
merchant ship (with exceptions hardly worthy of mention) is built of
steel.
About this same time the White Star Line organized its transatlantic
service, and in 1870 a 420-foot liner (carrying sails in addition to
her engines, as was still the rule) was launched and put into service
in the North Atlantic. The White Star Line had previously owned a
fleet of clipper ships, but when trade between Britain and the United
States increased so enormously and the trade became profitable the
White Star owners decided to enter it. This first White Star liner,
the _Oceanic_, may, perhaps, be called the first of the transatlantic
greyhound fleet, for in her, for the first time, there were really
great concessions made with the comfort of the passengers in mind, and
from her time until to-day new and improved liners have been launched
in ever-increasing numbers. In 1881 the Cunarder _Servia_, the greatest
of her kind save only the _Great Eastern_, was put in service. This
515-foot, 7,300-ton ship was a marvel of mechanical perfection in her
day and lowered the transatlantic record to seven days, one hour, and
thirty-eight minutes.
[Illustration: THE STEAMSHIP _OCEANIC_
_This ship may be said to be the first of the transatlantic liners,
for in her, for the first time, great concessions were made for the
comfort and convenience of the passengers._
]
One of the greatest reasons for the increased speed of these new ships
was the introduction of the compound engine. It was in 1854 that John
Elder, a Briton, adapted the compound engine to marine uses. This
improvement, by utilizing more thoroughly the expansive power of
steam, increased at one stroke the power developed by engines without
increasing the supply of steam. The principle of the compound engine
is simple. Steam escaping from the single cylinder of a simple steam
engine still retains a part of its pressure—that is, a part of its
power to expand. As it is largely the expansion of the steam that
forces the piston from one end of the cylinder to the other this means
that a part of the useful force of the steam is wasted in the average
single-cylinder engine. A compound engine, however, utilizes this power
by leading the steam from the exhaust port of the first cylinder to the
inlet port of another and much larger cylinder. Here the steam, now
occupying more space, is used again to operate another piston connected
to the same crankshaft. There is often still a third cylinder, and
in some cases a fourth, in each of which some of the remaining power
of the steam is utilized. The gradual increase of steam pressure in
the better boilers that were being built also aided the development
of these compound engines. In 1854, for instance, 42 pounds pressure
per square inch was seldom exceeded, while in 1882, 125 pounds was a
pressure occasionally reached.
With the development of compound engines and boilers capable of more
pressure the screw propeller became even more efficient, and gradually
the paddle-wheel disappeared from the deep sea. Furthermore, the
compound engine, by its more economic power, made it possible for the
steamer to compete with the sailing ship in the carrying of cargoes,
even on long voyages, and so began the rapid growth of the cargo
steamers that now have practically driven sailing ships from the sea.
And now comes a division of this subject of steamships—a division that
later led to subdivision after subdivision, but which I shall treat in
two major parts: steamers equipped to carry passengers, and steamers
not so equipped.
The passenger steamers have gone through an amazingly rapid growth
since 1888, and have developed along many lines, but it was in that
year that the first twinscrew steamers of large dimensions were put
in service. The Inman liners _City of New York_ and _City of Paris_
were the first large ships to be so equipped. This double system of
propulsion eliminated the necessity for sails on liners, and from that
time on the masts of ocean liners have deteriorated to mere supports
for derricks and signal spars. By this time, too, all the larger
steamers were being fitted with steam steering gears. This important
(and now almost universal) appliance was first installed on the Inman
liner _City of Brussels_ in 1869.
And now, in the late ’eighties and early ’nineties, came the
forerunners of the long list of ships that have grown into the finest
fleet of express steamers to be found on any of the Seven Seas. Great
Britain and the United States were primarily interested in this trade,
but the other nations of northern Europe also had a part to play, and
even Austria-Hungary and Italy entered the competition. But the United
States gradually grew to depend more and more on the ships of other
nations until finally the American Line with its handful of ships was
almost the only serious American contender for the profits of the
rapidly growing passenger business that had developed.
But into this furious competition a new nation thrust itself. Germany
had become a power—a forceful, dominating power—as was proved in the
Franco-Prussian War in 1870 and 1871. And she saw that her “place in
the sun” could only be gained by venturing on the sea. Government aid
to shipping and an enthusiastic demand on the part of the people for
increased tonnage resulted in the building up of a merchant marine that
for size and speed, for energy and enterprise became, shortly, second
to none but Britain, and in some aspects exceeded even that great sea
power.
Britain, it is interesting to note, had built up a fleet of merchant
ships that was predominantly composed of freight ships. Germany, on the
other hand, built up a fleet dominated in numbers by her liners.
Of the dozen or so principal German lines that dominated her entire
merchant marine, the Hamburg-American Line was the most important,
and the North German Lloyd was second. At the outbreak of the World
War the Hamburg-American Line made up about twenty per cent. of the
entire German mercantile fleet, and totalled nearly five hundred ships
of about eleven hundred thousand tons. This great organization in
the sixty-seven years of its existence had become the most powerful
steamship line in the world. Nor was the North German Lloyd far behind.
In 1914 its tonnage had reached the huge total of 700,000.
These two lines, and eight or nine others, all of great size,
controlled the great part of Germany’s tonnage, and because of
subsidies, of preferred rates given them by German railroads, of the
practical control of German and Russian emigration, aided, or at least
not opposed, by the Government, this huge fleet captured a very large
percentage of the European emigrant travel and much of the world’s fast
freight. So vast was the Hamburg-American Line that their ships called
regularly at literally hundreds of the world’s principal ports and
operated seventy-five separate services.
While the Hamburg-American Line was organized in 1847 and the North
German Lloyd in 1857, their startling growth did not really begin until
after the Franco-Prussian War, and even then for nearly twenty years
their development was not surprising.
But in the twenty-four years following 1890 the German lines built fast
and furiously. As late as the ’eighties they were buying British-built
ships or were having their ships built in British yards, but then
came the development of German ship-building and before many years
had passed greater and faster liners than any Britain had built came
sliding from their German ways into German waters.
[Illustration: THE _DEUTSCHLAND_
_Formerly the holder of the transatlantic record._]
But Britain’s claim to the mastery of the seas was not one based
solely on her matchless fleet, and each time a German ship was built
to outstrip the British flyers, a British yard was set to work on
still a faster ship, with the result that despite the _Kaiser Wilhelm
der Grosse_, the _Deutschland_, the _Kaiserin Auguste Victoria_, the
_Kaiser Wilhelm II_, and many others, the British were able to answer
with ships still faster until the _Lusitania_ and _Mauretania_ were
built and the Germans called off their race for speed and started
the building of such monster ships as have not yet been surpassed.
The three greatest ships in the world to-day—the _Majestic_, the
_Leviathan_, and the _Berengaria_—are all German built.
But Germany overreached herself and fell, carrying with her in her
collapse all her ambitions upon the sea, for the end of the World War
saw her reduced to an inconsequential sea power—and reduced to such
a state largely because of her illegitimate use of another kind of
ship—the submarine.
While the race with Germany was at its height, however, Britain was
never for a moment out of the running. The _Olympic_, the _Titanic_,
the _Justicia_, the _Britannic_, the _Lusitania_, the _Mauretania_,
and many others came from her ways. And although the _Titanic_ ended
her first voyage when she sank after a collision with an iceberg, and
the _Justicia_, the _Britannic_, and the murdered _Lusitania_ were
casualties of the war, still Britain has giant ships, for the Germans,
to pay partially for their submarine campaign, were forced to give
over the most important section of their merchant fleet to the Allies,
and Britain, properly enough, for her losses were far the greatest,
rightfully secured the lion’s share.
These giant ships, however, and their smaller sisters in the passenger
trade are only a part of recent shipping developments. Once the
compound engine had been perfected, steam, as I have said, began its
competition with sail in the carrying of freight. Already the major
portion of passenger travel had been taken over by steam, but until
steam had become a more reliable and a less expensive power, sailing
ships contended successfully for freight—particularly on long voyages.
In the ’eighties, however, or perhaps a little earlier, steam began its
irresistible competition for freight and in thirty years sailing ships
had come to play a small and comparatively unimportant part in the
world’s affairs. Still there remain many sailing ships, particularly in
the fishing fleets and the coasting trade, and occasionally, but with
less and less frequency, one sees a fine old square-rigged ship driving
through the great green swells of mid-ocean, but they are few—and
for the person who is drawn by the drama and adventure of the sea,
painfully few.
In the ’sixties steamship tonnage was launched at about the same
rate as sail in Great Britain, but early in the ’seventies the rapid
increase of steamship tonnage began, and sailing ships correspondingly
declined. Sailing ships were built, of course, and are still being
built, and in Britain their average size even continued to increase
until 1892, but then began to decrease in size to correspond with their
decrease in numbers.
Steamships, on the other hand, increased both in individual size and
in numbers. This increase in size had been noticeable ever since
steam came to be a recognized source of power for ships. In 1815, for
instance, steamships averaged only 80 tons. By 1830 this had grown to
102 tons; by 1860 it had risen to 473 tons; and its temporary maximum
was attained in 1882 when the average had grown to 1,442 tons. The next
few years saw a decrease, but 1890 saw the figure raised to 1,500 tons.
By that time steam had absolutely proved itself, and the day of the
supremacy of the sailing ship on the high seas had definitely passed,
and steamships had reached the point of almost infinite variety of
design. So great and so diverse are the designs of present-day ships
that Captain David W. Bone, in “The Lookoutman,” published in 1923,
expended the space of an entire volume to a discussion of them; nor
did he enter into technicalities other than those that, at least to
the sailor, lie on the surface. With this precedent to guide one I
feel that I am perhaps unduly optimistic in endeavouring to cover this
subject, even superficially, in the following two chapters; but so vast
is the subject that this book pretends to cover that each chapter could
easily be enlarged to many times its size.
CHAPTER V
THE PERFECTION OF STEAMSHIPS
Most people who have had little experience with the sea, and many who
have travelled on it, have little idea of the size of ships. Probably
this is due to the fact that we see so much mention made of the world’s
greatest ships, with their tonnage and their other measurements, and
so little of the thousands of ships that carry the bulk of the world’s
passengers and practically all of the world’s freight. Our newspapers
refer frequently to ships of thirty or forty or fifty thousand
tons, but rarely do they mention the ship of 3,500 or 4,000 tons.
Consequently, with such frequent mention of the giant liners before us,
our tendency is, naturally enough, to imagine that they are typical
of the sea, which is a very great error. In the transatlantic service
there were, in 1924, but ten steamships of more than twenty-five
thousand tons. On other routes none of them exists. It is as if we
thought all buildings small because they do not equal in size St.
Peter’s in Rome, or Versailles in France, or the Woolworth Building
in New York, for the greatest steamers are as much greater than the
average as St. Peter’s is larger than the little parish church, as
Versailles is greater than the average home of a country gentleman,
as the Woolworth Building is greater than the countless thousands of
office buildings that house the great majority of business offices.
Yet these great ships, trifling in number though they are, are properly
of interest to stay-at-homes and travellers alike, to landlubbers and
sailors. The thing to remember, however, is that from the viewpoint
of world commerce they are comparatively unimportant, and that the
world could much more readily carry on its great affairs without these
gigantic sea-borne palaces than without the smaller passenger ships and
the countless thousands of “tramps” that roll and pitch and plod across
the Seven Seas and make possible the commerce upon which the modern
world depends.
[Illustration: THE _MAJESTIC_
_Formerly the German liner_ Bismarck. _It is now the property of the
White Star Line._]
It is important, therefore, to bear in mind what measurements
constitute greatness in size, and what measurements are average. Such
ships as the _Majestic_, the _Berengaria_, and the _Leviathan_ are
truly gigantic, and probably for many years to come they will not be
greatly surpassed in size. So large are these three ships that they can
enter only a few of the world’s great harbours, they cannot be tied up
at more than a handful of piers, they cannot be docked at more than a
few of the world’s great dry docks. There are a few other liners that
approach these great ships in size, but not many. The _Aquitania_,
the _Mauretania_, the _Olympic_, the _Homeric_, the _Paris_, the
_George Washington_, the _Belgenland_, the torpedoed _Lusitania_ and
_Justicia_, the _Titanic_ which was wrecked on an iceberg—all these
ships belong to the same race of giants, but there are no others,
although, of course, there are other ships that bridge the gap between
the wallowing tramps and these that I have mentioned.
For the present, however, I shall pass by the smaller ships, more
important though they are, as a race, and describe, in some detail
the marvellous ships that voyage between the English Channel on the
East and New York on the West, for it is in this service that all the
greatest ships are to be found.
Modern marine engineering is quite up to designing, constructing,
and operating ships greater than any that now exist, but should much
larger ships be built little would be gained. New dry docks would have
to be built, new piers constructed, deeper channels dredged, all at
huge expense, and the building of such ships would in itself call for
disbursements so vast that the companies operating them would find it
difficult or perhaps impossible to make them pay. Consequently, I shall
content myself with describing what now exists, feeling certain that
any developments within many years will not so much surpass these great
ships already afloat as to make my remarks entirely out of date.
As an example, therefore, let us take the _Majestic_, which, despite
some argument on the part of those who put the _Leviathan_ in
commission, is slightly larger than any of the others I have named.
To say that she is 956 feet long and 100 feet broad means little.
It may, perhaps, mean more to say that it would not be advisable
to anchor more than four such ships in a harbour a mile square and
forty-five feet deep. But even that, perhaps, may leave one wondering.
[Illustration: THE _LEVIATHAN_
_Formerly the German liner_ Vaterland, _and taken over by the United
States during the World War._]
An automobile can turn around without difficulty in a street fifty feet
wide. If the _Majestic_, however, found it necessary to turn around
while under way without resorting to anything more than the use of her
steering wheel she would require a channel more than a mile wide. In a
much more restricted space than that, the utmost skill in reversing her
propellers or the use of tugboats would be essential.
It is trite to remark that such a ship is a floating city, yet she
actually is. Her passengers and crew together, at the height of the
tourist season, number more than 5,000, but no town in the world of
that population has such luxuries or comforts, such machinery or such
artistic interiors as this great ship carries as its equipment.
In order to give an adequate idea of what this vast steel structure
contains and is propelled by it will be necessary to divide it into two
major parts—that is, the hull and the machinery, and the accommodations
for passengers.
First let us take the hull and the machinery.
The hull of a ship is its prime necessity. Without a hull there can be
no ship, just as without a foundation and without walls there can be
no house, for a ship’s hull combines her foundation and her walls. In
order, then, to understand the greatness of the gigantic liners we are
discussing the first thing to understand is the hull.
All hulls of great size are built of steel. First a great steel
framework is constructed, then it is covered with sheets of steel and
many steel decks are built, and steel bulkheads are installed in order
to give still greater strength.
In building such a ship the first thing necessary is a great yard large
enough to accommodate the ship, and many shops in which parts of the
ship are to be made or assembled. There is an incline constructed on
which the ship will be built, and the incline is so arranged as to
slant down to the water’s edge. The ship’s frame is first put up, and
the first part of the frame is the keel. The keel is a long and very
heavy backbone that runs the entire length of the ship and is the
centre of the bottom. To the ends of this are fastened the great steel
frames that rise high above the keel to form the bow and the stern—that
is, the front and back of the ship. At narrow intervals between these
two towering ends are erected the “frames” or ribs, which, in order
to make them strong, are built up like great steel girders, running
from the keel along the bottom and up the sides. When all of these
are riveted in place a very good idea of the shape of the ship can be
secured. Amidships—that is, halfway from the bow to the stern—these
frames are very much like a broad and flat-bottomed U, but as they
approach the bow they are more and more like huge Vs. Toward the stern
they take more unusual shapes, somewhat like a V except that a little
above the bottom on each side they curve sharply out and back in a
semi-circle in order to go around the shafts on which the propellers
are carried.
[Illustration: THE _BERENGARIA_
_A former German ship now belonging to the Cunard Line._]
Thousands of men work on these huge steel structures, and a “skin” of
steel is riveted on the outside of these frames. In the bottom and
extending a little way up the sides a second “skin” is placed on the
inside of the ribs. These two coverings make up the “double bottom.”
Girders for decks are put in place, great rooms are left for boilers,
engines, and other equipment, the shafts are installed, the engines
and boilers are bolted in place, and finally, when the ship is getting
fairly well along toward completion, she is launched. That is, the
great timbers that have been holding her in place are sawed in two,
and the great vessel slides down the ways into the water.
After she is launched the infinite number of tasks still untouched are
attended to, and finally she is completed—a marvellously complicated
and wonderfully perfect fabrication, into which almost every industry
in a nation has put something.
These hulls are huge and are tremendously strong, yet so great are the
dimensions of the ship, so great her weight, that should her giant
hull touch a rock the heavy steel plates would curl up like paper,
the frames would bend like tin, and driven head on against a cliff or
an iceberg the great structure would crumple its bow, twist its great
frames, and might become a total wreck.
Modern ships that are propelled by machinery use two principal methods
of propulsion, paddle-wheels and screw propellers. Paddle-wheels bear a
very close resemblance to mill-wheels. They are merely great circular
structures with paddles attached at intervals around the circumference
which, when the wheel is partly submerged and set to turning, strike
the water one after the other and so propel the hull to which the wheel
is attached. These wheels are sometimes arranged amidships, one on each
side, and sometimes but one wheel is used (in this case it is much
broader) at the stern, or rear end of the vessel. This equipment is not
satisfactory for ocean-going ships, for heavy seas sometimes crush the
paddle-wheels. River steamers, however, and particularly shallow-draft
river steamers, find this means of propulsion satisfactory.
The other method of propelling ships—that is, by screw propellers—is
more important, and for use at sea is practically universal.
A screw propeller operates on exactly the same principle as an electric
fan, and ships may have one or more of these propellers, which are
fastened to shafts projecting through the hull beneath the water at the
stern. If the ship were tied up strongly to a pier, so that it could
not move, and the propellers were turned by the engines, the result
would be to set in motion a column of water away from the propeller
just as an electric fan sets in motion a column of air. The resistance
of the water is so great, however, that once the lines that secured the
ship to the pier were thrown off, the propellers would set the ship in
motion, and the propellers would progress through the water in somewhat
the same way that an ordinary wood screw advances through wood when a
screwdriver is properly applied.
The _Majestic_ is propelled by four of these propellers, two on each
side astern. Turning at 180 revolutions a minute they utilize 80,000
horse power. One might think that propellers would waste much of this
power—that is, that they might turn in the water without pushing the
ship forward very much, as a wood screw sometimes turns round and round
without getting a grip on the wood into which the carpenter wishes to
drive it. This is true to some extent when a ship is first starting,
but once the ship is in motion a properly designed propeller will be 95
per cent. efficient—that is, it will go as far in 100 revolutions as if
it ran without any “slip” for 95 revolutions.
A propeller is measured by its diameter, just as an electric fan
is measured. A propeller ten feet in diameter is one whose blades,
measured from the centre of the shaft, are five feet long. Another and
equally important measurement is the “pitch”—that is, the distance
forward the propeller would travel in one revolution if it were
running through a solid. Take a wood screw and look at it carefully.
You will find that the threads run around it in a spiral. Mark a spot
on one thread, and then trace the thread around the screw until it
again reaches the side you marked. It will have advanced toward the
point, and the direct distance between the place you first marked and
the place you have arrived at would be the “pitch.” As a propeller
blade travels in a path similar to the thread of a screw, its pitch is
similarly measured.
The four propellers on the _Majestic_ are built of manganese bronze
and each carries four blades. They are 16½ feet in diameter, and their
pitch is 14 feet 11½ inches.
Two of these propellers turn one way and the two on the opposite side
turn the other. This is to offset the tendency to swing the ship out of
its line of travel, which would be very apparent if all the propellers
turned one way. Ships with one propeller feel this action very plainly.
Such huge propellers as the _Majestic_ carries, and such great power
as her engines develop, necessitate the use of heavy shafts, which
are the great round steel rods that connect the engines and the
propellers. These shafts run from the centres of the propellers through
the ship’s stern to the engine room, and in the _Majestic_ are 16½
inches in diameter. Where they enter the ship there must be a very
carefully built “stuffing box” and bearing which will prevent the
entrance of water. Once each shaft has passed this bearing it runs for
a considerable distance through a “shaft tunnel,” which is a long,
low, narrow compartment through which men may walk in order to inspect
the shaft and see that the bearings, which are spaced at intervals
along the “tunnel,” are properly oiled. Finally the shaft reaches
an apparatus called the “thrust block.” This is a simple but highly
important arrangement. To explain its use it is necessary to go back to
the propeller.
When the engines are in motion and the propellers are being turned they
develop a great “push” against the water, and it is this push that
makes the ship move. If, however, something were not done to take up
the push, the propellers would slide the shafts lengthwise through
their bearings, and the end of the shaft attached to the engine would
press so hard against it that it would push the engine from its base,
or at least would wear the bearings out, and the engine would be
damaged.
In order to receive this “thrust,” as it is called, the “thrust blocks”
are installed. There are several designs, but they all accomplish the
same task in a similar fashion.
[Illustration: THE _MAURETANIA_
_A British liner of the Cunard Line._]
The shaft is equipped with a series of “collars.” These collars, which
are enlargements of the shaft, are so placed that they fit between a
series of surfaces attached firmly to a heavy fixed base, and when the
propeller thrust tends to slide the shaft lengthwise, the “collars”
press against these interposed plates which prevent the shaft from
moving laterally without preventing its rotation. Naturally enough
these thrust blocks must be lavishly oiled, for the friction between
the turning collars and the fixed thrust blocks would otherwise soon
wear both the collars and the blocks. When the propeller is reversed
the thrust is against the other side of the collars, and so the engine
is relieved of all duties save those of turning the shaft.
When the shafts have passed these thrust blocks they have entered the
engine room, which on these great liners is a place far different from
the engine rooms on the smaller ships that are to be found the world
over.
Perhaps the first thing that would strike an inexperienced visitor
in the engine rooms—for there are three—of the _Majestic_ is their
size and the absence of moving parts. Aside from the hum of turbines
and generators and the vibrations that are a part of every power
plant, there is little to tell a person unacquainted with such power
installations that the engines are going. Great turbine cases are
bolted strongly to their bases, but the rapidly moving vanes are
entirely hidden from view. A few men wander here and there, some
watching indicators, others testing bearings, still others polishing
the already shining machinery, but there are no turning shafts, no
moving wheels in view. As a matter of fact, most of the visible motion
and most of the sounds as well come from a lot of little machines whose
duties are important, of course, but are not directly connected with
that one great task of spinning the propellers at 180 revolutions every
minute day and night while the miles are being rapidly put behind the
great ship as she speeds along her route across the Atlantic.
So complicated and so huge is this collection of machinery that it may,
perhaps, be better to pass by the engine rooms for the moment and go to
the stokehold, or boiler room, in order to get an adequate idea of how
the machinery is operated.
[Illustration: THE _BELGENLAND_
_Belonging to the Red Star Line._]
In smaller ships all the boilers can often be placed so that there
will be but one stokehold—that is, one compartment from which all the
boilers are fed. Ships of the size of the _Majestic_ and _Leviathan_,
however, are equipped with so many boilers that they cannot all
be grouped about one stokehold. The _Majestic_, for instance, has
forty-eight separate boilers which, if they burned coal, would require
12 chief stokers, 197 firemen, and 168 coal passers in order to keep
the fires burning properly. The most modern of these giant ships,
however, do not burn coal. Oil is led to the boilers in pipes and, on
the _Majestic_, but eighty-four men are required to get the results
that it would take 377 men to get with coal. These 84 men are divided
into three watches, so that the fires are kept burning and the steam
is generated with but 16 fire-room attendants and 12 cleaners at any
one time. They work for four hours, and are then off eight, coming to
the fire room every twelve hours for their four-hour watch.
Each of these boilers has five burners, to which the oil is forced
under pressure. Each fire-room attendant (they can hardly be called
stokers) has three boilers, or fifteen burners, and the steam pressure
in the boilers can be carried at 240 pounds pressure per square inch.
In ships burning coal the stokehold is a grimy place, with yawning
openings in the sides leading to the black bunkers where the coal is
stored. A few dust-covered electric lights glow dimly in the murky
dusk, and when a furnace door is opened the glare of the fiercely
burning fires lights up the begrimed and sweating stokers, who seem
almost like unearthly creatures toiling in an over-heated Inferno.
But the great oil-burning liners have a different picture to present.
The fire room is almost as neat and clean as is the engine room. The
firemen do not seem to be overworked, as they step from one to another
of their burners, looking through a series of peepholes to see that the
oil is burning properly. Smudges of dirt are not uncommon on a man’s
face and hands, perhaps, but the begrimed Vulcans of the coal-burning
ships have no counterpart on the oil burners, and the coal dust and the
dingy stokehold is a far cry.
The _Majestic’s_ boilers do not depend upon natural draft, but a set of
four powerful fans draws the warm air from the turbine rooms through
two great air shafts about seven feet in diameter and forces it under
pressure beneath the boilers. These great air shafts total 1,000 feet
in length, and a part of the air they supply is led to each boiler. In
addition to this supply for the furnaces there is a separate supply
of fresh air for the crew of the boiler rooms. The boilers are all
separate and any one or any series can be completely shut off from the
others in case of necessity.
The steam that is generated in the forty-eight boilers of the
_Majestic_ is led by a complicated system of pipes to the turbines,
which drive the propellers.
Formerly steamships universally used the reciprocating engine, but
gradually the turbine is being adopted, until now the fastest ships are
universally equipped with this later design.
A reciprocating engine is one that has one or more cylinders in
which pistons are pushed back and forth by the steam which enters
alternately one end of the cylinder and then the other, thus turning
the shaft. This piston, running first up and then down, is joined to a
“connecting rod” which in turn is connected to a “crank shaft” which is
a continuation of the propeller shaft. As the piston moves up and down,
one end of the connecting rod moves with it, for it is fastened by a
hinge to the lower end of the piston rod which runs out of the bottom
of the cylinder. The other end of the connecting rod is attached to
the crank shaft which has a section of itself carried out to one side
just as the shaft on which a grindstone is mounted is bent at right
angles and attached to the handle. As the piston goes up, carrying the
connecting rod with it, the off-centre section of the crank shaft is
carried up also, as the handle of a grindstone is carried up when the
operator begins to turn the wheel. When the piston has reached the
top of its stroke the connecting rod has pulled the crank until it is
pointing straight up. Then the steam pushes the piston down and the
piston pushes the connecting rod, which in turn pushes the crank, so
that the shaft is turned, just as you might turn a grindstone by hand,
your arm representing the piston rod and connecting rod, and the handle
representing the crank shaft.
The turbine, however, is a very different machine. There are no
pistons and no other parts similar to those of the reciprocating
engine. Instead there is a shaft on which is mounted a great steel
wheel. Around the edge of this wheel are mounted thousands of little
vanes, and the whole wheel works on the same principle as a windmill.
A windmill carries a comparatively small number of vanes arranged
somewhat as the blades of an electric fan or a propeller are arranged.
When the wind blows against these “vanes” the wheel revolves. Now a
turbine is a very highly developed example of this same principle, and
the steam is led to it through pipes and directed against these vanes,
which are small but are very numerous. The result is that this windmill
type of engine revolves at a very rapid rate. One can get some idea of
these turbines when he learns that the eight turbines of the _Majestic_
contain a total of 900,000 vanes.
Turbines, however, have two major failings: First, they cannot be
reversed—that is, a turbine can turn in only one direction—and second,
they are most efficient when they operate at high speed. In order to
use turbines on ships, then, it is necessary to have one turbine on
each propeller shaft to drive the propeller ahead, and another turbine
with which to drive it astern. Consequently, the _Majestic_ has eight
turbines—two to each propeller shaft.
The second difficulty is harder to overcome. Propellers are most
efficient when they are run at comparatively slow speeds. Those on the
_Majestic_ are no exceptions to this rule, and at full speed are run
at about one hundred eighty revolutions per minute. Turbines, however,
are high-speed machines, capable generally of thousands of revolutions
per minute. In order to utilize the power generated by the rapidly
revolving turbine and transpose it into useful energy for use by the
slowly turning propeller there must be some sort of reduction gear.
The United States Navy has designed a number of its newest ships
with an electric drive in which the high-speed turbines are used to
generate electricity which is used to turn slow motors that drive the
propellers. Another method is a reducing gear, similar in the work it
does to the gears used in automobiles for “low” and “intermediate,”
but necessarily very much greater in size. In the _Majestic_ the
arrangement is of the latter type—that is, the turbines are operated
at high speeds, and through a series of gears the propeller shafts are
turned at slower speeds.
[Illustration: THE _GEORGE WASHINGTON_
_An American liner, formerly a German ship. She was taken over by the
United States during the World War._]
Necessarily, in operating ships of such size as these we are
discussing, any wasteful methods would be very expensive. It is open
to some question as to whether these huge ships are worth what they
cost, for the margin of profit they show is very small, and the cost of
operation and repair is huge.
In order, therefore, to make them pay it is vitally necessary to
eliminate waste. For instance, if the turbines were each operated by
steam direct from the boilers, and this steam were sent direct to the
condensers after having passed only once across the vanes of a turbine,
it would take very nearly four times as much steam, and four times as
much fuel, to operate the _Majestic_ as it does with the system that is
installed. Only part of the power of the steam is used up in the first
turbine through which it passes, so when the ship is at full speed,
the steam, still under comparatively high pressure, although much less
than when it left the boilers, is led from the first turbine, which
is called the high-pressure turbine, to a second turbine, called the
intermediate. Here again it fans the vanes and the turbine revolves,
but once more the steam is used, for part of its power still remains.
This time, however, the pressure is much less, and the steam has
expanded until it takes up more space than it took up in the boiler,
just as the air in the rubber bladder of a football would take up more
room if the leather cover which keeps it compressed were removed, or
the inner tube of an automobile tire would expand if the “shoe” or
“casing” were not around it. This expanded steam is divided, when it
comes from the intermediate turbine, and is led to the two outside
turbines—that is, the turbines that operate the port, or left hand, and
the starboard, or right-hand, propellers. These are the low-pressure
turbines, and when the steam has passed through these turbines, causing
them to turn, its work is done and it is led to the condenser.
Condensers are a vital part of every sea-going steamship’s equipment.
Locomotives do not need them, and stationary engines ashore do not,
for they can easily replenish their supply of water, but to a ship
crossing the ocean, fresh water is a vital necessity, for its boilers
no less than for its passengers and crew, and should the used steam
be allowed to escape, the ship, no matter how great her water tanks
might be, would probably run out of fresh water long before her voyage
could be completed, if it happened to be at all long. If, in such a
predicament, she should attempt to use salt water there would very soon
be a heavy covering of salt inside her boilers and her steaming ability
would become limited, and, furthermore, the boilers would very shortly
require a thorough cleaning.
In order to prevent this difficulty from arising, all salt-water
steamships and many that are used on fresh water, for lakes and rivers
often contain sediment that would foul the boilers, use condensers.
These are water-cooled systems of pipes through which the steam is led
after its final release from the engines. The steam, which of course is
still hot, is led through these carefully cooled pipes, and in coming
into contact with the cool walls of the pipes is condensed, just as
the moisture in your warm breath is condensed in the winter when you
breathe against a cold window pane. This condensation turns the steam
into water once more, and it is led back to the tanks where it is held
in readiness to be sent again to the boilers.
The auxiliary machinery of such a ship as the _Majestic_ or the
_Leviathan_ is even more complicated than, although not so powerful as,
the engines which drive the propellers.
I have mentioned the ventilation system of the stokehold, but that is
only a small part of the system that ventilates every nook and cranny
in the whole huge structure. There are refrigerators, which are capable
of keeping in cold storage large quantities of perishable products.
There is even, on the _Majestic_, a second refrigerating plant intended
to cool a cargo hold in order that perishable freight may be carried.
Another important auxiliary machine on the _Majestic_ is a Diesel
engine for generating electricity in case something might put the main
generating plant out of commission. With this emergency plant, power
is assured for lighting and for lowering the lifeboats.
In order to handle so great a ship when the engines are necessarily at
such a distance from the “bridge” where the officer in command has his
post when the ship is under way, it is necessary to have some means of
communication between the bridge and the engine room.
A person driving an automobile is not only in command of the steering
of the machine, but is also in direct charge of the engine, the gears,
and the brakes. Not so the captain of a ship. Neither he, nor any of
the men with him on the bridge, has any means of starting or stopping
the engines. There is a man at the steering wheel, of course, but the
men who start and stop and reverse the engines are far below the bridge
and far aft, hidden away beyond where any shouted orders could possibly
reach them. Yet the engines must be operated as the captain commands,
for he is the man who can see what must be done—he is the one upon
whose judgment the safety of the ship depends.
In order to bridge the gap between the bridge and the engine room an
apparatus called the “engine-room telegraph” has been perfected. There
are a number of designs, but all of them by simple mechanical means
permit the officer on the bridge to operate a handle and set a hand on
a dial placed in the engine room so that it signifies the officer’s
orders.
[Illustration: THE _HOMERIC_
_A British liner belonging to the White Star Line._]
All this that I have so far described, and much more that I have not
even hinted at, is put into a ship merely in order that passengers
and freight can be quickly and safely carried over the sea. In these
days of luxury, however, passengers demand more than speed and safety.
Comfort is, from the viewpoint of steamship lines vying with each other
for passengers, a vital necessity, and competition has added comfort
to comfort until ships have become lavish and luxurious, and such
service as can be had only at the finest hotels and watering places
ashore are commonplaces of the sea. Every luxury that lies within the
bounds of reason—and, to be truthful, a few that seem to lie just
across the border—are to be found on the greatest ships of to-day.
Does one wish a suite of rooms with private parlours and solariums,
numerous bedrooms and private baths? It is to be had (by the payment of
a price) and one is king of truly regal quarters for a passage. Does
one wish to bathe in such a bath as Caracalla would have marvelled at?
One has merely to go below, put on a bathing suit in the privacy of a
perfectly appointed dressing room, and plunge into the crystal water of
a pool that would have been the envy of any luxury-loving Roman—a pool
so great that in it the smallest of Columbus’s ships could comfortably
ride at anchor. Does one wish to entertain one’s friends at dinner?
A word to the steward, and when the party is led to its table, there
it finds all the brilliance of snowy napery and polished silver, of
sparkling crystal and fragrant flowers, with specially printed menus
prepared for the event. Has one “snapped” some scenes about the deck
with his camera? He has merely to take the film to the dark room and
develop it himself or have the task performed by an attendant. A doctor
is on duty. An orchestra is carried in order that music may be had for
dances, for entertainments, and during meals. A library, with great
thick rugs, with easy chairs, and cases filled with books beckons to
one when other pastimes pall. A smoking room where card games can be
played is a popular centre. A palm garden and an à la carte restaurant
are to be found in addition to the regular dining room. A gymnasium is
convenient. A nursery for small children is available. But a complete
description of such a ship is all but impossible.
These are the ships that are the perfection of the type that have
all but driven sails from the seas—that have, in the carrying of
passengers, entirely eliminated sails. Yet hardly had they reached
the point where they might comfortably settle down to profit from the
elimination of their ancient rivals, when an upstart ship—a ship whose
lineage is so limited that its entire development lies in the 20th
Century—put in its appearance and already has gained such a foothold
among steam-driven vessels that it seems not unlikely that the days of
steam upon the sea are numbered.
These new vessels are the motor ships. In fifteen years they have grown
from experimental craft to great and powerful liners capable of holding
their own against all comers. The _Aorangi_, a great liner of 23,000
tons displacement, now operating on the Pacific, and hundreds of other
motor ships of scores of types point dramatically to the end of the era
of steam.
CHAPTER VI
STEAMSHIPS OF MANY TYPES
Of the super-giant ships there were, in 1924, but ten, but as one
starts looking for smaller ships, he finds them much more numerous.
Under the British flag alone there are about two hundred ships of ten
thousand or more tons. In the entire world there are about twenty-nine
thousand steamships of five hundred tons or more.
It is this enormous fleet to which we now must turn in order that we
may continue our ever-widening story of the development of ships.
And with this vast fleet we shall include the countless thousands of
still smaller steamers that serve as many thousand masters in a great
diversity of ways. The ships to which I shall refer in this chapter are
so diverse in size, in duties, and in model that it almost seems that
the only thing they have in common is their universal ability to float
on the surface of the water.
First there are the mail liners, which differ in few things other than
size from the huge vessels I have described in Chapter V. And even
in size they are more or less comparable, as they are from twelve or
fifteen thousand tons to twenty-five thousand. As a class they are
hardly less luxurious than their greater sisters, and their speed
is only slightly less. And aside from these two things there is no
essential difference, except that they are more numerous and are less
expensive to build and to operate. And, too, they are less expensive to
travel on, which is a blessing for those of us who cannot afford to pay
the rates of the giant liners.
But other differences are few, and a description of the super-liners
is, in all details save those I have just mentioned, a description of
these other ships which travel most of the main ocean lanes, and girdle
the earth with comfortable travel routes. They cross the North Atlantic
between Europe and America. They cross diagonally from the Old World to
the wonder cities of Rio de Janeiro, Montevideo, and Buenos Ayres. They
journey through Suez on their trips to the Far East and return. They
link China and Japan with the United States and Canada, and regularly
sail from North America to South. For all their comparatively limited
numbers these ships visit many of the world’s important ports, for
they are busy—very busy—and one never sees them laid up when business
is slack, nor do they idle about port for lengthy stays. Every minute
that is possible they are on their way across the oceans, and a year
or more ahead their sailing dates are scheduled. These are the ships
that sail the great sea lanes almost as regularly as the great express
trains pass along their tracks. And these are the ships that visit
the most important ports of earth. But important though they are, we
can give them no more time. Already we have told about their greater
counterparts and, too, have said that there are no vital differences
save size.
But dropping down the scale of size, which is the only yardstick that
is ready at hand by which to classify these ships, we come to a more
numerous category. Captain Bone, in “The Lookoutman,” lists these as
“intermediate liners.” I have vainly endeavoured to find a better way
to list them, but I always come back to his method, and so, I suppose,
must use it.
The intermediate liners, ranging, perhaps, from five thousand tons
to twelve or even fifteen, are of many types and are engaged in the
performance of many tasks. They visit the lesser ports and the greater
with a fine disregard for anything save the business on which they
are engaged. You will find them stopping at Capetown on their way to
Australia from Liverpool. You will find them at Central American ports
loading bananas. They visit Guayaquil, Havana, Piræus, and Sydney, and
lord it over the smaller craft that fill those busy harbours. They fill
a less pretentious place in Liverpool and New York, and now and then
they drop their anchors in tiny mid-pacific ports, or manage, with
difficulty, to get behind the breakwaters at Ponta Delgada, or churn
the tropic water at Mombasa, or anchor at Christchurch.
[Illustration: A MAIL LINER
_These ships, while somewhat smaller than the biggest ships and not
quite so fast, are perhaps the most popular of passenger ships, for
their rates are not so high as those of the great ships, and their
accommodations are more or less comparable._
]
Some of them are dowdy and old and keep themselves respectable only by
many applications of paint, as a man who has seen better circumstances
will often keep his ancient suit from appearing too unpresentable by
the frequent application of the whisk broom and the pressing iron.
But others of these ships are sparkling in bright woodwork and have
the smoothest of unscarred sides. Their decks are holystoned to the
whiteness of a Dutch matron’s kitchen table, and their passenger
accommodations are beyond criticism.
But the passenger space on these ships is generally somewhat limited,
although many of them are most elaborately equipped, and the holds are
for ever being emptied or filled with the kinds of freight that require
rapid shipment, or, coming in small parcels, can afford to pay the
higher rates these ships demand.
They sail on scheduled dates and have routes of their own, which often
include more or less numerous ports of call, and they all belong to
steamship lines of major or minor importance which maintain offices or
representatives at most of the ports that give them their business. The
United Fruit Company, the ships of which traverse the Caribbean, and
call at Havana and other major ports in addition to many small ones on
their voyages from and to New York, maintains great banana plantations,
which furnish the larger portion of the freight these beautiful white
ships carry. Other lines have other interests, some maintaining a rigid
aloofness from interests farther from their ships than the passengers
and freight of the ports at which they call. But these ships take one
comfortably to many such out-of-the-way places as would hardly seem
worthy of their attention.
Again, however, the fundamental differences, save size, between these
and the great liners are comparatively slight. In size, it is true,
the difference is vast. It would take a round dozen of the smaller
intermediate liners to equal in bulk the great _Majestic_. And still
these ships are not to be called small. They may, perhaps, be four or
five hundred feet in length. Their speed, it is true, is likely to be
far less than that of the great ships, for they make, perhaps, fifteen
or sixteen or eighteen knots, while the great ships may reel off
twenty-five or more an hour.
[Illustration: AN AMERICAN INTERMEDIATE LINER
_Ships of this type were developed during the World War._]
Still, their likenesses, at least superficially, are greater than
their differences. There is likely to be a difference in the number of
funnels and masts. Derricks are probably more numerous on the smaller
ships, for they carry more cargo, strange as that may seem, than the
great ships. The intermediate liner has fewer decks, but that would
seem at first glance to be because the proportions of the ship are
such that numerous decks are impossible. The real reason, however, is
that the cabin accommodations are limited. But a passenger on the
intermediate liners will probably be very nearly as comfortable as a
passenger on the greatest of ships, although he won’t find a Pompeian
bath, or a Palm Garden, or any of those super-elegant appurtenances
that are common on the greatest ships. But for pleasurable travel these
ships—or at least the better of these ships—are often preferred by
experienced travellers, for simple surroundings are to many people more
pleasant than gorgeous elegance.
“Cargo liners,” again using Captain Bone’s classification, are
of a different type. Their sizes are hardly subject to definite
restrictions, for, granted that a ship belongs to a shipping line and
sails on scheduled dates between two or more ports and carries such
freight as may be brought to her, she is a “cargo liner,” whether she
be of five hundred or of fifteen thousand tons. In practice, however,
these ships range, perhaps, from five to fifteen thousand tons, and as
they supplement, to some extent, the freight-carrying passenger ships
of the lines to which they belong, their speed is high, for freighters.
They make, perhaps, fourteen or fifteen or even sixteen knots an hour,
and they are likely to be fine, wholesome-looking ships, handsome in
their lines and proud in their appearance. And for this they have some
reason, for they are the queens of the cargo fleets, and steam proudly
past the dowdy tramps just as the giant liners and the mail liners
sweep past the intermediate liners.
But now we come to what seems to me to be a more romantic class—the
tramp steamers—for they are of the rank and file—as the farmer and
the workman in our factories are of the rank and file. Kings and
presidents, members of Parliament and of Congress are for ever in
the papers, while the simple folk who give these people the exalted
positions they hold seldom see their names in print. And likewise the
great liners and, to a lesser degree, the mail and intermediate and
cargo liners, are often in the public print, while the tramp steamers,
which make possible the conditions that have brought the others into
being, are seldom written of. For, from the point of view of the
world’s work, these simple ships are mostly vitally important to it,
just as the “common people” are of more value to a country than are the
holders of high office.
And as one finds great differences among a country’s “common people” so
does one find great differences among these “common people” of the sea,
upon whose sturdiness and brawn and energy depends that vast web of
commerce without which the modern world, as we know it, could not exist.
[Illustration: A CARGO LINER
_A cargo liner is a freight ship that sails on scheduled dates and
routes, and is different in this from a “tramp” which takes what
cargoes it can at any time and to any port._
]
There is hardly a single important thing that is common to all these
ships. True, the possession of but one funnel seems to be an all but
universal attribute, but aside from that the streaks of rust that mar
their dingy sides are almost the only marks they all possess. Sometimes
one sees a smartly painted tramp, it is true, and she presents a
pleasant sight, but paint is not tough enough long to stand the wear
and tear of this service, and coat after coat is scratched by piers
or heavy freight, or peels beneath the blistering tropic sun, or is
stained by chemicals or strange cargoes from outlandish ports. And even
the most careful captain cannot prevent the rusty-looking spots, for
red lead paint must first be applied to the denuded steel, ere it is
covered with the more seemly black, and while one spot is being made
more reputable, another is fast losing its thin armour of paint, so
that rust or red lead seem always to be in evidence.
But all of this is merely superficial, and appearances, in ships as in
people, often grossly deceive.
It is perhaps unfortunate that these hard-working ships should ever
have been called “tramps,” for the word suggests a lack of respectable
employment to people ashore, as well as a wandering spirit. Among
people ashore a tramp is looked down upon because he is content with
hardly more than enough to eat. He produces nothing. He works at
nothing. His irresponsibility is ever uppermost, and he is sure to do
but one single thing—to keep for ever on the move. But at sea a tramp
is a ship that works most diligently. She journeys, it is true, on
no set route, and never knows—or seldom—for what port she is likely
next to steer. But she works! Every possible moment of her workaday
life she works. From the day she has passed her builders’ tests and is
turned over to her owners she labours as no man or no man’s beasts of
burden were ever worked. Day and night she sails the lonely seas—from
Liverpool to Shanghai—from Shanghai to Capetown—from Capetown to
Sydney—from Sydney to New York—from New York, perhaps, to Liverpool
again—but not for rest. She may, it is true, be docked and repaired,
but once afloat again, and noisy, dirty streams of dusty coal pour
chokingly into her cavernous holds, and off she goes again, perhaps to
Spain, where her coal may be exchanged for a cargo of iron ore, and
back she sails, to discharge and load again and sail, until, at last,
when years have passed, she has outgrown her usefulness and is flung
upon a scrap heap where everything of value is taken from her hulk and
she is forgotten—as workmen sometimes are, who through all their lives
have laboured, day after day, at forge or bench, making for the world
some of the many things it needs, only to find themselves, when they
are worn out, forgotten and replaced by a man more new.
[Illustration: A TRAMP STEAMER
_Perhaps the hardest-working machine ever designed by man, and
undoubtedly the most romantic of all steam-driven ships._]
These are the ships that make world commerce possible. These are the
ships that carry the world’s goods. These are the ships that make a
nation’s merchant marine, and these, basically, are the ships that
make necessary great navies and great ports. Here, then, lies the
modern romance of the sea.
The most common type of tramp steamer has a raised section amidships,
where are placed the bridge, the funnel, and a group of houses
containing the galley (which is the kitchen of a ship), staterooms for
her officers, and, perhaps, a messroom. Below this lie the boiler and
engine rooms. Forward of the bridge the deck drops six or eight feet
to a lower level, and as it nears the bow, it is raised again to a
little above the altitude of the midship deck. This is still called the
forecastle, after those weird structures raised at the bows of ships in
the Middle Ages. Aft the midship section the deck drops away as it does
forward, and at the stern is raised again, until the stern is about
level with the midship deck. Long since, however, the name sterncastle
has been dropped. This section is the “poop.”
Sometimes light bridge-like runways are raised above the lower parts
of the deck forward and aft of the midship section, connecting the bow
and stern with the group of deck houses amidships, for when the cargo
has been stowed these ships are deep in the water, and these low decks
are but a little way above the surface. Once they are at sea, at least
in heavy weather, “lippers,” or waves that reach their crests just over
the low bulwarks, seem for ever to be flooding these sections of the
ship. And once a storm blows up, these decks are often buried beneath
tons of solid water, and the crew, housed forward in the forecastle,
and the captain, who sometimes lives astern, would, without the raised
runway, be more or less marooned and helpless on board the very ship
they are supposed to operate.
So diverse in design, in operation, and in equipment are these ships
that it is impossible to describe them as a unit. Their tonnage ranges
from a few hundred to ten thousand. Their crews range from fifteen,
perhaps, to fifty. Their engines may be reciprocating or turbine. It
is usual, however, for them to have but one propeller, and their speed
is low. Seldom do they make less than eight knots an hour, and seldom,
too, are they able to make as much as fifteen. Some are well equipped
with useful auxiliary machinery for doing much of the heavy work.
Others have hardly more than a few steam winches installed to aid in
loading and discharging their strange variety of cargoes.
A ship may sail from Newport News to Havana with coal, and while she
is discharging at her berth may receive orders to proceed to Caibarien
for a cargo of sugar. She grunts and shrieks and groans as the Havana
stevedores take the coal ashore, her crew more or less idle, except
for odd jobs, for crews of tramps attend to neither the discharging
of cargoes nor the loading. Once the coal is ashore, however, the
crew has a job. The ship must be fumigated, by order of the port
authorities, and once fumigated the hatches must be lifted off, and
the vast caverns into which the new cargo is to go must be swept and
cleaned with care, for sugar does not mix too well with coal dust.
And then the ship is off down the Cuban coast, riding high out of
water, her propeller blades splashing half in and half out. If the
weather is pleasant the holds may be cleaned on the way, and once she
arrives off Cay Frances—for she cannot enter the shallow harbour of
Caibarien—her captain orders the motor boat over the side, if he has
one, and journeys a dozen miles to the little port. Here he tries to
hurry the cargo lighters out to his anchorage, for it costs money to
keep a ship idle. She is paying dividends only when she is on her way
from port to port, and it is one of a captain’s important duties to do
everything he can to get her on her way again. If his company has an
agent at Caibarien, which is unlikely, the agent, too, tries to speed
matters, but Cuban ways tend to slowness, and it is likely to be a day
or two before a couple of barges are brought alongside, with a gang of
Negro stevedores who slowly commence their operations. The derricks
are rigged beside each hatch and the great bags come aboard in sixes
or eights and are dropped into what seem to be the bottomless pits
below the yawning openings. Far below, another group of stevedores cast
the tackle off, and one by one the bags are packed, so as to fill the
hold to the exclusion of a cubic inch of space not utilized. All day
they load, and all night, for as one barge is emptied another appears.
Relief crews of stevedores appear, and under a cluster of lights
hanging from bridge or mast they labour—their toil seemingly endless,
but gradually, nevertheless, approaching its conclusion. Lower and
lower the ship sinks into the water. Her propeller blades disappear,
and down and down she goes. No longer is she the wall-sided affair
that anchored a day or two before. And finally, as the bags reach up
and up to the combings of the hatch, she is down once more, until her
Plimsoll mark, which is cut in her side by Lloyd’s to show how deep she
is permitted to ride, is washed by every wave. A few more bags—the last
big barge is empty—the last bit of space in her great holds is filled
and she is ready for her voyage to Brooklyn.
Once more the crew becomes active. Girders are lowered into their
places across the twenty-foot-wide hatches. Great planks cover the
opening, and several huge tarpaulins are unrolled and spread above the
planks, for cargoes must be guarded against salt water. These coverings
are carefully put in place while the stokers raise the boiler pressure
once more, and ere the last of the preparations is completed another
voyage has been begun.
* * * * *
There are many other types of ships that busy themselves about the sea.
One of these is the oil tanker, a ship built for but a single purpose.
These are owned by the big oil companies whose products come from
Mexico or the Dutch East Indies, or, originating in the United States,
are sold to countries not so fortunate as to have oil wells of their
own.
[Illustration: AN OIL TANKER
_These ships have come to the seas in very recent years. They are used
only for the transportation of oil, and are owned largely by the great
oil companies._]
An oil tanker has an appearance more or less its own, although the
great carriers of ore and grain on the Great Lakes are very similar.
On these ships the engines and boilers are in the stern, and sometimes,
too, the bridge is there, with the funnel rising from behind it, in
a position which few sailors can accept as normal. Sometimes, again,
the bridge and a small deck house are amidships. On these tankers the
propelling machinery is in the stern in order that the cargo may be
insulated to the greatest possible extent from the fires. Incidentally,
too, it is the empty tanker that requires the most care, for just as an
empty gasolene tin will explode while one filled to overflowing with
gasolene will not, so the empty tanker, reeking with the gas left by
the oil it carries, is more apt to explode.
The turret steamer falls into almost any category. It is built in
order to save money on certain port and canal dues and other taxes,
and its appearance is perhaps the weirdest of that of any ship, save,
perhaps, the antediluvian whalebacks once so common on the Great Lakes.
Below the water line these turret steamers are much the same as other
freighters, but from there up they are vastly different. Just above
the water line their sides are turned in until they are almost a deck.
These “decks” run forward nearly to the bow and aft almost to the
stern. But the central portion of the ship from bow to stern is raised
ten or a dozen feet above these strange side “decks,” which in reality
are not decks at all, but only sections of the sides of these strange
hulls. The turret ships have few, if any, advantages over more normal
ships, their only purpose being to save what money they can in tolls
that ships less strangely designed are forced to pay. The turret ship
is only the naval architect’s way of making it possible for the ship’s
owners to take advantage of certain technicalities in wording. They are
few in number and are of minor importance.
* * * * *
In these days of large shipments it does not usually pay owners to
send ships of small tonnage on long sea voyages. Few steamers of
less than five or six hundred tons make voyages across the Atlantic,
for instance. Time was, and not so long ago, when a five-hundred-ton
clipper sailed halfway round the world, but steam and steel have made
deep-sea cargo ships much larger than they were, and the smaller fry
are kept in the coasting trades or busy themselves in the Mediterranean
or other more or less landlocked waters. These “coasters” seem to be
as diverse in design as naval architects are capable of producing.
Every coast has developed its own particular type, although, of
course, the fundamentals of their construction are basic and permit
of little change. Many of them cross the North Sea, and consequently
must be seaworthy, for the North Sea has a habit of being rough. The
Irish Sea is filled with them—of many shapes and sizes. European ports
seem always crowded with these little ships, which steam about their
business with a sort of jaunty cocksureness that is amusing in smooth
waters. But they lose that jauntiness when they poke their noses into
the ocean swells, and as they roll and pitch along their way they have
a worried but determined air. Europe is the home of more of them,
perhaps, than all of the rest of the world combined. America uses
schooners or sends out ocean-going tugs with long tows of ancient
ships once proud under their own canvas, but now converted into barges
with stubby masts and sawed-off bowsprits.
[Illustration: A TURRET STEAMER
_These strange vessels are comparatively rare, and seem to be passing
away entirely._]
Now and then one sees an ocean-going car ferry, carrying trains of box
cars across some narrow arm of the sea. A notable one of these—the
_Henry M. Flagler_—runs from Key West to Havana, carrying American
freight trains to Cuba and Cuban trains back, in order that the freight
need not be handled at each end: from car to ship, and again from ship
to car.
The tourist, too, is sure, sooner or later, to travel on fast express
steamers that cross similar narrow straits. The cross-channel steamers
between Calais and Dover, the small ships from Copenhagen to Norway
and Sweden, and others, are of this type. Their runs are short, and
their schedules often are set to meet trains. Consequently, they are
powerful, speedy, and sometimes most uncomfortable. But being meant for
passengers, they are attractive, in their way. Sturdy, self-reliant,
fast—they are perfectly adapted to the work that they perform.
Another type of vessel is the passenger ship that runs between ports
not widely separated on the same coast. The United States has many
of these. The ships running between Boston and New York are fast and
well equipped. The lounges and dining saloons are handsome, and the
staterooms, while they are small, are thoroughly comfortable. These
ships are popular, and many travellers prefer the all-night ride on
them to spending five hours on the train. Other ships run from New York
to Norfolk; from New York to Charleston, Savannah, and Jacksonville.
Others still make the longer voyage from New York to New Orleans. On
the West Coast similar ships run regularly from Los Angeles and San
Francisco to Portland and Seattle and return. Every continent has some
ships in similar services, and they often reach ports which have no
important land communications system. Such ships connect Japan and
Korea; Ceylon and India; ports along the African coast; Marseilles and
Tunis; and run on countless other routes. They are comfortable for
short voyages, but many of them would not do well at transoceanic work,
for in their size and their accommodations they are not comparable to
the great ocean liners.
* * * * *
So far all the ships I have mentioned, save the Great Lakes freighters,
float in salt water. But rivers and lakes the world over are often busy
with ships, some of them of such size as to place them in a class with
ships intended for the deep sea.
The greatest fleet of ships in the world on fresh water is the fleet
that busies itself on the Great Lakes. During the winter these lakes
are frozen and the whole fleet is laid up, which necessitates unusual
activity for the rest of the year in order that they may pay their way.
From Duluth, on Lake Superior, to Buffalo, on Lake Erie, these ships
sail back and forth, deeply laden with the ore of Minnesota or the
grain of the great Northwest. Piers specially designed to load the ore
carriers pour huge streams of ore into their holds, and within a few
hours of their arrival at Duluth the ships are on their way back to
Gary or Cleveland or Erie. At these ports the cargoes are taken from
their holds at such a speed as is not equalled at any salt-water port
in the world.
The freighters of the Great Lakes make up the greatest part of the
fleet, of course, but passenger ships comparable to almost any of the
“intermediate liners” in the world sail regularly from half-a-dozen
of these inland ports. Car ferries, too, are used by the railroads to
take great freight trains across the lakes in order to save the land
trip around. Ice-breakers, also, are used to keep open channels through
the ice in order that ships may sail in winter. The ice-breakers are
powerful ships whose bows are so cut away as to make it possible for
them to ride up on the ice, as their powerful propellers drive them
along. The ice is broken by the weight of the ship, the bow of which is
built of exceptional strength to stand such rough usage. Such ships are
used, too, in the Baltic, in Russia, and in Siberia, but little use is
found for them elsewhere, and they are rare.
But other inland waters have developed other types of ships. The Rhine,
because of its rapid current, has necessitated the building of fast
steamers able to make headway against it—fast, small steamers that
slowly make their way up stream and scurry rapidly down, laden with
passengers or with freight, depending on the service for which they
have been built.
The Seine, particularly at Paris, has a most attractive type of
passenger boat which has always reminded me of a Fifth Avenue bus
mounted on a hull. True, their lines are better than those of the bus,
but their whole appearance, nevertheless, suggests a bus. They are
long and narrow, sharp and fast, and carry many passengers along that
historic river beneath the many bridges.
River boats in America are vastly different. The early Mississippi
River boats were scows with stern wheels. These developed into strange
boats with decks supported by what seemed to be fearfully weak timbers.
They were high and wide, with blunt low bows and expansive forward
decks. They usually possessed two funnels, rising high above the
topmost deck and standing beside each other. The tops of these, and
every place else on the boat that lent itself to decoration, were
decorated with gewgaws and scrollwork. The pilot house stood high above
the topmost deck, and in it was a steering wheel that sometimes was so
great in diameter that it was swung through a slot cut in the deck, in
order that the pilot, who was a vastly important person, could handle
the spokes.
These ships burned wood, and great was the rivalry between them, and
great the races that were run.
Mark Twain has told the story of these picturesque boats, and his story
is their history. It could not be improved upon.
[Illustration: A WHALEBACK
_A strange type of cargo steamer once common on the American Great
Lakes, but gradually disappearing._]
But the famous old steamboats of the Mississippi are gone. A few of the
species still ply up and down, and some find their way up the Ohio and
other tributaries, but the life seems gone from them. The romance of
the Mississippi steamboat is dead.
But a type of river steamer still in use is the one so common on the
Hudson. Huge ships these are, with many decks, of great breadth, for
often they are side-wheelers and their decks are carried out to the
outside of the paddle boxes or, if they are propeller driven, still
their decks reach out over the water. Deck on deck is piled one upon
another, until the larger of these steamers may sail from New York to
Poughkeepsie and West Point with as many passengers as the _Majestic_
is equipped to carry. But they are not to be compared to the _Majestic_
any more than a trolley car is to be compared to a Pullman.
This chapter is a hodgepodge, and contains as great an assortment of
goods as a country store, so I may, perhaps, be permitted to jump from
the river steamers, to which I have done scant justice, to the tugs
and other harbour craft that are occasionally to be seen about the
many-decked river steamers at such a port as New York.
Perhaps the ferries are most in evidence as they shuttle back and forth
from Manhattan to Jersey City and Hoboken, to Weehawken and Fort Lee,
to Staten and Governor’s islands, and to half a dozen slips in Brooklyn.
These ferries are powerful vessels, and are capable of getting quickly
under way. They have no bows or sterns—or, if you prefer, each end is
bow or stern, depending on the direction the boat is travelling at
the moment. The two ends, to make it plain, are identical. Each is
round on deck. Each has a sharp “cut water” over which the round-ended
deck projects. Each has a rudder, and each a propeller, save the
old-fashioned ones—of which there are a few still in existence—that are
driven by side paddle-wheels. The ends of these ferries are rounded
and the slips at which they dock are so constructed as to fit the bows
perfectly—so perfectly, in fact, that the automobiles and trucks with
which the ferry is generally crowded drive ashore without a gangplank.
In order to make simpler the task of docking these nimble craft two
great rows of piles are driven into the harbour mud so that the
ferries, entering between the outermost ends of these two “fences,”
where they are at some distance from each other, are led directly to
the slip by the converging lines of piles. Once the ferry’s nose has
touched the slip, great hawsers are passed aboard and are made fast,
whereupon special windlasses on the slip take up the slack and the
boat is made fast, in hardly more time than it takes to tell of it.
These ferries are sometimes of considerable size, but none of them are
comparable in tonnage to anything more than the smallest of deep-sea
steamers.
[Illustration: A GREAT LAKES FREIGHT CARRIER
_This type of ship is eliminating the whaleback on the Great Lakes, and
is used largely to transport ore and grain._]
In a modern harbour there is another type of boat more numerous than
ferries, and, from the point of view of the deep-sea sailor, more
important. This is the tug.
A tug is a towboat, and once a sea-going ship has reached a harbour,
she is largely dependent on that harbour’s tugs. In appearance, at
least, European tugs are very different from American.
In British and German and French ports, and elsewhere on the continent,
one sees many paddle-wheel tugs—a thing unknown, or nearly so, in
America. American tugs are universally propeller boats, except on
shallow rivers, where paddle-wheel steamboats sometimes are made to do
the work of tugs.
An American tug is a busy-looking boat. Her bow is fairly high, her
deck slopes aft in a rather marked curve. Her stern is low. A deck
house extends from the “towing bits,” or heavy built-in posts to which
the towline is made fast, up to within ten or a dozen feet of the
bow. This deck house is not high—hardly higher than a man’s head—and
contains a galley and a mess room, besides entrances to the boiler
and engine rooms. On top of this, at its forward end, is the wheel
house, as high as the deck house on which it sits. Astern of the wheel
house is a huge funnel for so small a boat, and astern of that sits a
lifeboat, resting in its “chocks.”
But the surprise comes if an inquisitive observer goes to a local
shipyard and sees one of these small steamboats in a floating dock
with her bulky underbody visible. What stands above the surface seems
but little compared with what is below. She may draw eight or ten or
more feet. Her body lines are very full, and at her stern is mounted a
propeller that seems almost large enough for a good-sized freighter.
And it is, for these boats have not only themselves to propel; they
must meet incoming ships which are more or less helpless to direct
their movements in such limited spaces as are available in a harbour.
If the new arrival be small, one tug can readily place her beside her
pier. If the ship be the _Majestic_ or the _Leviathan_, then a dozen or
more tugs must push against her mighty side, or puff great clouds of
steam as they strain at great hawsers before the giant is safely at her
berth.
Every harbour needs these little workers, and their work is important,
but there are other ships whose work is of a different sort, and even
more important. These are the dredges that keep a harbour’s channels
open, or cut new ones or widen the ones already there. I have not the
space in which to go into a description of these grubbers in the mud,
but I can mention a few of their more salient points.
There are several kinds. A suction dredge lowers a great pipe into the
harbour mud and pumps great quantities of mud-charged water to the
surface. This is run into tanks where most of the mud settles while
the water runs over the top. In some cases it is possible for the pipe
carrying this mud and water to be led ashore where a low spot is to be
filled or where the mud is needed for some other reason. Here the water
trickles gradually away, and the troublesome mud that had been silting
up a channel is converted, perhaps, into valuable city property.
Another type of dredge carries an endless belt on which are great
ladle-shaped containers, called “buckets.” One end of this belt is
lowered to the bottom. The belt is set in motion, and each gigantic
“bucket” dumps the mud of the harbour bottom into a great “well” built
into the ship which is capable of carrying a startling quantity.
There are other types of less importance than these, but already this
chapter has grown beyond the length assigned to it and I must bring it
to a close. To pretend for a moment that I have amply described the
ships I have mentioned would be, of course, ridiculous. I have done
hardly more than mention the more important and more picturesque types
of steamships that exist in the world to-day. A book could be written
on any one of them, and my greatest hope is that I may interest a few
readers who will go to other volumes more complete than mine, in order
to learn more of some phase or another of this fascinating subject.
Should I be so fortunate I shall be content, for one volume cannot
do more than outline what can be found in countless others that have
specialized on a thousand phases of the subject I am attempting to
discuss.
CHAPTER VII
SHIPS OF WAR
Much of the story of ships is contained in the story of ships of war,
which, from time immemorial, have been vital factors in the lives of
nations. The Egyptians fought battles on the sea. The Greeks saved
their civilization from the armies of Xerxes by defeating the ships of
the Persians at Salamis. Rome defeated Carthage because Rome secured
the upper hand on the sea. It is true that much of the story of the
Punic Wars is the story of Hannibal and Hamilcar, but while Hannibal
marched his army from Spain across the Pyrenees, across France, across
the Alps, and finally into Italy, where he spent years harrying the
land, Carthage owed her downfall to the ships of Rome, as Hannibal
owed his final defeat by Scipio Africanus to those ships. Similarly
Napoleon, two thousand years later, owed the collapse of his plans not
so much to the defeats he suffered on land as the defeats he suffered
on the sea at the hands of Nelson and the British Navy.
It is not, however, within the province of this book to discuss wars
and battles on the sea. The person interested in that important subject
should read Admiral A. T. Mahan’s “The Influence of Sea Power upon
History” in order to gain a clear picture of the great phases of that
subject. But all of this is outside the range of this book, which deals
only with the types of ships and their development.
The first warships of which history gives any account were those of
the Egyptians. They differed little from the other ships of the time
except in having affixed to their bows a metal ram. This, however, was
well above water. When these ships were in action the sail was rolled
up and made fast by loops of line to the upper yard. They were driven
by large paddles, and were steered, as well, by paddles, many being
required. Egyptologists tell us that the Egyptians, between 3000 and
1000 B. C., fought occasional naval battles with people as far distant
as those of Sicily, for Egypt seemed to have a fascination for all the
Mediterranean peoples even of this early day, and occasional forays
were made against the Egyptian coast.
[Illustration: AN ENGLISH WARSHIP OF THE TIME OF HENRY V
_By the time this ship was built hulls had grown considerably in size
over what they had been at the time of William the Conqueror, and the
era of lavish decoration was well under way. The numerous decks of
this ship were not unusual for the time._
]
The Phœnicians came next as a sea-going people, and it was they who
so greatly developed ships. So little, however, is known of Phœnician
ships that it is necessary, in this hurried account, to pass them by in
order to take up the Greek ships of which many records are still extant.
In Chapter I, I have mentioned the galleys, but there are many things
concerning them upon which it is interesting to enlarge.
These ancient war vessels are divided into two major types—“aphract,”
or those which had no protection for the topmost tier of rowers,
and “cataphract,” or those that had a raised bulwark which shielded
them from the sight and arrows of the enemy. These two words mean,
literally, “unfenced” and “fenced.” In other words, the cataphract
ships had a “fence” built up above their sides to shield the oarsmen,
while on the aphract ships this “fence” was not installed. Both these
types had upper and lower decks, although the cataphract type was
higher than the other.
The oars used on these ships were not so large as one might think. On
a trireme, or three-banked ship, the oars of the upper bank were about
fourteen feet long; the next lower oars were about ten and a half feet,
and the oars of the lowest bank were about seven and a half feet long.
Even the topmost oars on the “tessereconteres,” or forty-banked ship,
which some questionable authorities mention as having been built, are
said to have been but fifty-three feet long, but as the seats of the
rowers are said to have been two feet apart vertically it is difficult
to see how a fifty-three foot oar, of which perhaps a third was inside
the ship, could have reached to the water. But these forty-banked ships
sound more like imaginary craft than like real ships.
In the cataphract ships the lower deck was only about a foot above the
water line. Below this deck was the ballast, and through the deck were
cut a number of hatches through which buckets could be lowered in order
to bail out the almost ever-present bilge water, for these ships,
particularly when they were subjected to the strains coincident to
sailing in a seaway, were more than likely to leak at an uncomfortably
rapid rate.
[Illustration: A BRITISH LINE-OF-BATTLE SHIP, 1790
_This awkward ship is one of the type that made up the great fleets
that fought, for instance, at Trafalgar. Nelson’s flagship, the_
Victory, _is of this type._
]
The backbone of these ships was a heavy keel, below which was fitted
a false keel, used, apparently, to take the wear that resulted from
hauling the ships up on to the beach.
Above the keel a keelson, similar to the keelsons of to-day, was
fitted, strengthening the keel and serving, also, as a strengthener to
the ribs which were fastened beneath it.
The bows of these ships were very strongly constructed, for battle
tactics called for the use of the ram. The ram, instead of being
above the water, as it was on the older Egyptian ships, was at the
water level, and was strengthened by the heavy timbers which formed
the stem. In order to strengthen the hull still more, and to prevent
as much as possible the strain of ramming from springing the seams,
strong cables were wound once or twice around the whole hull from bow
to stern. These were drawn up with levers and bound the ship tightly
together, particularly as the cables shrank when they were wet. All
these precautions were essential, for the ram on these ships was about
ten feet long, and was seconded by a somewhat shorter ram above the
water line.
The Athenian triremes were all about the same size—about one hundred
and thirty feet long—and most of their equipment was standardized so
that it was really interchangeable. The crews of these ships numbered a
few more than two hundred. The rowers numbered one hundred and seventy,
and there were ten or a dozen marines and about a score of seamen.
In building these triremes the frame was first set up and the ribs
were covered on both sides with planking. Then around the outside
of the ship at the water line a heavy timber was attached which, at
the forward end, was carried out to form the ram, which was heavily
sheathed with metal. A little above this strengthening timber there
was another one similarly built, ending in the secondary ram, which
sometimes had at its end a metal sheep’s head. Sometimes a third line
of timbers was placed above this.
Running from bow to stern on both sides just above the topmost oars was
a narrow platform, built out about two feet wide from the side of the
ship. The ribs as they continued upward from this point curved inward,
and their ends supported the cross beams that bound the ship together
over the rowers’ heads and also served to support the deck. On this
deck the marines, or heavily armed warriors, were placed in battle,
while over their heads was stretched a stout awning of leather to
protect them from the enemies’ arrows. The runways at the sides served
as passageways and were used by the sailors in working the ship.
[Illustration: THE AMERICAN FRIGATE _CONSTITUTION_
_This ship set a new style in frigates, for she was the largest and
most heavily armed frigate of her time when she was launched. She is
still to be seen at Boston, and seems but a little thing in contrast
with ships of to-day._
]
At the stern there were several steps in the deck elevating it
gradually above the midship deck. Here the officer in command was
stationed near the helmsman, who was second in command, and who
steered the ship by a cleverly arranged pair of oars—one on each side,
connected and operated by ropes and pulleys.
The bow was decorated by an erection sometimes shaped like a swan’s
neck which was a continuation of the stem. The stern also had a highly
raised timber running up and curving forward over the helmsman. These
ships usually carried two masts, each spreading a single square sail,
but sail was not carried in action. Often, as a matter of fact, the
sails and the heavier spars were left ashore if a battle was imminent.
These galleys, for many centuries, were light craft, meant for speed,
but as more strength was demanded in order to make possible hulls that
could withstand the shock of ramming, the ships became heavier and
heavier, which, in turn, demanded more oarsmen, which, again, brought
larger ships into being, until, when Rome became the mistress of the
sea, five-banked ships had become the standard, and the three-banked
ships were relegated to a second place.
[Illustration: A STEAM FRIGATE—THE U. S. S. _HARTFORD_
_Which was used in the American Civil War by Admiral Farragut._]
Then Rome invented the “corvus” or great hinged gangplank with its
heavy barbed end. This gangplank was swung at the forward end of the
ship and was loosely hinged to the deck, being kept upright by a tackle
holding it to the mast. When an enemy’s ship was approached the Romans
did not attempt to ram, but ran alongside, let go the tackle, and the
heavy corvus fell to the enemy’s deck, where its metal barb fastened
itself in the deck planks. Thereupon, the soldiers, with whom the
Romans crowded the decks of their ships, rushed across and the sea
battle became a mêlée.
[Illustration: THE _MONITOR_
_The first armoured ship to mount a turret. This is the ship that
fought with the_ Merrimac _the first battle between armoured ships._]
For nearly two hundred years these heavy ships were the “battleships”
of the Roman fleet. But at the Battle of Actium, in 31 B. C., Mark
Antony’s ships, which were of this type, were soundly beaten by light,
swift two-banked ships called the Liburnian biremes.
Thereupon these Liburnians became the most important ships of war,
and later grew into the great galleys of the Middle Ages. The later
development, however, tended to the use of one bank, while the oars
grew longer and longer until they reached such size that several men
were used on each—sometimes as many as seven men being employed on a
single oar. This form of rowed war vessel was in more or less common
use, principally in the Mediterranean, until the beginning of the 17th
Century.
In the north of Europe the Viking influence was felt plainly for many
years, but finally it was outgrown, or practically outgrown, largely,
perhaps, because of the introduction of the raised forecastles and
sterncastles, and the introduction of more highly developed rigging.
During the Crusades most of the fleets consisted largely of merchant
ships, which were more or less converted into war vessels by the
addition of raised castles. These castles were, perhaps, of Roman
origin, for the old Roman ships sometimes had somewhat similar
contrivances at bow and stern.
The invention of gunpowder brought about many changes in ship design.
At first the guns were small and were pivoted in the rails, as they
were on Columbus’s ships, but later, as larger cannon came into use, a
new arrangement of them became necessary.
Galleys found it difficult to use many cannon, for they could not be
mounted amidships, that part of these ships being crowded with rowers,
who, by the way, were now seldom below deck. Guns, consequently, had
to be mounted at bow and stern, where only a few could be installed.
This, then, was one reason for the decline of galleys, for ships driven
exclusively by sail were able to mount cannon on deck, where many of
them could be carried and fired over the sides.
As ships increased in size it became possible to mount cannon below
deck and to cut portholes through which they could fire.
It was along these lines that warships next progressed, until, at
the end of the 18th Century, the line-of-battle ships were great
unwieldy affairs with three gun decks below, on which were mounted a
hundred guns. Earlier ships had been built which had carried even more
guns than this, but the guns had been smaller and consequently less
effective.
For those interested in the details of the development of warships from
the time of the introduction of gunpowder down to the beginning of
steam I recommend two books—“The Royal Navy,” by W. Laird Clowes, and
“Ancient and Modern Ships,” by Sir G. C. V. Holmes. I have the space
to describe only the final forms that the larger ships took ere the
introduction of steam and steel changed radically the design of all
naval ships.
[Illustration: THE _MERRIMAC_
_An ironclad built by the Confederates during the American Civil War.
This ship proved how superior to wooden ships armoured ships could be.
She was armed with a ram with which she sank the_ Cumberland, _and her
armour amply protected her from the enemy’s guns._
]
At the end of the 18th Century and the beginning of the 19th the
greatest warships were called line-of-battle ships. They were great
unwieldy affairs, slow and cumbersome under sail, and were meant only
to take the shock of battle when rival fleets met. Their sides were
high, and below the main deck were three gun-decks, each carrying many
cannon that fired through square ports cut in the sides. Sometimes,
if the wind was abeam, as it generally was during an engagement, the
lower ports on the side away from the wind could not be opened because
the deck was so low that the “list” of the ship would have allowed the
water to enter, perhaps in such quantities as to sink her. Gradually,
however, this lower deck was raised until all the guns on the “lee”
side could be used except in heavy weather.
The _Victory_, Nelson’s flagship at the Battle of Trafalgar, was a
typical line-of-battle ship, and in the hearts of Britons she occupies
much the same place as with Americans the frigate _Constitution_
occupies. These two ships—the one a line-of-battle ship and the other
a frigate—are of the two types that, toward the close of the era of
sail, were the most important ships of naval powers. They occupied in
their day positions similar to those occupied by the battleship and
the cruiser of to-day. In describing these two particular vessels,
then, I shall be describing not merely two outstanding ships, which,
fortunately, are carefully preserved by the countries for which they
fought, but shall also be describing the two most important types.
The _Victory_ was built in 1765. She is 186 feet long, 52 feet wide,
and her tonnage is 2,162. She carried 100 guns on her three gun-decks,
and is, in rig, a ship—that is, she carries three masts, spreading
square sails, the mast farthest aft carrying as its lowest sail a
spanker. Her head sails—that is, the sails at the bow—were jibs set
between the foremast and the bowsprit, which was elongated by the
addition of a jib boom and a flying jib boom.
Her shape is clumsy, her sides are high, but the highly raised
forecastle and sterncastle are entirely missing. A section of the bow
is called the forecastle, but only the name is left of the earlier
raised structure from which the name came. Astern there is a slight
sign of what, centuries before, had been the sterncastle, for there is
a raised deck, called the quarter-deck, in evidence. The stern itself
is a highly ornamental affair, fitted with many windows and with much
scrollwork, and, at least in the eyes of the present day, is anything
but nautical in appearance.
[Illustration: A TORPEDO BOAT
_About the time of the Spanish-American War these boats were common in
the navies of the world. Now they are eliminated, and their successors
are the torpedo-boat destroyers, now called destroyers._
]
This high-sided, bluff-bowed craft carried about seven hundred men in
her crew, although where they kept themselves is, to the average person
of to-day, a mystery. They slept, of course, in hammocks, and these
were lashed to their hooks between decks. So thick were they that when
the crew had turned in the whole deck looked like a cave filled with
strange huge bats hanging parallel to the ceiling.
The guns on these ships were crude affairs. They were muzzle loaders,
of course, and were generally cast of brass or iron. They were mounted
on awkward wooden carriages which were set on four small wheels.
But such a weighty implement mounted on wheels needed much careful
attention to keep it tightly secured when the ship, once outside her
harbour, ceaselessly rolled from side to side, even in an almost glassy
sea, and, in a seaway, rolled and pitched and rolled again, until,
should one of these wheeled monsters have broken its fastenings, it
might readily have become more dangerous than an outside enemy. Victor
Hugo’s powerful description of such a scene in “Ninety-three” presents
a graphic picture of the danger that such a misfortune would bring with
it.
These heavy-wheeled cannon were made fast in their places, each with a
square port through which it could fire; and a gun-deck with thirty or
more of these polished juggernauts lined up along its two sides, with
the decks holystoned, and with the gear of every description carefully
stowed in place, had a most businesslike appearance.
In battle, however, with the air thick with powder smoke, with sanded
decks and wounded men, with piles of ammunition and half-naked gunners
apparently gone mad, with splinters split from oaken beams and gaping
holes where the the enemy’s guns had wrought their havoc—then the deck
was bedlam. Roars of cannon, fired in broadsides, orders, oaths, and
shrieks of dying wretches—stabs of fire as the cannon belched, glowing
matches in the hands of powder-blackened men, messengers running here
and there, officers standing by, strained, intent, and heedless of
everything save the guns they commanded—there was a scene worthy of the
pen of Dante.
[Illustration: H. M. S. _DREADNAUGHT_
_The first all-big-gun ship, and the one that gave its name to
present-day battleships, which are universally called dreadnaughts or
super-dreadnaughts._]
And such a sight as a fleet of these ships presented as it grappled
with a rival fleet perhaps equally strong. Two lines, each of a score
or more of these awkward giants—first they manœuvre for position, each
strung out in single file, each with sails set, each silent, each
watchful, each anxious. Slowly they converge. Closer and closer they
come, their ports open, the black muzzles of the cannon protruding. On
the gun-decks men are waiting quietly, peering out, waiting for the
command to fire. Above, on the quarter decks, groups of officers with
their awkward field glasses, watching the enemy, watching the flagship.
Aloft, in the masts, groups of sharpshooters with muskets ready,
waiting for an opportunity to bring down the officers and men on the
decks of the enemy’s ships.
Closer the ships sail and closer still, still noiseless save for the
gurgle of water at the bows and the sounds of the rigging. Then on the
flagship a string of flags is run up and the attacking fleet changes
its course sharply toward the enemy. Another string of flags and a
crash of guns—the battle is on. Great clouds of smoke, more cannon
roars—the enemy has answered. Closer still, and closer, until each ship
is alongside one of the opposing fleet. Grappling irons are thrown over
the rail, and the two fleets have become a long tangled row of duelling
pairs, each locked tightly to its adversary, their sides grinding
together, their rigging tangled. An hour, perhaps, of awful havoc. The
line is broken, ships drifting here and there. Broken masts and spars
clutter the decks. A ship catches fire and her magazine explodes, and
as she sinks the victor cuts the lines that bind the two together and
stands on to help a friend. An hour or two—maybe a little more—and
the victory is won. History is made—perhaps Trafalgar has been fought
and the whole world will feel the effect. Such were the duties of the
line-of-battle ships.
But the frigates were built for a different work. They were the
cruisers of a hundred years ago. They were the commerce destroyers, the
raiders. A frigate was a ship which carried guns on the main deck and
on one gun-deck below. Sometimes they sailed with other ships, but more
often played their game alone. The _Constitution_ was one of these, and
an important one. Not only did she win battles: also she affected the
design of ships.
She was launched in 1797, and was, actually, an improvement on the
frigates of the day. She was 204 feet long, 43.6 feet broad, and
she carried thirty 24-pounders on her gun-deck, twenty-two 32-pound
carronades on the quarter deck and forecastle deck, besides three
“bow chasers” or long guns for use when pursuing a fleeing ship.
Thus she had fifty-five guns (although later this was reduced) and
consequently far outclassed foreign frigates of the day. They carried
from thirty-two to fifty guns, and these of lighter weight. While the
main battery of the _Constitution_ consisted of 24-pounders, foreign
frigates used 18-pounders. A 24-pound shot is naturally more effective
than an 18-pound shot from the same type of gun.
But not only was the _Constitution_ heavily armed. She was built of
timbers of about the size of those used in line-of-battle ships, and
so was much stronger than other frigates. As a matter of fact, she so
outclassed the frigates of the British Navy that several line-of-battle
ships were cut down until, technically, they became frigates, in order
that they might meet her on more favourable terms.
[Illustration: A SUBMARINE]
The _Constitution_ was a more graceful ship than the _Victory_, as
frigates, as a class, were more graceful than all line-of-battle ships.
They required more speed, and so had finer lines. Their sides were not
so high, their bows less bluff, their sterns more finely designed.
Line-of-battle ships were hardly more than floating wooden forts,
carrying as many guns as possible. Frigates were fine ships, having all
the qualities of fine ships, and carrying modified batteries.
So regularly did the _Constitution_ defeat other frigates, and so
simply was she able to refuse battle with superior forces, that the
British Navy profited by her advantages and built similar ships. But
the end of the era of sail was approaching, and before much could be
done in the further perfection of ships of this kind, new warships
propelled by steam had come into being, throwing into the discard both
the line-of-battle ships and the frigates of an earlier day.
Following the War of 1812 there were no engagements of great importance
in which warships played a part until the Crimean War, in 1855. During
this period both steam and iron had been utilized by the designers of
warships, and navies had made the first of the great steps that changed
the fleets of the world from the wooden sailing ships of Trafalgar to
the steel monsters of Jutland.
Typical warships of the most improved design just prior to the Crimean
War were not greatly dissimilar from the line-of-battle ships and
frigates of the War of 1812 except that they used steam as well as
sails. They were larger, it is true. Such a ship was the British _Duke
of Wellington_. She was 240 feet long, 60 feet wide, and displaced
5,830 tons. Her engines were of 2,000 horse power, and her speed under
power was a trifle less than ten knots (nautical miles per hour). She
carried 131 guns on four decks. This arrangement of guns was similar
to that formerly used on line-of-battle ships, which sometimes carried
guns on the upper deck as well as on the three gun-decks below. She
was, then, one of the line-of-battle ships of her day, although
this term was changed about this time to “ships-of-the-line.” Other
somewhat smaller ships, propelled by steam and sails and with guns
placed similarly to those of the earlier frigates, had come to be
called “steam frigates,” or sometimes still were called frigates. The
_Hartford_, Admiral Farragut’s flagship at the Battle of Mobile Bay in
the American Civil War, was of this type.
[Illustration: A MODERN DESTROYER
_This type of ship was originally designed to protect the larger ships
from torpedo boats, but now that duty has been eliminated by the
elimination of torpedo boats, and destroyers have many uses with the
fleets to which they belong._
]
At about this time, too, explosive shells were introduced, and as these
were far more formidable than the solid shot of earlier times, naval
men set about protecting ships in order to reduce the effectiveness of
this new form of attack.
Iron had been introduced a few years earlier as a ship-building
material, and so iron, naturally enough, was used as armour on some of
the ships sent to Crimea, for wooden ships of the line had been badly
battered by the guns of the Russians when a combined naval force of
British and French ships had attacked a fort near Sebastopol. Both the
British and the French instantly began to build armoured ships for use
in the Crimean War. The British ships were not completed in time, but
three of the French ships went very successfully through an engagement
with a Russian fort in 1855.
These ships were, of course, awkward, heavy, and slow, but they did
prove the value of armour, and so both the French and the British went
to work placing armour on wooden ships and building ships of new design.
In 1859 an iron frigate called the _Warrior_, a ship 380 feet long,
displacing 8,800 tons, was begun by the British. A wide strip of armour
4½ inches thick was placed on each side. This armour strip was 213 feet
long and was wide enough to extend from a little below the water line
to the upper deck. Both bow and stern were unprotected. This ship was,
in appearance, merely an enlargement of the wooden steam frigates that
had preceded her, but she made the surprising speed, under power, of 14
knots an hour.
While she was being built a new type of cannon was perfected which gave
greater power with less weight and she was armed with these improved
guns, each of which was of seven-inch bore and weighed between six and
seven tons.
Then came the American Civil War and a still newer type of armoured
ship was invented. This was the ship with a turret, and the first of
these was the _Monitor_. She was designed by Captain Ericsson, the
same man who perfected the screw propeller, and the turret, the most
important feature of this ship, is the original one from which the
highly perfected turrets of to-day have developed.
The idea of mounting guns in turrets had been suggested before, as a
result of the experience gained in the Crimean War, but Ericsson, when
he designed the _Monitor_, was the first to put the idea into practice.
[Illustration: A MODERN SUPER-DREADNAUGHT
_Which carries the heaviest type of guns, and is protected by heavy
armour. Its speed is less than that of cruisers._]
The _Monitor_ was a strange-appearing ship. The fact that she was said
by the Confederates to be a “cheese box on a raft” gives some idea of
her appearance. She was 170 feet long, 41½ feet wide, and displaced
about 1,200 tons, but her appearance was unique. Her deck was but two
feet above the water and from bow to stern she was as smooth as a paved
street except for a tiny pilot house near the bow and a huge round
“cheese box” amidships. This cheese box was the turret and in it were
mounted two 11-inch Dahlgren guns, the _Monitor’s_ only battery. The
turret was about twenty-two feet in diameter and the sides of it were
of iron eight inches thick. This was built up of eight thicknesses of
one-inch plates bolted together. The broad smooth deck was covered with
three inches of iron and the low sides with five inches. This strange
vessel was completed just in time to be sent to Hampton Roads in order
to protect the wooden ships of the Union Navy from the ferocious and
effective onslaughts of the _Merrimac_, a Confederate ironclad that
had just sunk the _Cumberland_ and set fire to the _Congress_. This
ship had been the wooden frigate _Merrimac_ which had been partly
burned when the Union forces had abandoned the Norfolk Navy Yard. The
Confederates had raised her, repaired her, cut her sides down almost
to the water line, and had built a huge deck house amidships. This
deck house, in which the cannon were mounted, had sloping walls which
were covered with railroad rails. Harking back to the time of Greece,
they affixed a huge ram to her bow, and then sent her forth against
the Union ships in Hampton Roads. Their shells ricochetted from her
armoured sides like hail from a tin roof. All the cannon the helpless
_Cumberland_ could bring to bear disturbed her not at all, and slowly
bearing down upon her wooden adversary she buried her ram in the
_Cumberland’s_ hull. Slowly the old sailing ship filled and sank, her
guns still firing and her shells still glancing harmlessly from the
_Merrimac’s_ armour of rails. The Confederate ship then turned her
attention to the _Congress_, shelled her and set her on fire, and then
calmly returned to her base none the worse, save for a few dents in her
armour.
But during the night that followed the _Monitor_ appeared, having
slowly made her way down the coast from New York. The next day the
_Merrimac_ came out to finish her work of destruction, when the
_Monitor_, a tiny ship beside her great opponent, steamed slowly toward
the approaching ironclad. A duel memorable in naval annals followed—the
first battle between ironclad ships.
As the two ships approached each other the _Monitor’s_ turret slowly
revolved. The black muzzles of the two guns came to bear on her great
antagonist. A double blast from them, and the _Merrimac_ reeled
from the shock, but the turning turret had carried the gun muzzles
on around, away from the fire of the Confederate ship. As the turret
revolved the gun crew, with feverish haste, loaded again, and once more
the muzzles faced the _Merrimac_. All this time the Confederate had
been raining shells at her little opponent, but they glanced harmlessly
from the deck or barely dented the iron walls of the turret. The
_Merrimac_ tried to ram, but the _Monitor_ out-manœuvred her and the
battle continued. A shell struck the _Monitor’s_ pilot house and the
commander was temporarily blinded, but the fight continued. At last,
however, the _Merrimac_ withdrew. The fight, perhaps, was a draw, but
can more properly be called a victory for the _Monitor_—the first ship
to mount a turret, for the _Merrimac_ never again faced a Union ship,
and later in the war was sunk by her own men to keep her from falling
into the hands of their enemies.
[Illustration: A BATTLE CRUISER
_A ship carrying the heaviest of guns but lacking the heavy armour
of the dreadnaughts. Its speed is greatly superior to that of
dreadnaughts._]
Following this engagement many ships similar to both the _Monitor_ and
the _Merrimac_ were built to take part in the Civil War. And others of
other designs were constructed. The war ended, however, with no further
important steps having been made in the design of warships.
Following the Civil War the Navy of the United States fell into decay
for twenty years, but European nations continued the building of
ironclad and, later, steelclad warships. In these, many experiments
were made with turrets and side armour but little of permanent value
resulted.
Guns were perfected, it is true, and the old muzzle-loading
smooth-bores of Civil War and earlier times were succeeded by
breech-loading rifles. These new guns, too, became more and more
powerful and more and more accurate. Still, however, the accuracy of
gunfire was not greatly improved, although it improved slowly.
The newer ships gradually eliminated sails and came to depend
exclusively on their engines, just as passenger ships did during this
same period, and the engines increased in power and reliability until,
in the early ’nineties, many of the world’s cruisers were capable of a
speed of more than twenty knots an hour.
Turrets had become revolving armoured turntables carrying one or
two guns, and these had been placed on an equally heavily armoured
“barbette” or circular steel base through which shells and ammunition
were hoisted into the turret. Side armour grew heavier and heavier,
and a “protective deck,” somewhat above the water line, was built in.
This deck was of comparatively thin steel armour, and as it approached
the side of the ship it was bent down so that it was attached to the
sides at or below the water line, thus placing over the all-important
boilers, engine rooms, and magazines the protection that they needed
from the enemy’s shells. During this period, guns were such that an
enemy’s projectile would probably strike the side of the ship, and this
deck, therefore, did not have to be designed to prevent the entrance
of shells striking it except at a small angle. Consequently, the light
armour used was sufficient. Later, at the Battle of Jutland (in 1916)
and elsewhere, these decks were easily penetrated by shells fired at
such a distance that they fell at a very steep angle.
[Illustration: A SCOUT CRUISER
_This ship is one of the_ Omaha _class, built after the World War for
the U. S. Navy._]
Shortly before the Spanish-American War, a new type of warship began to
appear, and it created much interest because of its supposed ability
to annihilate other types of ships. This new type was the torpedo
boat. It was small and was very fast, for that day, being capable of
twenty-one or twenty-two knots and sometimes a little more. It was a
fragile affair, but it carried the newly perfected Whitehead torpedo.
“Torpedoes” had been used during the Civil War, but in reality they
were nothing but mines, set off by a trigger or by contact, and capable
of use only when they could be set in the path of a ship, or by being
fastened at the end of a long pole could be thrust against a ship,
below the water line, by another craft. Some success attended their use
during the Civil War, but they were not numerous or widely successful.
The Whitehead torpedo, however, was a new development. It consisted of
three parts: first, the “war head,” or foremost section, filled with
high explosive which was set off when its sharp nose came in contact
with a solid object; second, a round steel compressed-air tank, which
took up the midship section; and third, the section to which were
attached propellers, vertical and horizontal rudders, and in which
there was a powerful engine operated by the compressed air of the
midship section. This torpedo could be plunged into the water from a
“torpedo tube” and its engine would propel it for four or five hundred
yards, while it was kept in a direct line and at an even depth beneath
the surface by its automatic rudders.
A torpedo boat, then, small, fast, and capable of making a
comparatively high speed, did seem to be a dangerous warship. But
during the Spanish-American War two Spanish torpedo boats, the
_Furor_ and the _Pluton_, were smothered by the fire of the American
ships—notably the _Vixen_, which was only a converted yacht—at
the Battle of Santiago, and later another type of ship called the
“torpedo-boat destroyer” was designed. This new type completely
eliminated the torpedo boat.
The heavier warships had grown into weird collections of turrets.
Turrets carried 12-inch guns, and 8-inch guns, and 6-inch guns, and
all of these were sometimes placed on a single ship. Turrets were
forward and aft and on both sides, sometimes as many as eight of them.
But the 12-inch guns outranged the 8-inch guns, and the 8-inch guns
outranged the 6-inch guns, and so the British, seeing the fallacy of
these numerous guns of various sizes, decided to build a ship armed
only with the heaviest type of naval guns in use and with small guns to
withstand torpedo attacks. Thus the _Dreadnaught_ came to be designed.
She was the first “all-big-gun” ship, and immediately she changed the
design of all line-of-battle ships, or, as they had come to be called
by this time, battleships. Incidentally, so great was the effect that
the _Dreadnaught_ had, that all the great battleships to-day are called
“dreadnaughts,” or, now that they have increased so much in size,
“super-dreadnaughts.”
[Illustration: AN AIRPLANE VIEW OF THE U. S. S. _LANGLEY_
_An airplane carrier. In order to build the great flying deck the
funnel had to be led to the port side, where it projects only slightly
above the deck._
]
The _Dreadnaught_ was built in 1906. She is 490 feet long, 92 feet
wide, and displaces 17,900 tons. From this will be seen the enormous
increase in size that ships had gone through since the introduction of
steel. She carried ten 12-inch guns, mounted in five turrets, and in
addition to these, originally carried no other guns save twenty-four
12-pounder rapid-fire guns. She could steam at 21½ knots an hour, and
the distance she could go without replenishing her supply of coal was
5,800 miles.
This ship, as I have suggested, revolutionized modern battleship
design, and, since she first appeared, the leading naval powers have
built ships of her type as their first line of defense. It is true
that her secondary battery was found to be inadequate and that later
dreadnaughts and super-dreadnaughts have increased the size of the guns
in this minor battery, but they still retain the huge and powerful
battery of big guns of a uniform size.
Dreadnaughts have enlarged their guns from 12-inch to 14-inch and
at last to 16-inch, which, under the Disarmament Treaty signed at
Washington in 1921, is the limit in size, and some of the newest ships
have their guns mounted three in a turret instead of one or two, but
the characteristic that made the _Dreadnaught_ a dreadnaught is still a
characteristic of all present-day first-line battleships.
Other types have come into existence, but unfortunately I have no space
in which to discuss them. Battle cruisers are fast ships of tremendous
size—they are the largest of modern warships—which carry little armour
but are armed with huge batteries of the heaviest guns and are capable
of enormous speed. They can make from 28 to 35 knots an hour—a speed
that can be equalled only by destroyers. There are submarines, those
slinking creatures that infested the North Sea, the Atlantic, and the
Mediterranean during the World War. The hours I have spent on duty in
the English Channel and the Bay of Biscay, leaning on the bridge rail,
scanning every wave and every bit of wreckage, helping to pick up
occasionally the crew of a torpedoed steamer, searching night and day
for the submarines sent out from Kiel and Zeebrugge, have not made of
submarines a type of warship for which I have any love. But I realize
that, despite the aversion I grew to have for them, they are marvellous
structures, capable of amazing feats, and capable, too, of better, or
at least not such vicious, uses as those to which the Germans put them.
But the warships of to-day—they are of almost innumerable designs
and sizes and uses. A modern fleet is no longer able to maintain
itself with fighting ships alone. Supply ships, hospital ships,
airplane carriers, colliers, gunboats, fleet submarines, ordinary
submarines, destroyers, scout cruisers, battle cruisers, dreadnaughts,
super-dreadnaughts—these are some of the types that only an
encyclopædia of naval information could adequately describe.
CHAPTER VIII
PORTS AND PORT EQUIPMENT
Not all of the story of the sea is in the story of ships. Ships have
always required shelter from the stress of sea, where repairs could
be made, where cargoes could be loaded and unloaded, where crews and
passengers could be taken on board or put ashore. In ancient times a
river’s mouth might have been sufficient, or a natural indentation in
the coast line where a small protected body of water lay in the lee of
a jutting headland. Sometimes a small bay, almost completely surrounded
by land, and still deep enough for ships to ride at anchor, served as
a harbour of refuge. Sometimes islands might be found that protected a
small arm of the sea.
All such places along the Mediterranean coast early became known to
navigation, for the early sailor was inclined to skirt the shore,
fearful of the perils of the open sea. At first these sheltered spots
were left, of course, as Nature had made them. Perhaps a bar at the
mouth made entry difficult; perhaps the prevailing winds drove piled-up
seas into the broad mouths of others; perhaps marshes surrounded others
still, and in such cases these harbours were less used than those
without such disadvantages.
But wherever a fine harbour existed there grew up a port, for ships,
except those meant for war, have no uses save to carry the goods and
passengers that originate ashore. If, on some one of these finer
harbours, a port sprang up, and if a rich interior country was easy
of access from it, because of a navigable river, perhaps, or because
caravan routes converged there, or an easy defile through some
mountain range led to some rich valley not too far distant, these ports
became important. They grew in size because the ease of land or inland
transportation permitted the people of the interior to bring their
goods for sale. Because of their increased size they attracted the
makers of cloth, of leather goods, of glass, of metal ware and cutlery,
and of all the great list of goods that go to make up commerce. These
artisans came to important ports because the ease of distribution made
it simpler for them to sell their wares.
[Illustration: A MAP OF THE PORT OF NEW YORK
_The Lower Bay has not yet been developed, but about the Upper Bay and
along the Hudson and East rivers hundreds of piers are in everyday
use. While New York is a huge port and while it can continue to grow
for many years it has numerous disadvantages, one of the chief of
which is the absence of a belt line railroad._
]
At first, the ships being small, they could be drawn up on the beach,
but as trade increased it was found advisable to build warehouses
and sea walls, so that goods could be stored and easily loaded and
unloaded. The port having become important, it became vital to protect
it from pirates and other enemies, so walls were built about it on the
landward side, and sometimes sea walls were built on the water side, in
which a narrow entrance was left open during the day and closed with
a heavy chain or a floating barricade at night. These sea walls were
often as important to shield the ports from storms as to protect them
from enemies. Thus the early ports developed, and within these walls
were not only all the traders with their goods, but shipyards and those
who supplied ships with cordage, lumber, and sails, as well.
This simple type of port was the rule down to long after the Middle
Ages. As a matter of fact, the great complete structure of the modern
port has been developed within very recent times—principally since the
introduction of steam.
Naturally enough such cities as Venice and Genoa, in their heyday,
about or a little after the year 1200, were no longer simple ports, but
by comparison with even minor ports of to-day they were simple places.
With the development of steam, however, ports became more and more
complex. The increased size of ships, the great investments that
demanded no loss of time in loading and unloading, the vast increase
in the amount of freight and the number of passengers handled—all
these, and many other reasons, compelled ports to add complexity to
complexity, until the person unfamiliar with the great doings of a
busy modern port stands aghast at the vast collection of quays and
docks, jetties and sea walls, steam tugs and canal boats, ferryboats
and barges, floating grain elevators and great suction dredges, ocean
liners and ocean tramps, and a great variety of complicated equipment
in the shape of shipyards, coal pockets, factories, warehouses,
railroad terminals, and many other things too numerous to mention.
[Illustration: A MAP OF THE PORT OF LIVERPOOL
_While Liverpool is much smaller, so far as mere area is concerned,
than New York, it handles about the same amount of freight. Freight
ships load and unload in the tidal basins while passenger steamers use
floating landing stages._
]
Ships do not make a port. Even a fine harbour will not do that alone.
New York is to-day one of the very greatest of the world’s great ports,
but had Nature erected a barrier of insurmountable mountains around it,
even though the harbour and the entrance from the sea had been left
exactly as they are now, it would have been an inconsequential place,
important, perhaps, as a naval base, but unimportant as a centre of
trade, for communication with the interior would have been rendered
difficult or impossible, so that the wheat of the great Northwest, the
iron and steel of Pittsburgh, the manufactured products of a thousand
centres would have found their way to Baltimore or Philadelphia or
Boston or to some other port easier of access.
Thus a port depends on two things—first, ease of access to the sea;
second, ease of access to a productive hinterland.
Nor can a port become highly important if its trade is all in one
direction. If it imports but does not export, ships can come loaded
but must go away empty, and to do that they must charge very high and
possibly prohibitive rates for the freight they bring. If the port
exports but does not import, then ships must come empty before they
can secure their cargoes, and the result is the same. A healthy port,
then, must have a _constant and steady_ stream of freight bound in
both directions. Montreal would be a more important port than it is
if it served a hinterland that bought in larger quantities the goods
manufactured in Europe, for Montreal could export very nearly all the
wheat that ships could take from her harbour. But her imports are so
much less than her possible exports that ships cannot afford to come in
sufficient numbers to carry away all that she could send, especially as
the wheat can be, and a large part of it is, diverted to Philadelphia,
New York, Boston, and Portland.
Imagine a rich country, producing goods in large quantities which are
salable in foreign lands, and anxious and willing to buy, in equal
quantities, the goods of these foreign lands. Imagine such a country
without a single harbour—with, perhaps, a long unbroken coast of sandy
beach on which relentless surges pound the whole year through. Would
such a country long remain without a port? Not so. No matter how
difficult and costly the task might be, a port would be _built_ upon
that very coast. A harbour would be dredged. Great sea walls would
be erected. Vast warehouses, great quays and docks, busy railroad
terminals would soon be in operation, and where Nature had made no
harbour, man would have one.
But Nature is seldom so unkind. All around the world are natural
harbours which need only the clever hand of man to become busy with the
transfer of goods. Some, of course, have more natural advantages than
others. Some are almost entirely the work of man, as others are almost
entirely the work of Nature, but their natural advantages must be many
ere it is worth the time of man to improve them.
[Illustration: A MAP OF THE PORT OF RIO DE JANEIRO
_Rio Bay is probably the finest in the world, but mountains paralleling
the coast form a handicap to the easy transportation of goods inland._]
The natural advantages of a port, however, are of the greatest value
when they combine many things far distant from the port itself with the
natural advantages of the harbour, its surroundings, and its outlet.
To cite New York once more, among its great advantages are these:
First, a fine harbour, with ease of access to the sea yet with thorough
protection from its storms. Second, suitable land surrounding the
harbour, on which factories, warehouses, piers, and shipyards can
be erected. Third, a great and navigable river leading into a rich
country. Fourth, a fine canal connecting the upper reaches of that
river with a far greater land, rich in people of great purchasing and
producing power, rich in mines, in farms, in factories. Fifth, routes
leading overland into the interior along which great railroads have
been built that reach with their network ten thousand centres that
otherwise could not buy the goods imported to New York or sell their
own either there or beyond the seas. These five things have created
at the mouth of the Hudson one of the greatest seaports of all time.
Without any one of them New York could not be the port it is, but of
the five, the first two are the least important, for a harbour could
be made, and had the surrounding land been a marsh it could have been
built into dry land. Without the trade of the great land to the West,
however, New York could not have been the port that it is to-day.
But an account of all the factors that go to make a port would take one
far afield, so with only this inconsequential statement in reference to
the vast economic structure that lies behind a port, I shall confine
myself directly to the port itself and to its environs, its equipment,
and its activities.
No two ports are identical, but the major ports of the world divide
themselves more or less readily into types which I may be permitted
to call the European and the American types, inaccurate as those
classifications may be. I shall describe, in more or less detail, these
two types, and add to this something from other ports that fall less
readily under these two inaccurate classifications.
To begin with it needs to be said that mere size has little bearing on
a port’s ability to handle large quantities of freight. By comparison
with the area of the port of New York the area of the port of Liverpool
is limited, New York being perhaps six times larger. Across the Mersey
from Liverpool are the Birkenhead Docks, which, so far as mere area
is concerned, are hardly larger than the Cumminipaw Terminal of the
Central Railroad of New Jersey which lies across the Hudson from
the Battery. The port of New York, including the New Jersey side of
the Hudson and the Bay, has a developed waterfront several times as
great as the port of Liverpool including the Birkenhead Docks, yet
the tonnage of overseas freight handled in each of these two ports is
roughly the same.
The same comparison can be made with many other European ports, which
are all far smaller than New York although several equal or exceed New
York in the tonnage of transoceanic freight handled.
But let us take New York and describe it, in order that other ports may
be compared with it.
[Illustration: A MAP OF THE PORT OF CAPE TOWN
_Table Bay is open to the force of north and northwest winds. Before
the bay could protect ships from the frequent storms blowing from
these directions a series of breakwaters had to be built, in the lee
of which ships could anchor._
]
Entering New York Bay from the ocean a ship passes between Coney
Island on the right and Sandy Hook on the left. Within these two
points lies the Lower Bay, a great and largely undeveloped body of
water around which practically none of the port’s equipment is placed.
Standing on up the channel, with Long Island on the right and Staten
Island on the left, the ship enters the Narrows, a restricted passage
connecting the Lower and the Upper bays. Once through the Narrows the
port begins to show itself. The Upper Bay is smaller than the Lower
and is roughly rectangular, while at each corner a river or a strait
connects it with other bodies of water. Of these the Narrows, just
mentioned, is the most important, for through it flows far and away the
greatest stream of shipping. The Hudson River is second in importance,
for this great and navigable stream penetrates far into the interior
and is connected with the Great Lakes by the Erie Canal, or, as the
newly finished improvement on the Erie Canal is called, the State Barge
Canal. The other two exits from the Upper Bay are the East River—a
strait connecting the Bay with Long Island Sound—and, least important,
the Kill von Kull, leading from the Upper Bay to Newark Bay.
Piers and huge railroad terminals are to be found on every side, and,
more important still, they line the Hudson River for four or five miles
on each side from its mouth at the Battery, to Fifty-ninth Street on
the Manhattan side, and to Fort Lee in New Jersey. Similarly, but to a
less extent, the East River is lined with piers while a great railroad
terminal is located on Long Island Sound just beyond where the East
River ends. Yet thriving as it is, this great port, compared with some
other great ports, is an inefficient place.
Marseilles is a smaller port than New York, yet Marseilles, for every
linear foot of equipped quay, averages annually 1,500 tons of cargo
transferred as against 150 at New York.
The reason for this is that the ports are two different types. In
New York the piers are long and narrow and are built on piles from
the shore line out into the water to the pier line. Such structures
are inefficient in many ways. The piers being narrow, they make it
difficult for a roadway to be kept open throughout their entire length,
and force the handlers of freight to store it high on both sides.
Furthermore, the strength of the structures will seldom permit of the
erection of numerous cranes along each side in order to expedite the
loading and unloading of ships.
[Illustration: A MAP OF THE PORT OF MARSEILLES
_In this case the city grew up practically without a harbour. Finally
a breakwater was erected parallel to the shore in order that ships
might be protected from the sea._
]
In Hamburg there are quays 1,500 feet long with 3-ton cranes spaced
every 100 feet. In all of New York Harbour there is no installation
similar to this. It is true that at the Bush Terminals there is an
excellent installation of warehouses, piers, railroad facilities, and
other port equipment—an installation comparable to the best—but New
York as a whole could be greatly improved, although it is only fair to
say that the difficulties and expense would be great.
But while foreign ports are likely to be more lavishly equipped with
loading and unloading machinery, it must be remembered that they, long
since, have developed the small areas at their disposal and cannot
readily expand, while New York, great as it is, still has room for
expansion and could add many times its present equipment to what it now
has.
Furthermore, New York labours under another, and a very serious,
handicap. It has grown to be one of the world’s great manufacturing
centres. It abounds in factories. The wholesale houses, the stores, and
other places of business handle huge stocks of goods, and the railroad
facilities are limited. Every port should have a “belt line” railroad,
that is, a railroad circling it about, crossing all the lines that
come to it from any direction. With such a railroad, freight could be
brought into the city by any line, turned over to the Belt Line, and
switched to almost any of the industrial sections or quays. But New
York has no such railroad. To begin with, New York proper is on the
Island of Manhattan, and only one freight line comes into the city.
The others all have their terminals in New Jersey, save for one on the
north shore of Long Island Sound and one in Brooklyn. Therefore, it
is necessary to transfer the freight intended for New York by means
of “car ferries.” Furthermore, all the freight landed on New York
piers must be transported by trucks, or reëmbarked on canal boats
and barges. Except on the New Jersey side of the Bay and the Hudson
River, on Staten Island and at the Bush Terminals, there are few places
in the entire port where railroads can run their cars to warehouses
conveniently placed for the reception of cargoes.
Busy as are the piers on Manhattan Island they are devoted almost
exclusively, so far as freight is concerned, to the shipments intended
for the business houses located in Manhattan. The congestion always
noticeable along West Street is due to the unfortunate location of the
principal borough of New York City on an island, and little of this
busy district is given over to the handling of foreign commerce.
[Illustration: A TUG BOAT
_The bows of these boats are often protected by pads to which much wear
often gives an appearance of a tangled beard._]
Were the facilities for handling freight more highly developed, a large
percentage of the cost of shipment would be eliminated. While the port
of New York is fortunate in many respects, its plan is such that it
is difficult to see how a highly efficient system of freight transfer
could be installed without disproportionate expense. Lacking this
system, there is a great deal of freight handled in the most expensive
possible way—by hand—which could be handled more cheaply were it
practicable to instal the most highly developed mechanical assistance.
This manual labour necessitates higher rates for the shipment of
freight. How great these costs are is apparent when one realizes that
once aboard ship, a cargo of coal could be carried from New York to
Rio de Janeiro for what it would cost, to move by hand, a pile of coal
the same size as the cargo, a distance of sixty feet. Such a statement
gives one a little grasp on the huge costs of unnecessary freight
handling.
What I have termed the “American type” of ports are those that have
piers built on piles out from the shore line. Alongside these piers the
ships are tied up, and largely with their own derricks they hoist their
cargoes from their holds and deposit them on the pier. Sometimes these
piers are two stories high, with one floor intended for incoming and
the other for outgoing freight. These piers may be from a few hundred
to a thousand or more feet in length, and the longer they are the
broader they must be in order that there may be enough space between
the freight on both sides for the trucks that cart the freight to or
from them, for the longer the pier the more freight it will have and
the more trucks it will need to accommodate in order to have it moved.
But piers are not the best arrangement for handling freight. A more
nearly ideal arrangement is a warehouse served on one side by ships
and on the other by a railroad and trucks. In this case the warehouse
becomes a reservoir capable of taking quickly into storage the
huge cargoes of many ships. From this reservoir of imports freight
trains can be loaded conveniently without congestion. On the other
hand, exports sent to the warehouse by rail can arrive in trainload
or carload or even less-than-carload shipments and can be stored
conveniently until a cargo is on hand, when it can quickly be put
aboard ship. In such a port as New York such a warehouse would need, as
well, to be equipped to load and unload lighters and canal boats. Were
all of the piers of the port of New York rebuilt along these lines—and
that is practically impossible—the port could handle with ease and the
minimum of expense many times its present tonnage.
[Illustration: A NEW YORK HARBOUR FERRY
_While these double-ended ships are large, they do not compare in size
with the liners. Yet they carry hundreds of thousands of passengers to
and fro across the Hudson and the Upper Bay._
]
What I have called the “European type” of port is one in which piers,
such as those in New York, are practically unknown. Many European ports
have a handicap that does not trouble ports of the United States. This
handicap is the high tide. While the tide at New York has a range of
4½ feet, at Boston 9½ feet, at Baltimore 1 foot, Liverpool is troubled
with a range of 25 or 30 feet, and many other ports have as much, or
almost as much. This means that while a ship may be tied up to a pier
at New York and not be bothered by an extreme movement up and down
great enough to make her any difficulty in the handling of her cargo,
ships in Liverpool cannot be berthed at unprotected piers, for if they
were they would find their decks far below the deck of the pier at low
tide, while at high tide the water would raise them until their decks
would be above it.
There are two ways of overcoming this difficulty. At Liverpool great
landing stages are built, floating in the water parallel to the shore.
Running from these to the shore are great hinged gangplanks which
permit the landing stage to rise and fall with the tides while these
gangplanks, which are really more like bridges, hold them parallel to
the shore and serve as bridges as well. A ship, made fast to one of
these landing stages, rises and falls as the stage does, and the two
maintain their relative positions to each other regardless of the stage
of the tide. In Liverpool these stages are largely used for passenger
ships.
The other method, which is also in use at Liverpool as well as at many
other ports, is to build a sea wall across the entrance to the docks,
and in this sea wall to build a “lock,” or a water gate. When the tide
is in, the water gate is opened and the harbour or the dock is flooded
to the level of high tide. As the tide recedes this lock is closed and
the water level behind it remains the same. Ships pass in and out,
either at high tide, when the lock or gate can be left open for a time,
or, if at other stages of the tide, by means of the lock, which, being
made up of two gates at the opposite ends of a long, narrow, canal-like
passageway, makes it possible for the ship to pass into the lock, where
the water level can be made to coincide with the level of the dock or
of the water outside. Then, by opening the inner or the outer gate, as
the case may be, the ship can enter the dock or the unprotected waters
outside.
Equipment of both these types is to be found at a number of European
ports, while still other ports, not troubled with a great range of
tide, do not find it necessary to instal them.
[Illustration: A NEW YORK HARBOUR LIGHTER
_Lighters take various forms and perform various tasks. European
lighters are more likely to have pointed ends. American lighters very
often have square ends. Occasionally they have engines of their own,
but generally they depend on tugs for power._
]
But the principal difference between the European and American types
is to be found in the use by the former of huge quays, sometimes more
or less similar in general shape to the American piers, but infinitely
larger. Also they are surrounded by stone sea walls and are of dry
land. On these great quays are warehouses, railroad tracks, derricks,
cranes, and even great railroad yards. They are of various sizes and
various shapes, but all of them, by comparison with piers, are very
large. At Manchester, for instance, where a harbour has been built in
that inland city and connected with the Irish Sea by the Manchester
Ship Canal, there are only eleven or twelve quays, but their area is
152 acres, and they have a water frontage of more than five miles. The
railways and sidings on and immediately adjacent to the quays have a
total length of well over thirty miles. Great warehouses, some as many
as thirteen stories high, are built on these quays, with berthing space
for ships on one side and railroad sidings on the other. Inland canals
as well as railroads serve this port and, of course, much local freight
is moved by truck. Manchester is an excellent example of what I have
termed the European type of port.
But as I have said, no two ports are identical. Each port has
advantages and disadvantages, problems and solutions of its own.
Descriptions of a few scattered ports may be of some service in giving
an idea of the variety of problems and solutions that may arise, before
I turn to a description of the details of port equipment.
I have given a little space to the arrangement of the ports of New York
and Manchester, and Liverpool has been mentioned. Let us turn, then, to
Rio de Janeiro, a port very different from these.
Rio is on one of the most magnificent harbours in the world, and is
becoming an increasingly important port. It labours, however, under a
very serious handicap in that it has no waterway leading into the vast
interior of Brazil. Furthermore, other easy routes inland from Rio are
interfered with by the mountain ranges that lie close to the coast.
Railroads have been built across these mountains for some distance
into the interior, but the grades are heavy, and by present methods it
would be expensive and difficult to send great quantities of freight by
these routes. For this reason Rio is not likely ever to become a South
American New York. Here, then, is a case of a magnificent harbour that
will probably never be used to its capacity.
The harbour itself is about sixteen miles long and is from two to
eleven miles in width. It is deep enough to accommodate the world’s
greatest ships and could readily be equipped with an almost perfect
arrangement of terminal facilities. As it stands the port is excellent,
but by comparison with other large ports its tonnage of freight is
limited. Quays similar to those so often used in European ports are in
use in Rio, and in the development of the port the European system is
being followed.
[Illustration: A MISSISSIPPI RIVER STERN-WHEELER]
Capetown is less fortunate in its harbour than Rio, for Table Bay,
upon which Capetown is situated, is twenty miles wide at its entrance
and is fully exposed to the north and northwest gales. This handicap
necessitated the construction of huge breakwaters which enclose two
basins of a total area of about seventy-five acres. In addition there
is a good anchorage in the lee of one of the breakwaters, and the port
is expanding in order to utilize this protected spot. Here again the
several miles of quays are of the European type.
Marseilles, on the other hand, can hardly be said to have a harbour at
all. It is situated on an indentation of the coast which is slightly
protected by Cape Croisette, but which is entirely unprotected from
the west. This has necessitated the erection of a breakwater parallel
to the shore line behind which are a series of basins in which are a
dozen or so docks and quays. The Mediterranean is practically tideless,
so the basins at Marseilles do not require locks, but the basins, in
almost every respect, except for the absence of dock gates, are similar
to those, for instance, at Liverpool. A glance might suggest that
Marseilles would be an inefficient port, but the contrary is the case.
I could go on almost indefinitely listing ports that differ as greatly
from these as these differ from one another, but I could hardly show
more clearly how diverse are the problems to be solved by the designers
and builders of ports. There are many books, of which “Ports and
Terminal Facilities,” by Roy S. MacElwee, Ph. D., is one, that discuss
the numerous economic, engineering, and structural phases of ports, and
to these I refer the person interested in the technicalities of port
design, construction, and operation. This outline, being consciously
non-technical and limited, must pass on to other things.
What is most obvious to the casual observer at a busy port is the great
and varied stream of shipping that seems for ever on the move. For a
moment I shall turn to this collection of ships in order to explain the
uses of the different types and the necessity for them.
A ship arrives in a busy port from a foreign country. The ship is
large and is designed so as to be easily handled at sea. She is not,
however, easy to handle in the restricted and crowded waters of a port.
It takes a quarter- or a half-mile circle for her to turn around in,
if she is under way, and she is not entirely to be trusted if the tide
catches her in narrow waters. A collision may result, and so there are
tugboats which, among their numerous duties, are employed to tow her
about the harbour, or to assist in turning her, or to push her awkward
nose across the sweep of the tide in order that she may enter a dock or
swing into a narrow slip.
[Illustration: A MODERN VENETIAN CARGO BOAT
_This is hardly more than a barge, with a sail plan of a modified
form, somewhat suggesting the lateen rig common in the Mediterranean,
and something like the lug sails common in French waters._
]
Tugs are even more necessary when sailing ships appear, for a large
sailing ship without auxiliary power is hard to handle in a crowded
and narrow harbour. Barges, too, require outside power, which the tugs
furnish, for few barges have power of their own. Canal boats are barges
of a sort, and once in a port can no longer depend upon the mule teams
that tow them through canals. So the tug’s life is a busy and a varied
one. It swings on the end of a huge hawser in its attempt to keep the
_Leviathan_ or the _Majestic_ from sideswiping a pier. It tows barges
loaded with coal, or piled high with any other kind of cargo. It tows
a string of empty and wall-sided canal boats up the river, or steams
along with one lashed to each side. Tugs carry no cargo, but they are
for ever straining at hawsers in their energetic furthering of commerce.
Lighters are of any size and of a great variety of shapes. In New
York they are likely to be capable of carrying from three hundred to
six hundred or seven hundred tons of freight, and are merely huge
scows, their sides parallel, their ends square, their decks slightly
overhanging the water at bow and stern. Often there is a small deck
house for the accommodation of the “crew,” which generally consists
of one man, who serves as watchman, and also handles the lines as the
lighter is made fast to tugs or piers or to the sides of other vessels.
Other ports have other types of lighters. In Hamburg they range in
size from comparatively small boats to comparatively large ones. The
small ones, and even some of the larger, are often propelled along the
shallow canals of the port by poles, or are pulled along the quays by
men to whom lines are passed. These Hamburg lighters are often built
of steel (the New York lighters are usually of wood) and have pointed
bows and sometimes pointed sterns. They are broad and sturdy, some
have decks, some covered decks, and some are open. In bad weather
the freight on these open lighters is covered by tarpaulins. It is
interesting that the largest Hamburg lighters about equal in size the
smallest New York lighters. In vessels so simple as lighters are, there
can be few differences save those of size and general shape, so one
will find that most lighters fall into one or the other of the types I
have mentioned. They are sometimes loaded directly from ships. They may
be loaded from freight put ashore on piers, quays, at grain elevators
and ore pockets. At some ports where the draft of water does not permit
a heavily laden ship to enter, the lighters are sent out to where the
ship is at anchor and “lightens” her, if she is discharging, or takes
her her cargo if she is loading. Lighters, then, are floating delivery
wagons, subject to many uses.
Canal boats hardly require much space. They are merely barges whose
uses are largely restricted to canals. They have no power of their own,
and their journeys are generally at the end of a towline hitched to
a mule or a team which walks along a tow path beside the canal. They
are unbeautiful but useful, and usually have a deck house for the use
of the bargeman, who is often accompanied by his wife and children.
There are no masts from which to spread sails or fly signal flags,
but in lieu of this, one sometimes sees the housewife hanging out her
washing on a clothesline stretched wherever she can place it. In their
attempt to secure the comforts of home the bargeman’s family is likely
to have with it a dog or a couple of pigs, and sometimes both. Such a
collection of human and animal passengers can live on a canal boat with
a considerable degree of comfort, for the dangers of the sea are not
for them. Although life on a canal boat is subject to some handicaps,
at least it does not include danger from high seas and uncharted reefs.
The introduction of the gasolene engine has made possible successful
small boats, of almost every size and shape, speedy, slow, seaworthy,
or cranky, depending on their design or lack of design. They scoot
everywhere on a thousand errands and add a nervous note to ports that
otherwise would seem to be calm and self-possessed. These motor boats
are infinite in number and are put to every use. Here, however, I shall
not do more than recognize the very apparent fact that they exist.
These vessels I have named are all a port would need to take care of
its overseas commerce. Most ports, however, are busy with an infinite
number of other ships engaged in coastwise or inland trade. River
steamers, fishermen, ferryboats, and coasting freighters are perhaps
commoner than ocean-going ships. Then, too, one sometimes sees a
floating grain elevator, not dissimilar in appearance to some grain
elevators ashore. There are water barges, which supply ships with
fresh water. There are dredges, seemingly for ever at work. There are
glistening yachts and frowning warships. There is everything that
floats rubbing elbows with everything else that floats, and yet despite
the seeming confusion, the whole port is orderly, and seldom indeed
are there collisions or accidents to mar the smoothness of the flow of
commerce.
CHAPTER IX
THE ART OF SEAMANSHIP
Seamanship is the art of handling ships and is not to be confused with
navigation, which is the mathematical science of determining ships’
positions and their courses. Only sailors who have had experience at
sea can be adept at seamanship, but it is quite possible for a person
who has never seen a ship to learn all the intricacies of navigation.
Neither is a knowledge of one requisite to the mastery of the other.
In this chapter I shall devote myself to a few of the more obvious
phases of seamanship, leaving navigation for the next chapter, where I
shall also touch upon piloting, a related science.
Seamanship, being an art, can be acquired only by practice, and
seamen being formerly an all-but-unlettered class, jealous of their
calling, wrote no textbooks of their art until Captain John Smith, the
famous old adventurer in Virginia, and Sir Henry Mainwayring, of the
Elizabethan navy, wrote their treatises on the subject in the early
part of the 17th Century. It is difficult, therefore, to say with any
degree of certainty just what were the general practices of seamen of
earlier times.
Because of this lack of definite information concerning ancient
seamanship, I shall discuss the art only in its more modern aspects.
It is interesting to mention again, however, what I have mentioned
elsewhere, that the ancients were coasters rather than deep-sea
sailors, who, until Columbus’s time, were unaccustomed to making long
voyages out of sight of land save here and there, as, for instance,
between Aden, at the mouth of the Red Sea, and India. On such a
route they came and went with the monsoons, which blow alternately
at different seasons of the year from and to the Indian coast. But,
aside from such exceptions, the ancients, able seamen though they may
sometimes have been, seldom sailed far out of sight of land. In ancient
times a sailor, it would seem, was anxious to stay near shore, for
then he could readily follow his route, indirect though that might
be. To-day the sailor is more at ease if he is well away from land,
for the perils of the deep sea are trifling by comparison with the
perils of the coast. Storms at sea can usually be ridden out without
danger. Storms that blow as ships approach the shore are cause for
apprehension. The ancient sailor kept his eyes open for heavy weather
and if he saw it coming he made straightway for the beach, and, if
possible, pulled his little ship high and dry until it had passed. The
sailor of to-day, too, keeps his eyes open for storms, but if they come
he would rather be safely far out at sea than near the coast, unless
he could ride it out in some safe harbour. These differences between
the ancient and the modern seaman are due to the increase in the size
and seaworthiness of ships, and to the universal use nowadays of the
compass, an instrument unknown to the ancients. Nowadays, too, steam
has changed things, for ships that carry, in their hulls, powerful
engines capable of successfully combating the wind need fear that
danger of the sea far less.
[Illustration: A PAGE OF KNOTS IN COMMON USE]
Many books on seamanship have been written since Captain John Smith and
Sir Henry Mainwayring published theirs. “Modern Seamanship,” by Admiral
Austin M. Knight, U. S. N., is a deservedly popular work, even though
it is largely given over to the art in its connection with ships of
war. The fact, too, that it contains 250,000 or more words shows how
great the subject is, and how superficial my brief discussion must be.
The first duty of a sailor is to be familiar with his ship and the
apparatus he is called upon to use. In the days of the clippers every
sailor had to know how to perform almost every task. Many ships of
that time carried cooks, sailmakers, and carpenters, it is true, and
the duties of these men were for them alone. But every sailor was
likely to be called upon to reef or steer, to handle an oar in a small
boat, to splice lines and tie knots of all sorts, to re-rig spars and
masts, man the pumps, paint, scrub, scrape woodwork, and perform a
thousand other tasks with precision and rapidity. He had sometimes
to “lay aloft” and in the blackness of bitter wintry nights to find
his way along the foot-rope of a swaying spar far above the deck in
order to reef sleet-covered sails that whipped repeatedly from his
stiffening fingers. He had to know each of a thousand lines by name so
as to belay or release the right one at a moment’s notice, even in the
blackness of a night of storm. He had sometimes to make his way far out
along the bowsprit to the jib boom or the flying jib boom in order to
release some tangle of wind-whipped line, and to hold on for dear life
as mountainous seas dashed their angry foam-flecked crests viciously
at him as he maintained his precarious hold. He had to know what
strain the whistling rigging could hold up under, and how to repair
the damage wrought by storm. He had to beach his ship in far-distant
ports and between the tides to scrape her bottom and calk her leaking
seams. He had to know his ship from bow to stern, from truck to keel,
and must ever have been ready to turn his hand to whatever task might
momentarily have required him. It is no wonder that it took years to
make a sailor. The wonder is that men were found to risk their lives
in storm, to eat the disgusting food that such ships too often fed
their crews, to toil for months—for years—for trifling pay, beaten by
their officers for minor as well as major breaches of discipline, yet
willing, once a voyage was done, to spend their little savings in one
wild fling and ship once more.
But most of that is gone. Sailors on the steamships that circle the
earth to-day are mechanics and workmen. The man at the wheel can be
taught his job passably well in a few hours. The men on deck are
often not sailors at all, in the old meaning of the word, but merely
labourers, who work at their appointed tasks under the direction of
the officers, many of whom would be all but helpless if called upon to
handle a square-rigged ship under sail.
[Illustration: BEARINGS AND POINTS OF SAILING]
But that is no reflection on the sailors of to-day. Their jobs are
different and the wide experience and knowledge of the sailor of
earlier days would benefit them little. Of what use is the ability to
reef a sail to a sailor on a ship where there is nothing made of canvas
save tarpaulins and awnings? Why know the intricacies of a sailing
ship’s complicated rigging when one comes in contact only with ships
on which the rigging is limited to steel masts and cargo booms? Why
should one develop an eye for changes in the weather when a barometer
can foretell it for one? Some of the old ways still leave their mark,
but mechanics are of more service on the ships of to-day than sailors.
Here and there one still finds sailors comparable or even superior to
the rough-and-ready men of years gone by. The fishermen of Gloucester
are such men, but an able captain could more easily take a steamer
across the ocean with a crew of mechanics who never before saw the sea,
than with a crew of Gloucester fishermen who had had no experience with
machinery. All of this was proved during the World War when Britain
largely manned her M L’s, those tiny motor cruisers built to hunt for
submarines, with men who first went to sea in those unsteady ships of
war. And America, in 1917 and 1918, sent across the Atlantic scores of
craft only slightly larger—the 110-footers—most of them officered and
manned with college boys and others who had had no experience at sea.
And of all the scores that went over and came back in the service of
the United States Navy, not one was lost because of storm or shipwreck.
But I do not mean to imply by this that the need for seamanship is
gone. Far from it. Seamanship has changed, not disappeared, and more
knowledge, though of a different sort, is needed to operate a steamer
than to operate a sailing ship.
A sailor still has need to know the many knots that earlier seamen
used so constantly. The square knot and the bowline are, perhaps,
the most important of the lot, but the fishermen’s bend and the
timber hitch, the catspaw and the sheepshank, the single and double
Blackwall hitches, the figure of eight, the bowline on a bight, the
rolling hitch, and a dozen others are useful still. But nowadays wire
rope is commoner than formerly, so thimble eyes and wire rope clips,
turnbuckles, shackles, and other apparatus used with wire rope are
useful things with which to be familiar. And still it is advisable to
know how to splice both hemp and wire rope. But the Turk’s head, the
double Matthew Walker, and others of that type are less in evidence
than formerly.
More rope is used to-day in the movement of cargo than in rigging, but
sailors have little to do with the cargoes of ships. Crews are used
nowadays merely to handle the ships, while stevedores at every port
load and unload, stow and break out the freight that fills the great
holds.
[Illustration: HOW A FORE-AND-AFT SAIL IS REEFED
_The sail is partly lowered, the reef points are tied beneath the sail
and above the boom, and the sail is then raised. A part of the sail,
however, has been held by the reef points and is not spread to the
wind._
]
Few really nautical things, in the old sense, are asked of modern
sailors. They must be able to steer, although many ships have
quartermasters whose duties are only those that have to do with the
bridge. They must be able to handle the “ground tackle,” that is, the
anchors and cables, but that is simple, for one has only to throw off
a few lashings and pull a lever in order that the anchor may plunge to
the bottom as the cable roars through the hawse pipe. To weigh anchor a
steam valve is opened, or an electric switch is turned, and a windlass
brings in link after link until the anchor once more is snugly in
place, while the hawse pipe drips water and the anchor flukes drip mud.
The sailor then has only to wash the mud from the flukes with a hose,
clamp down a “slip stopper” to make the cable secure, and the task is
done.
Sailors are supposed to know how to lower and handle the lifeboats, and
many of them do, but alas, the smartness of small boats under oars
is almost gone. Such a thing takes practice and coördination, and few
indeed are the merchant ships to-day that can muster a boat crew worthy
of the name. And even that is less necessary than it was, for motor
boats do the work in ports, and lifeboats need only float for a time
before they are picked up by some ship that has caught the radio call
for help. And to float they need no seamen, for nowadays they are both
noncapsizable and practically unsinkable.
If a ship goes aground where there is no help, the old method of using
small boats to carry an anchor out to seaward and of hauling the ship
off by means of a cable made fast to the anchor, is seldom enough in
these days of large ships to accomplish the task. The unfortunate ship
is either beyond help, save for her crew, or needs a sea-going tug or
two and a crew of professional salvagers.
And so I could go on through many more phases of seamanship, proving
that the knowledge required of deck hands is less than formerly. But
the knowledge required of officers is another matter.
[Illustration: A FREIGHTER TIED UP TO A PIER
_The lines shown running from the ship to the pier are often used in
slightly different arrangements, but always it is advisable to run
lines diagonally in order that slight movements of the ship away from
the pier may be checked gradually and without breaking the lines.
Furthermore, this arrangement prevents movement ahead or astern._
]
Officers must know an infinite number of things that a deck hand need
not trouble himself to learn. They must know how to manœuvre to avoid
collision, an important matter in these days of many ships and busy sea
lanes. They must know the rules of the road, for every ship one passes
close to must be signalled in order that her officers may know exactly
what the approaching ship is planning to do. An officer must know a
hundred different arrangements of lights at night, which may mark ships
under sail, under power, at anchor, with barges in tow, ships not under
command, buoys, lighthouses, cable vessels, pilot ships, fishermen with
their gear drifting about them, open boats, and a variety of other
things. He should be able to signal in the International Code with
a flashlight. He must know how to handle his ship in heavy weather
in order that her hull shall not be unduly strained, her upper works
unduly battered, or her cargo shifted. He should be adept at handling
his ship around a dock, and must be equally adept at making her fast
alongside pier or quay. He must know what to do in case of collision,
in case of fire, in case any of a score of contingencies arise. He must
be familiar with first aid and the use of medicines, for few ships
carry doctors. He must be seaman enough for all his crew, for on him
rests a great responsibility—the responsibility for a great and costly
machine, for valuable cargoes, for the health, and even for the lives,
of many men. Should a man ashore be employed to manage a factory as
costly as a ten-thousand-ton ship, with an output as valuable as the
cargoes of such a ship, he would be paid many times what a captain is
paid, and, should fire destroy his factory or tornado crush it, he
would probably be given the insurance money in order to build another.
Not so the captain. His responsibility is as great or greater; his
experience and ability must be at least as great; his pay is little;
and should a tempest tear his ship apart beneath him he is likely to be
doomed for ever after to stay ashore, a broken captain, and probably a
broken-hearted man.
The captain of a sailing ship must be familiar with many things that
the captain of a steamer need not know. As in practically every
other line of modern endeavour, the handling of ships has developed
specialists. The chief engineer is responsible for the motive power of
ships to-day. And he need know nothing more than how to operate the
machinery. The captain need only know, so far as power is concerned,
whether he wants the propeller to drive him ahead or astern and how
fast, and how to use his propellers in tight places. The argument as
to who is more important to the ship, despite its futility, still
sometimes waxes strong. Both are essential, for the engineer harnesses
the steam that drives the ship. He must be subject to the commands of
the captain, who formerly had need himself to know how to harness power
by means of sails, which were his engines.
[Illustration: A FEW TYPES OF SAILING SHIPS COMMON IN EUROPEAN AND
AMERICAN WATERS]
To a traveller unfamiliar with ships the captain of a steamer seems
generally to have an easy job. The mates stand the watches on the
bridge, the engineers below, and often a captain is actively engaged
in handling his ship only in leaving and arriving at ports. For the
remainder of his time at sea he reads or paces the deck, takes his
meals regularly, and does little else save make observations with his
sextant in the morning, at noon, and in the afternoon, spending at this
task hardly more than a few minutes each day. These are his activities
during fine weather, which, fortunately, is most of the time. If fog
and storm intervene, the story is a different one, and every captain
finds it necessary, at times, to spend whole days and nights on
the bridge, his food brought to him, his every sense alert to take
advantage of each opportunity the elements present to ease his ship, to
keep her on her course, to watch, if land is near, lest breakers and
black rocks should be his port of call.
Nor should a captain content himself with knowing how to handle his
ship in heavy weather. A knowledge of the causes and actions of storms
is highly important. From a barometer much can be deduced about changes
in the weather, and if one knows what to expect he is likely better to
be able to meet it.
I said that a man could be taught to steer passably well in a few
hours, and that is true _at sea_. But the steering of a ship amounts
to more than holding her to her course across wide stretches of smooth
water. Many a ship has been saved from collision because her officers
knew accurately her “turning circle,” her “pivoting point,” her “kick,”
and other fine points of her steering. It could readily happen if two
ships were approaching each other “bow on” that they could safely pass
if each put her rudder half over to the right, and that their sterns
or even their sides would collide if each put her rudder full over to
the right. Such a thing is due to the fact that ships steer with their
sterns. To change a ship’s direction to the right the rudder moves her
stern to the left. It is as if an automobile were being backed. To turn
a corner its hind wheels would not change their course until the front
wheels had been swung sharply to one side.
[Illustration: A FEW TYPES OF SAILING BOATS TO BE FOUND AROUND THE
WORLD]
Then, too, ships steer differently in shallow water than in deep.
Sometimes a ship which, at sea, is responsive to the lightest shift of
her rudder will behave like mad in a shallow channel. This is due to
the shape of the hull and the paths followed by the displaced water
as it flows past her sides and beneath her keel. In shallow water,
the water that normally would flow beneath her cannot all do so, and
the result is likely to be a difference in the way she answers her
helm. For other reasons a ship must not be driven too rapidly through
a shallow channel. I once saw a ship drawing seventeen feet ground
sharply in the eighteen-foot channel leading into St. George, Bermuda,
for at the speed she was making she was pushing a part of the water
ahead of her and lowering the water level of the channel by more than a
foot. Ships running on parallel courses at a considerable speed should
not permit their courses to be too close, else a similar thing might
happen, bringing them forcibly together. This happened to the _Olympic_
and a British cruiser years ago in the English Channel.
These are only a few of the many things that might arise in handling
ships. Other possible contingencies are almost infinite in number.
Furthermore, it is the experience of sailors that no two ships, no
matter how nearly they may be alike, are identical in their actions.
This belief (and it has a very great deal of truth behind it) has
probably had more than a little to do with the habit, that seems
natural to seamen, of personifying ships. In addition to the fact that
all ships have characteristic ways of their own, most ships react
differently under different conditions of loading and when carrying
their varying cargoes. A tramp loaded with iron ore will sometimes
be uncomfortable in heavy weather even though she may be thoroughly
comfortable in a similar storm when loaded with coal. The reason for
this lies in the fact that iron ore, being heavy, loads a ship to her
Plimsoll mark without filling her holds. Thus the heavy cargo gives the
ship a low “centre of gravity” and she may roll heavily and constantly.
Coal, on the other hand, is lighter than ore, and a cargo fills her
hold to overflowing, raising her centre of gravity and reducing the
roll. The captain, however, must know just how his ship handles whether
she is carrying ore, or coal, or any of a score of different cargoes.
Let us take an imaginary voyage on a ship in order to see what
seamanship is required of her officers and crew. Suppose we board
a ship of 3,500 tons, loaded with coal, at Philadelphia, bound for
Havana. The voyage is short, but a variety of conditions of weather
and of climate will be contended with and the voyage will be a test of
seamanship. Remember, however, that such a ship is far different from
ships intended for passengers. Heavy weather will dash waves across
her decks when the decks of passenger ships will remain entirely dry.
This ship was not built for passengers and her decks are low and are
unprotected from the sea.
The ship casts off from the pier above the city with the first mate in
command, the captain being still ashore attending to the requirements
laid down by law and seeing his owners. The tide being slack, and the
currents temporarily stilled, a tug is not called. The steamer is lying
with her stern to the river and with her starboard or right side next
the pier. Six lines make her fast: a line leading from the starboard
bow well up the dock—the bow line; a line leading from the same pair
of “bits” directly to the dock—the bow breast line; a third line from
about the same point at the bow, along the pier for a distance toward
the stern—the bow spring. From “bits” on the starboard quarter—that is,
at the right side, a little forward of the stern—three other lines are
led similarly to the pier, and are named stern spring, stern breast,
and stern lines, the last reaching as far astern as the bow line
reaches ahead.
The lines, except for the bow spring, are cast off, and with this one
line still fast from the bow aft along the pier, the mate orders the
helmsman to throw his helm hard over to port. This brings the rudder
to starboard, that is, toward the dock, and when the mate signals
the engine room for “slow speed ahead” the stream of water from the
propeller against the rudder swings the stern slowly away from the
pier for the line from the bow to the pier does not permit the ship to
forge ahead. When the stern is well clear of the pier the mate signals
“stop” to the engine room, orders the last line thrown off, the helm
amidships, that is, neither to the right nor to the left, signals
“slow speed astern,” and the ship slowly backs out of the slip. As she
slides clear of the end of the pier the helm is put over to port once
more, the stern swings gradually upstream, and as the bow swings around
parallel to the shore the helm is again brought amidships, the engines
are stopped and then signalled for “slow speed ahead” once more, and
the voyage is begun.
As the ship loafs slowly down past the foot of Market Street a tug
puffs up alongside, our captain steps from its bow to the rail of our
ship, for we are deeply laden, and the lowest sections of our decks
are hardly more than four feet above water, waves to the skipper of
the tug, mounts to the bridge, speaks to the mate, orders “half speed
ahead,” and we steam sedately through the ferry lanes and gradually
leave the busy section of the river behind.
Usually a pilot is aboard, but sometimes port rules permit captains to
take their own ships out, and with an American ship loaded with coal
out of Philadelphia that is the case, saving the owners the expense of
the pilot. So our captain, sitting on a high office stool, which looks
very much out of place on the bridge, takes us down the river, turning
here and there as he makes out the buoys, which are red and conical to
port and black and cylindrical to starboard as we leave the port.
As the deeper water of Delaware Bay is reached the speed is increased
to its maximum, which is only about nine knots an hour, and the
captain, after hours on the bridge, is relieved by the first mate and
goes below.
The ship, having been loaded with coal, at a “coal pocket,” where
tons and tons have roared down into her holds through great chutes,
is covered with a thick layer of coal dust, and looks like an unfit
habitation for men. The deck hands are set to work cleaning the deck
amidships, but one wonders if the ship will ever be clean again. And
then the first of the swells from the Atlantic raises her bow gently.
Another follows and another, and then one climbs straight over the
blunt bow, cascades over the forecastle, and one begins to realize that
the tumbling waves are already at work cleaning the dust from the grimy
ship.
Dusk has fallen, and the Fourteen-Foot-Bank Lighthouse and the one
on Cape May gleam mysteriously, and as darkness hides the restless
sea the lights still gleam. A steamer passes us, her running lights
and range lights clear green and red and white, and then we are
alone, bound outward to the heaving bosom of the great Atlantic. The
light on Cape May fades from sight, and only the fading ray from the
Fourteen-Foot-Bank Lighthouse is left to bind us to the busy world of
North America—and finally that, too, is gone, and we are alone upon
the dark and pathless sea beneath a clouded sky, dependent for our
directions upon a swaying compass card lighted by a dim lamp mounted in
the side of the brass binnacle.
As we passed the Fourteen-Foot-Bank Lighthouse, and were able
accurately to check our position on the chart, the log, a sort of
nautical odometer that tells with a fair degree of accuracy the mileage
travelled, was set in motion by heaving the rotator over the stern at
the end of the log line. This rotator, set in motion by the passage
of the water, twists the line to which it is attached, and the line,
in turn, rotates the mechanism that records the mileage. It is very
similar to the speedometer on the dash of the automobile except that it
shows only the mileage.
If we visit the bridge we may learn from the mate on duty that the
barometer has fallen a little, and that we probably will have a touch
of heavy weather by morning.
We turn in in a comfortable stateroom situated in the deck house just
aft the bridge, and, leaving the port open, for ventilation, go almost
instantly to sleep, forgetful of the man at the wheel, who stands with
his eyes fixed on the slightly moving compass card, turning the wheel
first this way and then that, absolutely confident in the unerring
compass.
Outside, pacing back and forth on the bridge, is a mate, who went on
watch at eight and will be relieved at twelve. As he leans over the
port rail for a moment, the red rays from the port running light palely
illuminate his tanned face. He is confident of his ship, confident of
the engineers and firemen below, confident of the man at the wheel, and
is calm and contented.
[Illustration: THE RIGGING OF A THREE-MASTED SHIP
_(1) Foremast; (2) Mainmast; (3) Mizzenmast; (4) Fore, main, and
mizzen-topmasts; (5) Fore, main, and mizzen topgallant masts; (6)
Fore, main, and mizzen royal and skysail masts; (7) Fore yard; (8)
Main yard; (9) Crossjack yard; (10) Fore, main, and mizzen lower
topsail yards; (11) Fore, main, and mizzen upper topsail yards; (12)
Fore, main, and mizzen lower topgallant yards; (13) Fore, main, and
mizzen upper topgallant yards; (14) Fore, main, and mizzen royal
yards; (15) Fore, main, and mizzen skysail yards; (16) Spanker gaff;
(17) Fore and main trysail gaffs; (18) Lower shrouds; (19) Topmast
shrouds; (20) Back stays; (21) Fore skysail stay; (22) Fore royal
stay; (23) Flying jib stay; (24) Fore topgallant stay; (25) Jib stay;
(26) Fore topmast stays; (27) Fore stays; (28) Main skysail stay; (29)
Main topgallant stay; (30) Main topmast stay; (31) Mizzen skysail
stay; (32) Fore and main lifts; (33) Topsail lifts; (34) Topgallant
lifts; (35) Spanker boom; (36) Bowsprit; (37) Jib boom; (38) Flying
jib-boom; (39) Martingale or dolphin striker; (40) Braces (named from
the yard to which they are attached); (41) Bobstays; (42) Martingale
stays._
]
During the next seven or eight hours the storm gradually approaches.
Higher and higher roll the waves, deeper and deeper rolls the ship, and
suddenly we are aroused by the crash of a sea that mounts the side,
dashes across the deck, and pours in a great stream through our open
port. Shocked instantly into consciousness we leap from our bunks, into
the inch or two of water that is swishing about the stateroom, and
close the port, just too late to save ourselves from a wetting. But our
interest is aroused by the dull gray sea, the rising and falling waves,
the driving spray, and, quickly dressing, we hurry out on deck and up
to the bridge, fearful, perhaps, that trouble is at hand. But once on
the bridge everyone is calm—no one is worried. Another mate, now on
duty, sings out a cheery “Good morning”; the man at the wheel looks up,
nods, and drops his eyes once more to the compass card. We tell of our
wetting and are laughed at, and the ships goes rolling and pitching
on, the waves piling one after another over her weather rail, filling
the low deck forward of the bridge, gurgling around the hatches, and
finally pouring back into the sea in cascades through the scuppers.
Now and again the combination of the ship’s roll and an advancing wave
forces a great foamy cloud high over the bow, where the spray is caught
by the wind which whistles aft with it, stinging our faces and leaving
a pleasant taste of salt upon our lips.
The sky is still overcast, and as eight o’clock comes the clouds grow
heavier, if anything, making it impossible for the officers to take
the elevation of the sun with their sextants in order to work out our
position. But the record of the log is taken, a line is drawn from our
“point of departure” off Cape May, drawn at the angle from that point
that our helmsmen have been steering, and the distance we have run—92
miles, since the evening before—is marked on that line, giving us our
position according to dead reckoning.
Our course has been south, and so, while in the position we have there
may be an error of two or three miles marked, we know that we are not
far wrong, and that we are safely out at sea, about fifty miles due
east of Cape Charles, which is at the entrance to Chesapeake Bay.
The captain now has a decision to make: The action of the barometer
suggests that heavy weather will continue for a while—which is not
surprising, for we are approaching Cape Hatteras, where storms are
perennial. If the sky remains overcast we will not be able to get a
glimpse of the sun, and consequently will not be able to work out our
position, and dead reckoning, while accurate enough for short runs, is
liable to grow progressively inaccurate if the run is long. In addition
to all this we must either change our course to the east in order to
cross the Gulf Stream, or a little to the west in order to stay between
it and the coast, for it is wasted effort to go against a strong
current when it isn’t necessary. Even if we cross the Gulf Stream to
its outer edge we may have to go for several days without a sight of
the sun. If we stay inside it we probably won’t see the sun any sooner,
but we can pass close to Diamond Shoal Lightship, which lies off Cape
Hatteras, and so check up our position.
The captain decides for this latter course, after studying the
barometer again and deciding that the chance for more violent weather
is slight, and with a mark on the chart for our position at 8 A. M. the
course is changed slightly to the west of south.
All day we roll and pitch, not badly, but very steadily, but from the
calmness of everyone about us we, too, view the gale as of no great
importance. Nor is it, for, while the wind is kicking up a rough sea,
the waves are far from mountainous, and in our deeply laden condition
almost anything more than a ripple would wash over our low forward deck.
We have our meals and return after each one to the bridge—always the
most interesting place on a ship, particularly in heavy weather—but by
the time darkness has returned we have seen nothing on the gray and
“smoky” sea save, in the distance, a steamer, that has been lost to
view again, and a schooner under double-reefed sails that passed us
bound north during the afternoon.
We are ready to turn in early, for all day on the bridge with the
spray-laden wind blowing strongly in our faces has been tiring. We
leave word to be called when Diamond Shoal Lightship is sighted, and
roll into our bunks.
At four-thirty in the morning we are called, and bundling ourselves
into our clothes we stumble out on deck. The wind has increased, and
sweeps back from the bow furiously and heavy with moisture. The ship
is rolling deeply, and ever and anon a huge wave pounds heavily on the
high steel bow.
Up on the bridge the captain is pacing in his oilskins, and with him
is the mate, but the night is dark and we stumble against them ere our
unaccustomed eyes can make them out.
“She’s blowing a bit,” shouts the captain, and we silently agree to his
very obvious remark.
“Have you picked up Diamond Shoal Lightship?” we shout in return.
“There it is,” he replies, “two points off the starboard bow.”
But search as we will in the blackness ahead we cannot make it out,
until, our eyes having become more accustomed to the darkness, it shows
up like a pin prick in a black curtain, showing now and then, and lost
to sight as much as it is visible.
The gale has grown stronger and is almost from dead ahead, while the
huge waves cascade over the forecastle, roaring and tumbling—gray with
phosphorescence in the darkness.
The eastern sky pales slowly, and gradually the morning comes,
ghostly and without colour. The sky is gray, the sea is gray, flecked
everywhere with white, and nothing is in sight as daylight comes. The
lightship is invisible, and everywhere about us is the tumbling water.
We go below and have breakfast from a table on which the racks are
placed to keep the dishes from crashing to the deck. We return to the
bridge, and still the lightship is not visible. Have we passed it? No,
we learn. For the last four hours we have made, perhaps, two miles, for
a heavily laden freighter capable of only nine knots at the best is
not able to make much headway against the current and such a gale off
Hatteras.
By noon the lightship can be seen intermittently in its waste of
boiling sea, and all afternoon we can see it occasionally as it slowly
passes astern. But we have checked our position from it and have a new
“point of departure” from which to lay our course for the south.
During the evening the captain tells us that the barometer has risen
somewhat and that we may look for fine weather in the morning. We turn
in, hoping for fine weather, but glad to have been through a Cape
Hatteras blow.
And in the morning we look out through our port on to a summer sea. A
swell is running, it is true, and the ship still rolls, but the sky is
blue, the sea is blue, and a school of porpoises are leaping gaily from
the water alongside.
[Illustration: THE SAILS OF A FOUR-MASTED SHIP
_(1) Foresail; (2) Mainsail; (3) Crossjack; (4) Jigger; (5) Lower
foretopsail; (6) Lower main topsail; (7) Lower mizzen topsail; (8)
Lower jigger topsail; (9) Upper fore topsail; (10) Upper main topsail;
(11) Upper mizzen topsail; (12) Upper jigger topsail; (13) Fore
topgallant sail; (14) Main topgallant sail; (15) Mizzen topgallant
sail; (16) Jigger topgallant sail; (17) Fore royal; (18) Main royal;
(19) Mizzen royal; (20) Jigger royal; (21) Fore skysail; (22) Main
skysail; (23) Mizzen skysail; (24) Jigger skysail; (25) Flying jib;
(26) Outer jib; (27) Jib; (28) Fore topmast staysail; (29) Spanker;
(30) Buntlines; (31) Leechlines; (32) Reeftackles; (33) Braces; (34)
Foresheet; (35) Fore topmast staysail sheet; (36) Jib-sheet; (37)
Outer jib-sheet; (38) Flying jib-sheet._
]
Our course has been changed to southwest, and after breakfast the
captain and his mates take the sun’s altitude, work out our longitude,
and compare notes. At noon our latitude is worked out, and about four
o’clock our longitude again.
On the evening of the third day we check our position again when Cape
Canaveral is picked up. The next afternoon we pass Palm Beach, with its
hotels and bathers plainly visible as we hug the shore in order to keep
away from the strong current of the Gulf Stream. We follow the curve
of the Florida coast and the Florida Keys for another twenty-four
hours, and then strike across the dark blue water of the Gulf Stream
for Havana.
When we appear on deck the next morning we learn that, having reached
the Cuban coast while it was still dark, we have been forced to lie to
until daylight should bring the pilot boat out.
Finally the pilot appears and the ship heads for the narrow harbour
entrance. A triangular pennant, which from its appearance might have
been cut from an American flag, flies on a staff on Morro Castle,
signalling the arrival of an American merchant ship. A motor boat comes
up alongside and a port doctor comes aboard. We are all lined up while
he looks us over hurriedly, signs his report, and leaves. The ship has
made her way slowly into the little harbour, and finally her engines
are stopped, her anchor is let go, and with the roar of the cable
through the hawse pipe the voyage is ended.
Such a voyage as this is not unique. Thousands of ships on thousands
of routes go through similar experiences. Whole voyages are often
taken without a hint of storm. Whole voyages, again, are taken through
continuous and unending storm. Ships sometimes come into Halifax
or Boston caked with ice—their rigging inches thick with it, their
bulwarks buried. Again, typhoons drive ships upon dark rocks, or
overladen ships capsize because of storm. But consider the thousands
that sail the sea—consider the fact that not a storm can blow across
the great stretches of the unfrozen seas without engulfing many
ships within its mighty grasp. Yet with all this one rarely reads of
shipwreck—there are few ships that find their ends in storm.
And this is because men build ships sturdily and handle them adeptly.
Their art is seamanship, and after all, they are artists.
CHAPTER X
THE SCIENCE OF NAVIGATION
Navigation, I may be permitted to repeat, is the mathematical science
of finding ships’ positions at sea and of laying down courses to be
followed. For the designation of positions latitude and longitude are
used, latitude being measured north and south from the equator to the
north and south poles, the equator being zero degrees of latitude, the
poles being ninety degrees north and ninety degrees south latitude.
Longitude is measured from zero degrees to 180 degrees east and west
from the meridian running from the North Pole to the South through
Greenwich, England, 180 degrees east longitude marking the same
meridian as 180 degrees west longitude. For instance, Three Kings
Island, the tiny island which is the northernmost land of the New
Zealand group, is located as follows: Latitude 34° South; Longitude
172° East. This means that this island is 34 degrees south of the
equator and 172 degrees east of the meridian of Greenwich. Actually
navigation is a problem in spherical trigonometry and astronomy,
depending principally, nowadays, upon an instrument called a sextant,
which is used to measure the altitude above the horizon of a celestial
body (sun, moon, or stars), and upon a very accurate timepiece, called
a chronometer, which shows the time of a given meridian—generally the
meridian of Greenwich, England.
In practice, however, it is necessary to know no mathematics other
than arithmetic, for the formulas have been simplified and handbooks
have been compiled which eliminate any necessity for the practical
navigator to delve into the intricacies of spherical trigonometry, a
subject that would frighten most sea captains more than all the other
perils of the deep.
There is another but less accurate method, called “dead reckoning,”
which is used in connection with the more accurate science, and is
used by itself when clouds obscure the sky or fogs hide the horizon.
When land is in sight both these methods largely or entirely give way
to “piloting,” which makes possible the accurate finding of a ship’s
position by reference to known objects ashore.
I shall not attempt to explain all the intricacies of navigation,
for even a simplified complete explanation would in itself become a
small book. There are many books on navigation. Nathaniel Bowditch’s
exhaustive treatises have been revised many times and the whole
compilation is kept up to date so that, while Bowditch himself died
in 1838, the book bearing his name, and still referred to almost
universally as “Bowditch,” is accepted as a peerless authority. But
it is a huge tome, and other practical books, such as “Elements of
Navigation,” by W. J. Henderson, are available for the person who
wishes to profit by a simpler, if less exhaustive, explanation. To
these two books, and to a dozen others, I refer the interested reader
anxious to learn what, after all, is beyond the range of this outline.
Up to the 15th Century the science of navigation was unknown. Before
that time mariners occasionally ventured out of sight of land, for
short passages during which, because they had no compasses, they
attempted to guide themselves by reference to the sun or stars. When
clouds obscured the sky, however, they usually lost their direction,
and even when the sky was clear they knew no way of ascertaining
anything more than rough approximations of the cardinal points.
It seems just a bit strange that sailors were so backward in developing
means of determining their positions at sea by reference to the sun and
stars, while even the ancients were fairly accurate in their ability to
locate their positions ashore by such methods. This undoubtedly was as
much due to the lack of general knowledge among sailors as it was to
the unsteadiness of the ships themselves which made it difficult for
careful astronomical observations to be made. But whatever the reason,
the fact remains that it was not until after the introduction of the
compass that navigation began to make its first faltering advances.
[Illustration: USING A CROSS STAFF
_This crude instrument was used in an attempt to work out problems in
latitude. After holding one end of the staff to the eye and sliding
the cross staff along until the observer sighted over one end at the
sun and under the other at the horizon, the instrument was placed on a
circle marked in degrees, and the angle was determined._
]
That this beginning was made during the period in which Portugal
expanded her commerce only goes again to show that the application of
new minds to old problems results, almost invariably, in progress.
Columbus, of course, did not begin the era of discovery. Prince Henry,
the “navigator,” sent out an expedition from Portugal in 1432 which
rediscovered the Azores—an astonishing thing for times so early, for
the Azores lie 830 miles west of Portugal and are farther from a
continental mainland than any other of the islands of the Atlantic.
That the islands were known to the ancients, however, is proved by
numerous Carthaginian coins found on the island of Corvo, but their
location and practically everything else concerning them seems to have
been lost until Henry the Navigator attached them to Portugal.
But the rediscovery of the Azores proves only that the sailors put
great faith in their compasses, and sailed, despite their fears, out to
the west where all of them _knew_ (it was no matter of mere _belief_)
that the sea ended somewhere suddenly, and that their cockleshell ships
would, if they but sailed to the edge, fall down the smooth green
cataract of an awful, endless waterfall, into limitless space, or,
mayhap, to the vast foundations upon which the world was built. To them
it was as if a canoe were being paddled downstream to the brink of a
cataract to which Niagara itself would be but a raindrop falling from
the eaves.
At the time of the rediscovery of the Azores navigation was, with
the exception of the compass, without any of the instruments that
later came into use. Prince Henry, however, realizing the importance
of compiling information useful to mariners, systematized all the
information available and erected an observatory to determine more
accurately the data in reference to the declination of the sun.
Most navigators use the sun far more than any of the other celestial
bodies in order to determine their positions, and the first thing
necessary is to know its declination—that is, its distance north or
south of the equator.
During the course of a year the movement of the earth, with its
axis inclined at an angle to the plane in which it moves about the
sun, brings the sun vertically over every section of the earth from
twenty-three and one half degrees north of the equator to twenty-three
and one half degrees south and back again.
During the year, then, the sun is twice directly over our equator.
Suppose at noon on one of these days a mariner wishes to determine
his latitude, that is, his distance in degrees, minutes, and seconds
north or south of the equator. He measures, with his sextant, the angle
between the sun and the horizon. If he were on the equator that angle
would be ninety degrees, for the sun would be directly over his head.
He would then subtract the angle shown by his sextant from ninety, the
number of degrees between the horizon and the zenith. In this case the
answer would be zero. Therefore his latitude would be 0 degrees, and
that is on the equator. If he were at the North Pole or the South, the
sun would be on the horizon, and his sextant would show an angle of 0
degrees. Subtracting this from ninety he would find his latitude to be
ninety degrees, north or south of the equator, as the case might be.
At any position between the equator and the poles the problem would be
worked in the same manner.
But, except for two days in the year—but for two moments I might almost
say—the sun is never directly over the equator, and declination is its
distance at any given time north or south of the equator, measured
in degrees, minutes, and seconds. This cannot be learned by any
observations from a ship at sea. It is comparatively simple, however,
to learn it by careful studies made at well-equipped observatories, and
the results of these studies are now furnished mariners in carefully
compiled form, so that they have merely to turn to their book in order
to learn what the sun’s declination is at any given time.
It was this work that Prince Henry began, and modern navigation may,
perhaps, be said to have begun with his studies.
But all the tables of declination are of no use without an instrument
with which to measure accurately the angle between the sun and the
horizon, and such an instrument was slow in coming. The first apparatus
used was called a “cross staff.” It was made of two rods, one about
thirty-six inches and the other about twenty-six inches long. The
shorter staff was arranged so that its centre slid along the other
while it remained rigidly at right angles to the longer staff. To work
out one’s latitude with this instrument the observer waited until
noon was almost upon him. He then took his cross staff and, placing
one end of the longer crossbar to his eye and holding the instrument
so that the shorter bar stood in a vertical plane, moved the shorter
bar back and forth until he could sight over the upper end at the sun
and, at the same time, beneath the lower end at the horizon. As the
sun continued to mount to its highest point he pulled the cross staff
slowly toward him, measuring a greater and a greater angle. When the
sun had reached its highest point and the angle between it and the
horizon began to lessen, his “sight” was completed, and carefully
holding the crossbar where it marked the greatest angle he laid it on
a table on which a circle was inscribed. The end that had been at his
eye he placed at the centre of the circle, and the segment marked by
the lines from the centre past the two ends of the crossbar showed the
number of degrees in the angle he had measured between the horizon and
the sun.
But any one who has attempted to sight a gun accurately while
standing on an irregularly moving platform will have some idea of
the difficulty these old sailors had in sighting accurately at the
horizon and the sun at identically the same time from the deck of a
bobbing ship. The glare of the sun, the motion of the ship, and the
inaccuracy of the instrument itself could not be expected to give more
than approximate results, especially as the several corrections on the
angle now known to be necessary (the refraction of the sun’s rays as
they enter our atmosphere is one) were either not recognized or were
inaccurately known.
[Illustration: USING AN ASTROLABE
_This instrument was meant to improve on the cross staff. One
man held it, when it was supposed to hang with the horizon line
horizontal. Another man sighted at the sun or the stars, and a third
read and recorded the angle. Needless to say the instrument was very
inaccurate._
]
Later the “astrolabe,” an instrument almost equally crude, was
introduced. It was made of a heavy tin or bronze plate, circular in
shape, and pivoted to its centre was a bar running across it from side
to side. It was marked in degrees and fractions, and while one man
held it, as steadily as he could, a second sighted along the pivoted
crossbar and a third read the angles. Vasco da Gama used one of these
in 1497 on his voyage around the Cape of Good Hope, but it did not turn
out to be much of an improvement on the cross staff.
But up to this time, and even later, the science of navigation
consisted almost solely of the approximate determination of latitude
and mere guesses, based on the estimated speed and direction of the
ship through the water, for longitude. So hopeless did it seem at that
time for mariners scientifically to determine their longitude that an
old writer on the subject is quoted by the Encyclopædia Britannica
as saying, “Now there be some that are very inquisitive to have a
way to get the longitude, but that is too tedious for seamen, since
it requireth the deep knowledge of astronomy, wherefore I would not
have any man think that the longitude is to be found at sea by any
instrument; so let no seamen trouble themselves with any such rule, but
(according to their accustomed manner) let them keep a perfect account
and reckoning of the way of their ship.”
These early sailors learned, of course, that their latitude could be
worked out by observing the North Star, and they used that method,
crudely, of course, but similarly to the way it is used to-day. For
this a contrivance called a “nocturnal” was adopted. With this they
could determine what position the North Star was in, in reference to
the true pole, for, of course, the North Star does not exactly mark the
pole, but revolves about it in a small circle.
While the voyage of Columbus did not actually begin the era of
discovery, it did greatly increase interest in exploration, and as most
of this exploration necessitated long ocean voyages the interest in
navigation grew apace. One of the earliest writers on navigation was
a man named John Werner. In 1514 he explained the use of the cross
staff, which for many years had been used on shore but had been first
utilized at sea not very many years before Werner wrote. A little
later one R. Gemma Frisius wrote a book which contained a great deal
of information useful to men of the sea. In it he described the sphere
with its parallels of latitude and its meridians of longitude much as
we use them to-day. Up to this time, however, no agreement had been
made upon what meridian to base the measurement of longitude. Nowadays
the meridian of Greenwich is used. Frisius, however, suggested the
meridian of the Azores. Any meridian, of course, would do, provided
that the necessary data be based upon it, but the data available in the
early 16th Century were slight indeed.
The necessity for drawing curved lines on flat charts to represent the
courses of their ships now began to be understood, for ships do not
sail on a flat surface but instead sail on the ever-curving surface
of the sea. To the person accustomed, as most of us are, to looking
at maps printed on flat pages, this truth becomes evident when he
draws a straight line on a flat map, and then transfers the line to a
geographical globe, making it pass through the same points.
Mariners were troubled, too, by the difficulty of accurately and easily
drawing parallel lines on their charts, but this was overcome in 1584
when “parallel rulers” were first used by one Mordente. “Parallel
rulers,” which are nothing more than two rulers hinged together so that
whether they touch each other or are separated they remain parallel,
are a part of every navigator’s equipment to-day.
Tables of the tides began to appear in the latter part of the 16th
Century, but they were woefully inaccurate, and other information,
while increasing, still was liable to be seriously in error.
Even points ashore, where observations could be worked out under the
best possible conditions, were thought to be from a few minutes to
several degrees from what we now know are their positions, and when one
realizes that an error of one minute of latitude means an error of one
mile, it will be seen that an error of fifteen or twenty minutes might
be enough to put a ship in grave danger while her captain thought her
safe, and that a position in which there is an error of several degrees
is little more than worthless, for each degree of latitude represents
60 miles, and three or four degrees mean one hundred and eighty or two
hundred and forty miles. When it is realized, furthermore, that such
errors as these were made ashore, where the observations were much more
accurate than they could be at sea, one understands why seamen trusted
their navigation but little, for they were often faced, no doubt,
with errors of three or four hundred miles. And, if anything, their
methods of determining latitude were less inaccurate than those used in
determining longitude. Truly, navigation in those days left much to be
desired.
Other instruments were invented from time to time in the struggle to
master navigation. The “astronomical ring” was one, but it was little
less crude than the astrolabe.
[Illustration: A SEXTANT IN USE
_Sextants are used to measure the elevation of celestial bodies—the
sun, moon, or stars—in working problems in latitude and longitude._
]
[Illustration: A SHIP’S LOG
_The mechanism at the top is fastened on the ship’s rail, and a line
with the rotator shown below at its end is allowed to trail in the
water astern. The passage of the rotator through the water causes it
to turn, the line is twisted, and the log is made to register the
miles travelled._
]
Now up to the 16th Century navigators were without the one essential
instrument necessary to the accurate determination of longitude. That
instrument was an accurate timepiece that could be carried to sea. It
is not necessary to have a timepiece in order to learn one’s latitude,
but longitude is a more difficult problem, and _time_ is an element
in it. But the watches of the 16th Century were too inaccurate to be
of much service, and, as a matter of fact, it was not until 1607 that
it was realized that a day is not necessarily made up of twenty-four
hours. If one stays in one place it is true that there are twenty-four
complete hours from noon to noon, and clocks were designed to register
the time _at one place_. But suppose, as the sun rises to-morrow
morning, you board a very fast airplane and fly it at its fastest speed
toward the west. Suppose this airplane flies at the rate of 1,000 miles
an hour. In twenty-four hours you have flown around the world, and
wherever you have been during that time the sun has been just rising
behind you. It has been early morning for _you_ all the time. Suppose,
on the other hand, you had flown east at the same rate of speed. If you
started at six o’clock in the morning, in three hours the sun would be
overhead—that is, it would be noon for _you_. In three more it would
be evening. In six more it would be morning again, for you would be
halfway around the world. Six hours later evening would come _to you_,
and in another six hours you would be at your starting point and it
would be morning once more—the _second_ morning you had seen after
you started, but only the _first_ morning after for the people you had
parted from twenty-four hours before.
Ships, of course, do not travel at 1,000 miles an hour. But they do
travel many miles, perhaps several hundred, in twenty-four hours.
Therefore, if you start at Guayaquil, Ecuador (I use that, for it is
very nearly on the equator), and sail west for twenty-four hours,
making 240 miles, your watch will tell you that it is exactly the same
time of day that it was when you left Guayaquil. But that is not true.
It _is_ the same time of day _at Guayaquil_, but you are four degrees
west of Guayaquil, and the sun must still travel past four degrees of
longitude before the time at the spot you have reached will be what
your watch suggests. It will take the sun sixteen minutes to cover that
distance, and therefore your watch is sixteen minutes fast.
Great strides were made during the 16th and 17th centuries and many
books were published. Probably the first book entirely about navigation
ever published was one entitled “Arte de navigar,” by Pedro de Medina.
This appeared in Spain in 1545. The fact, however, that the subject was
not really understood is proved by the acceptance at an even later date
of the theory that the earth did not move and that the sun revolved
about it.
Charts became greatly improved during the latter part of the 16th
Century, owing to the studies of Mercator, after whom the “Mercator
projection” is named. The Mercator projection is used in the type
of map that shows the entire surface of the earth as if it were the
unrolled surface of a cylinder, and is the type which is, perhaps,
despite its errors, in commonest use to-day.
But despite many improvements it was not until the 18th Century that
modern navigation really began. Then, suddenly, both the sextant and
the chronometer were invented in rapid succession—the one in 1731
and the other in 1735. The sextant is the instrument (now greatly
perfected) that is used to measure accurately the angles between the
horizon and the celestial bodies being observed, and the chronometer is
the accurate timepiece (now also greatly perfected) used on practically
all sea-going ships to keep a record of the time of the prime meridian
of longitude—that is, the meridian numbered zero. Usually, nowadays,
that meridian, as I have said, is the meridian of Greenwich, England,
for it is at Greenwich that a British observatory is located, and at
this observatory the vital data for seamen are compiled.
With the introduction of the sextant and the chronometer the
determination of longitude became simple. And latitude, too, because of
the sextant, could more accurately be determined.
It is not my purpose to go into detail in explaining the finding of
one’s longitude, but I shall attempt to explain, simply, the theory.
The sun, during a day of twenty-four hours, covers the 360 degrees of
the circumference of the earth. That is, during every hour it passes
15 degrees. If you have a clock that tells you that it is 9 o’clock
in the morning at Greenwich and you know that, according to the sun,
it is 8 o’clock in the morning where you are, you know that because
of that difference of one hour there is a difference of 15 degrees
of longitude, and that you are 15 degrees west of the meridian of
Greenwich. If you were 15 degrees east, your time would be 10 o’clock.
Now if you have some accurate way of telling what time it is by the
sun where you are, and you have a chronometer telling you the time at
Greenwich, all you have to do is to subtract the earlier time from the
later and work out how many degrees, minutes, and seconds of longitude
are represented by the hours, minutes, and seconds of the difference.
If it is later at Greenwich than where you are, you are west of
Greenwich; if earlier, you are east.
On the morning of March 7, 1916, I took a sight of the sun when the
chronometer showed it was 39 minutes and 1 second past 1. My sextant
showed me, after I had made some corrections which I shall not attempt
to explain, that the altitude of the sun was 24° 58′. From this, and
other data that it is necessary to have, I worked out our time _when
I took the sight_. The answer to my problem showed me that the time
was 13 minutes and 4 seconds past 8 o’clock. Subtracting this time
from the time shown by the chronometer I got 5 hours, 25 minutes,
and 57 seconds. Because a difference of one hour of time represents
a difference of 15 degrees of longitude, a difference of 5 hours, 25
minutes, and 57 seconds in time represents a difference of 81 degrees,
29 minutes, and 15 seconds in longitude. The Greenwich time was later
than ours; therefore, our longitude was 81° 29′ 15″ west of Greenwich.
I have purposely refrained from explaining the working of the problem,
for that can only be done with such a reference book as Bowditch
at hand, in order that the compiled logarithms may be looked up.
Furthermore, the explanation is long, technical, and, to the beginner,
tedious, and is beside the purpose of this book. I have given the
incomplete explanation only to show that to find longitude one must
find one’s “local mean time,” and must have a timepiece showing the
“mean time” at Greenwich.
In the foregoing explanation I have left out of consideration several
factors vital to accuracy in navigation. For instance, I have not
mentioned the fact that the sun is not so accurate in its movements
as an accurate chronometer. Sometimes it is a few minutes ahead and
sometimes it is a little behind time. From this, two expressions for
time have come into use: “apparent time” and “mean time.” “Apparent
time” is the time that is shown by the sun; “mean time” is the time
shown by the clock. Because there is this difference there must be
a correction made for it, and this correction is to be found in the
Nautical Almanac, which is a valuable part of the navigator’s equipment.
Again, the navigator takes the angle of the sun from the bridge or some
other elevated part of his ship. The angle he gets from such a height
is slightly different from the one he would get if he were at the water
level. Therefore he must make a correction for the difference. This
he finds by knowing his elevation above the water and looking up the
correction.
[Illustration: USING A PELORUS
_This apparatus consists of a movable plate marked with compass
bearings, set in a stand. The observer sets the plate to correspond
to the standard compass, and then sights across it in determining the
compass bearings of points ashore from which he wishes to learn his
exact position._
]
There are other corrections still, applying to the sextant angle, to
the sun itself, and to time. All of these are necessary if one wishes
to be accurate, and a navigator should always be as accurate as his
science permits.
But often it is impossible to learn the angle between the horizon and
any of the celestial bodies, for clouds and fog sometimes shut off
the sky and the horizon. Sometimes one is clear while the other is
obscured; sometimes both are hidden. But still it is necessary to know
the position of the ship. As a matter of fact, the heavier the clouds
or the thicker the fog the more desirable it is to know one’s position
accurately. Until recently, however, seamen have had to depend only
upon dead reckoning which often is anything but accurate. But now the
radio direction finder and the method of learning one’s position by
asking radio stations ashore to supply it by plotting the directions
from which one’s radio message reaches two or more of them are coming
into more and more common use.
Dead reckoning however, is still highly important, and is used by
every careful navigator. It requires considerable experience for a
navigator accurately to place his ship by dead reckoning alone. As a
matter of fact, if the voyage is long and the sky has been obscured,
the navigator expects to find himself somewhat wrong in his estimation
of his position and is correspondingly careful. He has had to depend
upon his log, which, as I explained in the last chapter, is a kind of
nautical speedometer. As a check against this he often keeps a record
of the revolutions of his propeller, for he knows, from experience, how
far he will sail in an hour with his propeller running at any given
speed. This is advisable because seaweed may foul the rotator of his
log, or driftwood tear it away or bend it.
In addition to the distance he has sailed he must know accurately the
direction he has sailed, and if he has changed his direction he must
know when and how much. Furthermore, he must study his charts carefully
in order to learn whether or not he is sailing in a part of the
ocean in which there are currents, and if so he must figure out very
carefully what effect the current has on his ship.
Suppose a ship was sailing by dead reckoning across the Gulf Stream
directly east of Cape Hatteras. The Stream, let us say, is 100 miles
wide, and he is ten hours in crossing it. The current flows at the rate
of three miles an hour. Therefore, if he has headed straight across,
the current has carried him thirty miles to the northeast, and unless
he knows how wide the stream is, which direction and how fast it flows,
and how long he has been in it, he cannot possibly know just where he
is. It is as if you tried to cross a river in a rowboat and pointed
its bow at right angles to the shore all the way. The current would
certainly carry you downstream, so that you would not land on the
opposite side directly across from where you started.
When it is necessary, then, for seamen to sail their ships entirely by
“dead reckoning” they are always anxious to check up their positions by
any outside aids that are available. It was for this reason that our
captain, on the imaginary voyage we took from Philadelphia to Havana in
the last chapter, sailed so close to Diamond Shoal Lightship instead of
crossing the Gulf Stream and heading out to sea.
I shall add but one more thing before I end this brief and incomplete
explanation of navigation and its related subjects. Navigation and dead
reckoning we have touched upon. Piloting still remains untouched.
This branch of navigation, if branch it really is, shows the navigator
the position of his ship by reference to objects ashore. Let us
suppose that a ship has crossed the ocean and is approaching a harbour
entrance. While at sea an error of half a mile or so meant little, but
as he approaches shore he wants to know _exactly_ where he is.
On each side of the harbour entrance let us suppose that there is
a lighthouse. The navigator gets out his large-scale chart of the
vicinity and lays it on his chart table. This chart shows the harbour
entrance and shows the positions of the lighthouses. Then he determines
the direction of these two lighthouses according to his compass. Let us
suppose one lies exactly northwest and the other exactly southwest. On
the chart, then, he draws two lines, one through the point marking each
of the lighthouses. From the lighthouse to the northwest he draws a
line extending southeast (the opposite direction) out to sea. From the
lighthouse to the southwest he draws a line to the northeast. These two
lines cross, and he knows that his ship was exactly at the intersection
when he took his bearings. As this can be done in a minute or two the
position is very accurate, unless his ship is sailing very rapidly,
which it probably would not be. This is known as the “cross bearing”
method of learning one’s position, and is one of the simplest problems
in piloting.
Suppose, however, that a ship is sailing along the shore, and but one
prominent object can be seen on the land. The navigator watches until
the object (a lighthouse, perhaps) is “four points off his bow”—that
is, until the angle between his course and the direction of the object
is 45 degrees. From that moment the log is watched carefully, until the
object is directly at right angles to the ship’s course. The distance
sailed during that time is the same as the distance from the ship to
the object ashore at the time the second bearing is secured, and if a
compass bearing is taken when the ninety-degree bearing has been taken,
a line drawn on the chart from the position of the object ashore can be
marked with the distance in miles, and the navigator will know exactly
the position of his ship at that moment. This is known as “bow and beam
bearings.” There are other similar methods of obtaining the desired
result.
In foggy weather when ships are “on soundings”—that is, where the water
is shallow enough to permit of the easy use of a line with a weight
attached for measuring its depth—careful navigators invariably use the
“lead line” constantly.
[Illustration: SOUNDING BY MACHINE
_A glass tube with the upper end closed and the lower end open is
lowered in a special case to the sea bottom, and then brought to the
surface. As the tube descends, the water compresses the air in the
tube, and gradually creeps up inside. The inside of the tube being of
ground glass the water leaves a mark showing how far it has entered
the tube. By laying the tube on a special scale the depth to which the
glass was carried can be gauged. There are other methods not greatly
dissimilar from this._
]
This tells them not only how deep the water is, but by putting tallow
or soap on the bottom of the lead weight they bring up sand or mud or
shells from the bottom. With this and the depth, a line is drawn on
tracing paper on the same scale as the chart. Along this line these
soundings and the kind of mud or sand the lead brings up are marked,
at intervals corresponding to the distance the ship has sailed between
soundings. The chart is printed with the depth of the water in fathoms
and with the kind of bottom that will be found. After the navigator
has compiled his data for a few miles the tracing paper with the
line on it can be moved about over the chart, and if care has been
taken in sounding and watching the speed and direction of the ship,
the navigator will find the place on the chart where his series of
soundings will match the printed soundings. Then he will know very
accurately where he is, even if it be a fog-enshrouded night.
Many, many important aspects of these three vital subjects have been
completely passed over in this short chapter. If, however, I have been
able to explain a little of the subjects, and if, particularly, I have
quickened the interest of any of my readers in them, my purpose has
been served. Going to sea is not so difficult as many people ashore are
prone to think. But becoming a thorough seaman and a thorough navigator
is not so simple, perhaps, as to become adept at much of the work that
occupies men ashore.
CHAPTER XI
LIGHTHOUSES, LIGHTSHIPS, AND BUOYS
Just as the origin of ships is lost in the darkness of shrouded time,
so is the origin of lighthouses lost. Perhaps to guide returning
fishermen who all day and into the night had spread their nets or cast
their spears for food, the women of some savage tribe of long ago built
bonfires on the beach. Still that is a custom among simple folk who
live hard by the sea and secure their livelihood from it.
From this the Egyptians of early times probably adopted their idea of
lights, that were burned every night at given spots near the shore, in
order that ships might find their way by them. Such fires were tended
in those early days by priests, and a priestly duty it was—and still
remains, although simple, quiet people now tend the lights and consider
it only a work to be done—but it is a work of infinite value to the
world of ships in which most of the reward lies in the knowledge of a
task well done.
A Greek poet, writing about 660 B. C., mentions a lighthouse at
Sigeum, a town near the site of ancient Troy, and this was one of the
very earliest lighthouses regularly maintained. But in the years that
followed this they probably became more and more numerous, and as their
importance was recognized they became more and more similar in external
appearance to those we know to-day. That this is probably true seems to
be borne out by the erection at Alexandria, Egypt, about 275 B. C., of
the famous Pharos, which, we are told, was 600 feet high and similar in
shape to the minarets so common in Mohammedan lands to-day. That the
structure was as high as it is said to have been seems doubtful, but
that it was of extraordinary height is proved by its inclusion among
the seven wonders of the ancient world. So impressive a lighthouse
could hardly have been the first of its kind, although, no doubt, it
far surpassed all others.
At the top of this great tower a fire was kept burning, and for nearly
sixteen centuries its great shaft stood the test of time, before it
collapsed in an earthquake. Centuries before its end, however, the
Mohammedan conquerors had come to be the rulers of Egypt, and near
the top of this great tower a small praying chamber was placed.
Perhaps from its great height the muezzin called the faithful to their
prayers, and certainly its graceful lines left a deep impression on the
Mohammedans, for from it came the idea that resulted in the erection
of the numerous minarets that mark almost every Mohammedan city of the
earth.
And ere the convulsion of Nature toppled this striking edifice to the
earth the idea of lighthouses had greatly widened, and widely separated
lands had built lighthouses of their own to guide the sailor as he
sailed the sea.
Rome built many along the coasts her ships were forced to visit, one at
Dover and one at Boulogne being, probably, the earliest on the shores
of England and of France. Both of these are gone, leaving only traces
of their existence, but the ruins of the ancient tower at Ostia, at
the mouth of the Tiber, still remain to remind us of great galleys
that were guided by its fire in the nights of the first century after
Christ. At Corunna, Spain, there still stands an ancient Phœnician or
Roman tower, known as the Pillar of Hercules, and from its top, in ages
now long dead, a flaring beacon marked the spot for sailors far at sea.
But all of these earlier lighthouses were built on dry land, sheltered
by the shore from the crash of waves. It was the city of Bordeaux,
on the Gironde River in France, that first built a lighthouse on a
wave-swept rock to warn ships from its treacheries.
[Illustration: THE PHAROS AT ALEXANDRIA
_One of the seven wonders of the ancient world, and one of the first
great lighthouses._]
The Gironde River flows into the stormy Bay of Biscay, its wide mouth
often filled with foaming waves driving in from sea, which crash upon
a rocky reef that lies in the very centre of the estuary. So great a
toll of passing ships was taken by these rocks that the thriving city
of Bordeaux was like to lose its water-borne commerce, and to keep
the trade that meant so much to the city the citizens agreed to mark
the spot with a light. A simple tower was erected on this spot about
the year 805. For years it served, until Edward the Black Prince,
temporarily in control of the vicinity, erected a slightly greater
tower. For a time this, too, was kept, but finally, an aged keeper
having died, the fire was no longer lit. For many years the rocks
remained unlighted, and then, in 1584, during the reign of Henry II of
France, a new lighthouse was begun. For twenty-five years the work of
construction was under way, and when it was completed it was the most
magnificent lighthouse of all time. Nor has another been built since to
equal it in magnificence. About its base a great stone breakwater was
built, surmounted by a balustrade. The lowest floor of the structure
contains a beautiful hall and an apartment originally intended for
the king. Above is a chapel, beautifully designed and decorated, and
above this stands the tower which contains the light. This, originally,
placed the light about one hundred feet above the rocks. Later the
tower was increased in height to 207 feet and now it is equipped with
the most modern apparatus, visible in clear weather for twenty-seven
miles, to take the place of the blazing log fire that for so long did
its best to guide the mariners in from sea.
Until the 18th Century the fires of these beacons burned wood, and then
coal came gradually into use. The objections to such fires are obvious.
They had no definite range, for fires died down or burnt furiously, and
when a strong wind drove in from sea the fire was often all but hidden
from sight of ships as it curled around in the lee of the tower.
But America had been settled and had such lighthouses on its own coast
ere other methods superseded this.
The first lighthouse in the United States was the one on Little
Brewster Island on the south of the main entrance to Boston Harbour.
It was built in 1716, although the lighthouse now occupying that site
was erected in 1859. During the Revolutionary War the structure was
destroyed and rebuilt three times. The third structure was a stone
tower sixty-eight feet high, and four oil lamps were used to illuminate
it.
Wood and coal fires continued to be used, here and there, until the
19th Century was well begun. The last one of these in England to give
way to more improved methods was the Flat Holme Light, in the Bristol
Channel, where coal was burned until 1822.
[Illustration: THE TILLAMOOK ROCK LIGHT STATION
_This great rock, which lies about a mile off the coast of Oregon,
was formerly a spot of terrible danger to ships. Great difficulties
had to be overcome in order to erect this lighthouse, but now its
160,000-candle-power light is visible, in clear weather, for eighteen
miles._
]
During the 19th Century, however, great improvements were made in
lights, and equal improvements were made in the design and construction
of lighthouses. The story of the development of lighthouses is one of
dramatic intensity, filled with accounts of heroism, of ingenuity and
perseverance. And not only in the building of lighthouses has heroism
been shown. The courage of the quiet men who man them—and women, too,
for there are many to whom lighthouses are entrusted—in itself is the
subject for a book. Courage and unselfish devotion to duty are the
fundamentals upon which keepers of lights base their helpful lives.
Regardless of comfort, regardless of danger, regardless of life itself,
_the light must burn_. No other duty or desire compares with that
determination. And so in calm or gale, in summer fog or storm-torn
winter night, the men who sail the sea have come to depend with simple
and abiding faith upon the lights, the foghorns, and the courage of
the lighthousemen. Whether the Atlantic pounds with mountainous seas
the slender shaft on Bishop’s Rock, or the Pacific piles its crashing
surges high at Tillamook; whether the hot winds of Arabia blister the
paint on the web of steel that holds the Red Sea light of Sanganeb
Reef, or ice encrusts the giant light that guards Cape Race, the light
must burn, and sailors out at sea sail past almost as confident of
these lights as of the stars.
To one who has not seen the vast strength of the angry sea my words
will mean but little, but any one who has seen needs no description
and will not forget. Imagine a slender tower, built amid the smother
of foam on a wave-swept rock. Imagine the supreme impudence of man who
boldly sets himself the task of building there a cylinder of stone
surmounted by a cage of glass. Nor does his impudence end there.
Although it may be that for weeks at a time no boat may come near the
spume and flying spray about the rocks above which stands the tower,
yet in the tower are men. They calmly go about the tasks assigned to
them. They polish the powerful lenses about the light. Each night they
light the lamp. When fog obscures the spot they set their foghorn
going. These are their duties.
And when storm threatens, do they leave? Not so, for then above all
times is their duty clear.
Overhead fly the scurrying clouds before the storm. Below, the sea
turns gray. A whitecap dots the surface of the water, and a sudden puff
of wind leaves a ruffle of little waves as it passes. The clouds grow
darker and the lightning flashes. The thunder snaps and roars and then
comes the wind. Its voice is low at first as it whisks away the wave
crests and tears them into spray. The tattered water slaps against the
brown rock of the tower. The wind increases, blowing up the waves.
They pound with growing strength against the foaming reef, and leap up
higher toward the glass cage that marks the tall tower’s crest.
[Illustration: CAPE RACE LIGHTHOUSE
_A 1,100,000-candle-power light now marks the great Newfoundland
headland of Cape Race. Near this cape lies the shortest sea route from
the English Channel to Boston and New York, and ships entering the St.
Lawrence River also must pass near it._
]
The lightning flashes more, the thunder roars again. The wind goes wild
and shrieks like mad, tearing water from the sea and throwing it high
over the summit of the tower. The great waves boom as they pile up on
the rocks. They crash against the tower which shudders with the blows.
Surge after surge pounds savagely on the great rocks of the reef, and
finally a mighty wave that seems to be a giant effort of the madly
tortured sea lifts a raging crest high up, and drops it in the roaring
surf. A great rock splits beneath the blow, the wave runs up the tall
thin shaft and dashes high above its top, and then drops swiftly down,
while there, unharmed amid the vastness and the terror of the storm
still stands the tower that puny man has built to warn ships from the
dangers that surround it.
The story of lighthouses is one to hold the interest of any one, and
many books have been written telling it. “Lighthouses and Lightships,”
by F. A. Talbot, is one of these, and from its pages one may take a
new impression of the men who spend their lives in making the sea less
dangerous for those who travel on it.
My task is different. I have space only to devote to why lighthouses
exist and how they help sailors. And with lighthouses I shall include
lightships—which, of course, are merely lighthouses that float—and
buoys, which are used for many things.
Originally it is likely that lights were built ashore in order that
sailors overtaken by night while on the sea could be directed to a
landing place. Compasses, of course, were unknown, and while it is
possible to sail a course by the stars, it is quite another matter to
find a landing place by such means. Consequently, lights were built to
mark shelving beaches or the entrances to harbours where ships could be
landed.
But the light erected in 805 by Bordeaux was for the opposite purpose.
It marked a place to keep well clear of, and lighthouses do that to-day
almost exclusively.
[Illustration: MINOT’S LEDGE LIGHT
_Which marks, near the entrance to Boston Harbour, a rocky reef seldom
seen above the surface of the water. From this spot, the famous old
skeleton iron lighthouse that formerly marked the reef was swept by a
gale in 1851._
]
If a reef lies near a course followed by ships a light must guard it.
If a sand bank is hidden from the sight of ships that might ground
on it a light must be there as a warning. If an island constitutes a
menace because swift currents flow past its shores a light must tell
the sailor where the danger lies. Nor are lighthouses useful only at
night. In daylight they form conspicuous marks from which the navigator
may learn his exact position. In fog their huge foghorns wail like
lost souls, sending warnings far into the engulfing mist in order that
sailors may hear and know that land is near. Then, too, each light
is individual. One flashes regularly, one irregularly, one red and
white, one red alone. Other lights are steady beams, but each can be
recognized, and so they are like friendly faces, recognizable, every
one.
Perhaps the coast of France is the best lighted in the world. Certainly
it would be difficult to imagine one with a more perfect system. I have
sailed the coast of Brittany at night, fearful of the currents and
the storms that often blow on the stormy Bay of Biscay. But always,
to minimize the dangers of the rocky coast and hidden reefs, the
lighthouses blinked, and the task is simple to determine one’s position
any time, except in fogs. For the French have placed their lighthouses
so that as a ship sails along the coast there are always at least two
lights in sight at once. From these, cross bearings can be taken at
almost any moment, and the careful navigator, in clear weather, need
never feel uneasy as to his position. Ushant Island, that rocky islet
just off the coast of Finisterre, was long a graveyard of ships—and
still, from time to time, some ship is caught on its rocks—but now bold
lights stand high above the smother of foam and the roar of breakers,
marking the spot in order that ships may carefully give it a wide berth.
Formerly every lighthouse had to have attendants, as the most important
still have, but modern improvements are making unattended lights more
and more common. One finds them everywhere. The rocky coast of Sweden,
the firths of Scotland, the mountains of the Strait of Magellan, the
gorgeous coast of Indo-China all have many of these new beacons.
They flash accurately at regular intervals. They light their lights at
dusk and turn them out at dawn. Some roar through the fog with their
great warning voices, and all of this is automatic or semi-automatic.
So far as the lights themselves are concerned they require no attention
for months at a time. The sun turns them off as it rises in the
morning, and as it sets, the delicate apparatus that its light expands
contracts once more and the light is turned on. From time to time a
tender visits each of these. The apparatus is overhauled, the supply of
fuel renewed, and again for months the light performs its task.
Nor are all lights placed in lighthouses. Many spots require other
means, and lightships have been designed and built to perform the
duties of lighthouses where lighthouses cannot be built.
[Illustration: BISHOP ROCK LIGHTHOUSE
_On a cluster of rocks off the Scilly Islands near the entrance to the
English Channel where converge the most important of all the world’s
shipping lanes._
]
To transatlantic travellers perhaps the most familiar of these is the
Ambrose Channel Lightship, that rolls and pitches at its anchor outside
the entrance to New York Harbour. But the most famous lightship on the
American coast is the one that marks Diamond Shoal, that infamous spot
just off Cape Hatteras. Several times the Government has attempted to
build a lighthouse on this shoal, but the attempts have invariably been
frustrated by the sea. A lighthouse does mark the Cape, but Diamond
Shoal runs out beneath the stormy water for about nine miles from the
Cape, and it is this dangerous sand bank that the lightship guards.
Four and a half miles out from the bank the lightship is anchored in
a stretch of water that has hardly a peer on earth for the frequency
and suddenness of storms. Here this little ship jerks at her anchor,
pounded by great seas, tugged at by swift currents, swept by fierce
winds. She rolls and pitches, shipping seas over this side and then
that, and jerking—always jerking at her cable. There is no easy
smoothness to her roll as there is with a free ship at sea. There is
no exhilaration to her pitch as she rises over the seas and plunges to
the troughs, for always the jerk of the cable interferes, and from one
month’s end to the next the little crew endures the discomfort and the
hard work, in order that ships may be warned away from the treacherous
sand of Diamond Shoal.
These sturdy little ships do mark other things than dangers. In many
cases they are the modern counterparts of the beach fires of those
early peoples which lighted belated boats in to shore. To-day, however,
those lightships which perform this task swing at their anchors outside
the entrances to harbours, marking the channel through which the ships
must pass on their way in from sea.
In this duty they are similar to the lighted buoys which, in recent
years, have been put to so many uses, the lightships being, however,
greatly more conspicuous and generally marking a spot well outside the
entrance to the channel.
Buoys are of many uses and of many shapes and sizes, marking danger
spots, submarine cables, sunken wrecks, channels, as well as temporary
obstructions. Some are used for mooring ships in harbours, some carry
bells or whistles for sounding warnings, some carry lights. Attempts
have been made to standardize the shapes and markings of buoys in all
countries, but many lands still maintain their own designs, and the
officers of a ship visiting strange waters must acquaint themselves
with the particular designs there in use.
[Illustration: FIRE ISLAND LIGHTSHIP
_This lightship is anchored off Fire Island, near the southern
coast of Long Island, U. S. A. Lightships sometimes mark shoals,
and sometimes mark the entrances to harbours. They are always kept
anchored in given spots and are merely floating lighthouses, although,
of course, they are sometimes relieved by other lightships so that
they may undergo repairs._
]
Buoys are of scores of different sizes and designs. They may be nothing
more than tall painted poles of wood anchored to the bottom in shallow
water and standing more or less vertically. These are called “spar”
buoys, and are useful if ice is floating in the waters that they mark,
for as the ice floats against them they give way, the ice passes over
them and they serenely reappear, none the worse.
On the other hand buoys may be huge structures of steel many tons
in weight, forty feet from top to bottom, ten feet in diameter, and
complex in their equipment of lights or whistles or bells. Or they
may be great barrel-like steel floats, or conical ones, or great
turnip-shaped floats. Some are spherical, some are of stranger
shapes. They may be red or black or green. Some are striped, with
weird decorations gracing their tops. Some support small triangles or
spheres, some crosses, some paint-brush-like affairs. But each one has
its particular uses, and one should hesitate to pass a buoy unless the
thing it stands for is understood.
In United States waters, for instance, one needs to know that in
coming in from sea a ship should pass with the red buoys, which are
conical in shape and are called “nun” buoys, on the starboard, or right
side. These buoys are further distinguished by being numbered with
even numbers. At the same time all “can” buoys, which are black and
cylindrical, with odd numbers painted on them, should be kept to the
port or left side. Sometimes “spar” buoys replace these, but the buoys
to starboard will always be red, the buoys to port black, as the ship
comes in from sea.
Buoys painted with red and black horizontal lines mark obstructions
with channels on both sides. Buoys with white and black perpendicular
stripes sometimes mark the middle of a channel and a ship should pass
close to them. Buoys marking quarantine are yellow, while buoys marking
the limits of anchorages are usually white.
[Illustration: AUTOMATIC BUOYS
_The whistle buoy at the left utilizes the motion of the waves to blow
a whistle. The light buoy in the centre has an automatic light that
burns gas stored in the body of the buoy. The bell buoy at the right
carries a bell, against which four clappers are pounded by the action
of the waves._
]
The whistling buoys and lighted buoys are, perhaps, the most
interesting of the lot. Imagine a huge steel top, with a whistle placed
at its point, and a large steel tube running through it from top to
bottom, extending more than the height of the top above it. Imagine
this top ten or twelve feet in diameter, and, with the tube, forty
feet in height. Imagine this, then, floating in the water, point up,
and with the tube below the surface. The end of the tube below the
water is open. The end on which the whistle is mounted contains two
openings. In one of these the whistle is placed. The other opening
is closed by a valve which permits air to enter, but closes when the
air tries to escape. This buoy is anchored in the water, and as the
waves toss it up and down they rise and fall in the lower part of the
tube. As they rise the air inside is compressed and is blown through
the whistle causing it to sound. As the water in the tube falls, air
is drawn through the valve, and again the waves force it through
the whistle. This ponderous but simple “whistling” buoy requires no
supplies and almost no attention. Periodically it is visited by a
tender and is temporarily relieved of work while it is taken to the
repair shop to be examined, repaired, and painted. Aside from that it
needs no attention, yet constantly it moans as the waves sweep under
it, and the greater the waves the greater is the volume of its sound.
Bell buoys are equally simple and effective. These buoys are surmounted
by a framework of steel from which a large bell is rigidly suspended.
Several “clappers” are hinged about it so that, no matter how a wave
may move the buoy, a clapper strikes the bell.
The light buoys are more complicated and more diverse. There are
more than a dozen different sizes and shapes, and the fuel is
usually compressed oil gas or compressed acetylene gas. The buoys
themselves—that is, the floats—may be of almost any shape. Some are
spherical, some cylindrical. Some are long and thin, and others short
and fat, but each one has a framework or a shaft of steel extending
from ten to twenty feet above it. At the top of this the light is
fixed, while the body of the buoy holds the gas. These lights flash
intermittently, the gas, which is under pressure, operating a valve
while a tiny “pilot light” in the burner remains always burning in
order to ignite the gas when it is turned on to cause each flash.
Some of these buoys carry a supply of fuel great enough to last for
three months, and during that time they flash their lights every few
seconds without fail, marking a danger or a channel, and are visible,
sometimes, from distances of several miles.
Thus the dangers of the sea are marked by lighthouses, lightships,
and buoys, while harbour entrances and channels are marked as well.
This has been done in order to save life and property and in order to
expedite the passages of ships. No more do captains have to depend on
guess and luck. Their accurate sextants and chronometers tell them
where they are on the trackless sea. Their barometers tell them of
approaching storms. Their compasses tell them their directions.
And men ashore have built great lights on wave-washed rocks and
surf-pounded beaches, on mighty headlands and shoals of sand.
Lightships mark the treacherous spots where lighthouses cannot be
erected, and mark, as well, the entrances to many harbours around the
world. And once past these the mariner is led into the shelter of the
harbour between long lines of buoys, each telling him its message,
each aiding him on his way. He rounds a rock in mid-channel unscathed,
because a buoy anchored there tells him how to turn. He finds his
anchorage because of other buoys, and perhaps he makes his ship fast to
still another, and knows that once more the ocean has been crossed in
safety and his voyage is ended.
Almost the whole of the surfaces of all the lands of earth bear the
marks of man. Most people live their lives ashore amid nature that
has been radically changed by man. Cities have been built, railroads
flung across the land. Farms flourish and ploughs have turned up every
inch of all their acres. A hundred years ago America was wild from the
Alleghanies to the Pacific. Now one cannot cross it and be for more
than a few minutes out of sight of signs of men.
But the ocean rolls ever on just as it rolled in prehistoric times. No
mark that man has made has changed the sea. Yet, while man is unable
to change one single thing about its solitary waste, he has marked its
greater perils and has conquered it. The perils of the sea are growing
ever less, and ships owe much of this to the lights that mark its
danger spots.
CHAPTER XII
SHIP DESIGN, CONSTRUCTION, AND REPAIR
Ship design, prior to the opening of the 19th Century, was based very
largely on rule-of-thumb methods. In ancient times, before Greece
became a sea power, this was particularly true. Shipwrights and sailors
came to know from experience what qualities were good and what were
bad, and after many years at their work were able to construct ships
with some understanding of what the ship could be expected to do.
It took only a little while for them to learn that narrow ships were
easier to propel than broad ones but that broad ships possessed
carrying power superior to that of narrow ones. Thus the merchant
ships were “tubby” while warships were narrow. If a ship proved to be
unseaworthy in heavy weather shipwrights naturally did not build other
ships like her if they were looking particularly for seaworthiness. If
a ship was able, it was only natural that her characteristics should
be incorporated in other ships. If a ship otherwise satisfactory
permitted seas to come aboard over bow or sides or stern, the sailors
and shipwrights tried to correct the difficulty without losing her good
qualities. Thus from generation to generation ships improved, although
the process was slow.
When Greece was at her zenith there seems to have been a more thorough
study made of structural design, and many things about ships were more
or less standardized. Just how far the Greeks carried their study of
ships it is impossible to say, but crude methods gave way to finer
ones, and Greece passed its understanding of ships on to Carthage, and
from the Carthaginians it went to Rome. But the Middle Ages lost this
information, as it seems to have lost almost everything else, and a new
beginning had to be made.
[Illustration: A SHIP ON THE WAYS
_While a ship may look large on the water, she looks gigantic when on
land. The great hulls and the collection of scaffolds and machinery
in a shipyard are always a source of surprise to the visitor who is
unfamiliar with the construction of ships._
]
The Norsemen went through a similar development. The seas their ships
were called upon to sail were almost always boisterous. The principal
use to which their ships were put was war. They had, then, need to be
both seaworthy and fast. The early crude attempts of the Norsemen,
therefore, grew slowly into those beautiful ships for which they are
famous. To-day the seaworthy whaleboat is very similar to the finest
examples of the old Norse “serpents.” These old ships were long,
narrow, pointed at bow and stern, and had both ends raised, while
amidships they were low. The sheer, that is, the line from the high
bow to the low section amidships, and from there up again to the
stern, was a beautiful sweeping curve. Such ships readily rode rough
seas, while their low “freeboard” amidships permitted the oars to be
used to good advantage, and their narrow hulls presented a minimum of
resistance to the water. This refinement, however, can hardly be said
to have resulted from thought so much as from experience. By that I
mean that these ships at the highest stage of their development were
not consciously designed, but were outgrowths from experience, and that
the shipwrights, only after many generations, had learned that such a
design combined the advantages they particularly desired.
It was with the Crusades, as I have said before, that ships began to
improve more rapidly. This was due to the broadening spheres of travel
of western European sailors. They visited the Mediterranean and Asia
Minor, and found in that part of the world ships that were strange to
them. But in these strange ships they found characteristics that they
deemed desirable, and, combining these desirable points with those of
their own ships that were equally desirable, they produced improved
types. Thus they profited by the experiences of others who, in their
own little spheres of activity, had gradually developed ships that
answered, at least to a considerable extent, the requirements of their
own localities.
It hardly needs to be pointed out that the British, who sailed the
rough waters of the North and Irish seas and the English Channel,
developed ships far different from those developed by the peoples of
Mediterranean countries, where the distances sailed were shorter and
the weather conditions were so radically different.
After the Crusades had introduced the peoples of western Europe to
those of the Mediterranean, trade between the two increased, and, so
far as ships were concerned, each learned from the other. Thus it was
that by the time Columbus sailed on his famous voyage, the sea-going
ships of all the European countries had grown somewhat similar in
design and appearance.
[Illustration: A FLOATING DRY DOCK
_And a ship undergoing repairs._]
A few glimmerings of the complicated subject of naval architecture
became evident in the years that included and followed “the age of
discovery,” and ships, or at least _some_ ships, were “designed” by
men who made a study of them. The designs, however, were largely
little more than the transfer of rule-of-thumb methods to paper, and
a real understanding of the subject was still far distant. Phineas
Pett, during the 17th Century, designed many ships for the British
Navy, and from these designs the ponderous ships of later days
developed. In France, however, naval architecture seems to have been a
better-understood art than in England, for many times British designers
improved their ships after studying captured French ships.
The designers in England for many years were guilty of one error in
particular which, while later corrected, proved to be the cause of
the loss of several of their very greatest ships. This fault was the
placing of the lowest tier of gunports so close to the water that when
the ships were under a press of sail the ports on one side or the
other, and they were not watertight even when closed, were under water.
During the reign of Henry VIII, a British ship named the _Marie Rose_
heeled over when getting under way, and the ports, which were open and
were only sixteen inches above the water when she was on an even keel,
permitted the water to enter in such quantities that she sank. Years
later Sir Walter Raleigh wrote that this defect was being corrected,
yet later still the _Royal George_ was lost because of the same fault.
It is interesting to quote a few lines of Raleigh’s writings on ship
design. Commenting on improvements in lines he said that ships with
these improvements “never fall into the sea after the head and shake
the whole body, nor sinck a sterne, nor stoope upon a wind.” He also
suggested that the lowest tier of gunports should not be less than four
feet above the water. Furthermore, he objected to the high sterncastles
which made the ships of the time both unseaworthy and ridiculous.
Modern scientific naval architecture can properly be said to date from
the latter part of the 17th Century, for it was then that the first
studies were made of the passage through the water of various shaped
hulls. Before this, ships were built and if they were successful were
copied; if unsuccessful they had less influence on later design. Now
began a study that has been carried down to to-day, and scientific
deductions began to be made, and upon these investigations and the
results of them an important part of naval architecture has been
founded.
Still, however, this new science was crude. One reason for this was
that ships depended upon the wind for power, and it was a slow task
to compile comparative data. That this was not impossible, though,
is proved by the brilliant American designers of the first half of
the 19th Century, who suddenly evolved the clipper ships that so far
surpassed all previous sailing ships that comparison became mere
contrast.
But it was steam that made it possible for naval architects to develop
their profession to so high a point as it has reached. It was during
the 19th Century, then, that naval architecture made its greatest
progress. Since the 19th Century great improvements have been made, it
is true, and many facts have been discovered, and naval architecture
still is progressing, but the 19th Century made a profession of it, and
the 20th Century is only continuing its development.
The profession of the naval architect is one that is not widely
recognized or understood. When Cass Gilbert designs a Woolworth
Building we recognize him as a great architect, and realize, to some
extent, the great task he has so successfully completed. When the
building is built we view it with interest, perhaps with awe, and
comment on the brilliance of the architect and the ability of the
constructor. And they deserve all the credit they get—and more.
But how often have you ever heard mention made of the architects from
whose brains were evolved the _Mauretania_ and the _Leviathan_, the
_Belgenland_ and the _Majestic_? True, it is commonplace to marvel
at their size. But who thinks of the titanic task that faced their
designers?
And now imagine a Woolworth Building being built on a sloping
runway, and, when completed, slid bodily into the water, across
thousands of miles of which mighty engines placed inside could drive
her at express-train speed. Imagine such a structure, with all the
magnificence of appointments that are to be found in the Woolworth
Building, forcing its way through winter storms with waves pounding
madly at its sides—waves which, striking the ironbound coasts of Maine
or Wales, sometimes tear away tons of the living rock and hurl it
about in a smother of foam. And then compare such a structure with
the greatest ships of to-day. There are several far longer than the
Woolworth Building is tall, but these vast steel hulls do not rest on
foundations of steel and concrete—immovable. They float in the water,
and may pitch and roll in the giant swells of the deep sea, but still
their huge steel frames easily bear the strain, and while a tremor
of the earth might dash skyscrapers disastrously about our ears, the
almost constant motion of the sea, whether violent or weak, affects
them little. For such work as this the architects of ships deserve all
praise.
In such huge and complicated structures as ships have grown to be,
repairs, naturally, are frequent and vital. The ordinary wear to which
the machinery is subjected necessitates constant adjustments and
replacements. Improved mechanical apparatus sometimes is installed
to take the place of less reliable or less economical apparatus. The
action of sea water on the exposed metal and the collection below the
water line of barnacles and other marine growths require periodic
attention, while paint seems for ever necessary and, at least on
warships, wet paint is omnipresent.
Before the introduction of iron and steel, ships were comparatively
small, and consequently it was a simpler job to haul them out of water
or ground them at high tide in order that, when the tide had gone out,
their underbodies could be examined and repaired. Sometimes, again,
tackle made fast to their masts and led to anchors dropped well away
from their sides or to points ashore made it possible for ships to be
hauled over to one side or the other, bringing a large part of their
underbodies above water, where their crews could make the necessary
repairs, or scrape off most of the accumulation of marine growth.
[Illustration: THE _OLYMPIC_
_A sister ship of the ill-fated_ Titanic, _and operated by the White
Star Line._]
Nowadays, however, when the very smallest of our ocean-going steamers
is many times the size of Columbus’s largest ship, such methods avail
little. Sometimes, still, in harbours where there is a large rise
and fall of tide the smaller ships avail themselves of it for minor
repairs, but for most modern ships such methods are impossible and
dangerous.
Yet even the greatest ships must from time to time be taken out of the
water for repairs and for the inspection of the hulls, and for this
purpose dry docks, or, as they are sometimes called, graving docks,
came to be designed.
Dry docks are long narrow basins, the dimensions of which are slightly
larger than the largest ships they can accommodate. Nowadays they are
usually built of reenforced concrete, although brick and stone are
sometimes used, and formerly timber dry docks were not uncommon in the
United States. The entrances to these basins are equipped with hinged
gates, or a floating or sliding caisson. Dry docks in the United States
ordinarily use the floating caisson. European dry docks commonly use
the other two. These seal the mouths of the dry docks, preventing the
entrance of water from the outside as powerful engines pump the water
from the dock itself.
The sides of dry docks are usually built in steps, so that at the top
they are wider than at the bottom. The bottom is very nearly level, but
there are careful arrangements made for draining all the water into
pits from which it is pumped out.
Extending almost the length of the centre of a modern dry dock is a
row of large wooden blocks, called keel blocks. These can be moved and
are made fast when they are put in place. Often this row of blocks is
paralleled on each side by a row of somewhat similar blocks called
bilge blocks which run along tracks laid at right angles to the line
of keel blocks. The bilge blocks can be moved individually along these
tracks by means of ropes and pulleys. These ropes are extended up the
sides of the dock so that, even when the dock is filled with water,
each individual bilge block, and there are scores of them in each row,
can be moved back and forth by men beside the dock.
When it is necessary for a ship to be docked her docking plans are
given to the man in charge of the dock. He then arranges the keel
blocks so that the line along their tops is the same as the line along
the keel of the ship. Certain marks are then made at the top of the
dock’s side walls to show just how far the ship is to be hauled into
the dock. When these arrangements are completed the dock is flooded,
the gates are opened, or the caisson is floated out and the ship is
very carefully and very slowly hauled into the dock. She never goes in
under power, for the clearance between her sides and the sides of the
dock is often very small, and the greatest of care must be taken to
keep her from coming in contact with the masonry.
When she has been hauled up to the point marked on the dock side she
is carefully made fast with cables, and the entrance to the dock
is closed. The ship must be riding on an even keel, for if she is
listing—that is, leaning to one side or the other—she may damage
herself when the water is pumped out and she comes to rest on the keel
blocks.
As the water level is reduced her keel slowly settles on the keel
blocks which support the whole weight of the ship, but in order to
prevent the ship from toppling over sideways the bilge blocks are
pulled carefully under her. As they are slightly higher than the keel
blocks they touch her bottom at some distance from the keel, and as
there is a row of them on each side they keep her securely upright.
Care must be taken that none of these bilge blocks come in contact with
the ship where any of her numerous underwater valves project, for if
that happened the valves would be damaged. The docking plan referred
to, however, shows where such protuberances are and such accidents need
not occur.
In dry docks where bilge blocks are not used, the ship is supported
instead by “shores.” A “shore” is a long timber which is placed with
one end against the ship and the other against the side of the dock. In
order to make them fit snugly great numbers of varying lengths are kept
on hand and are chosen so that they come within a few inches of filling
the space between the ship’s sides and the dock wall. Then large wooden
wedges are driven in between the dock wall and the end of each shore.
Dozens of these are placed about a ship and serve the same purpose as
is served by the bilge blocks.
A ship I was on some years ago was rammed by a coal barge while at
anchor in the harbour of Brest, France, and was forced to go into dry
dock for repairs. Being familiar with dry-dock procedure only in the
United States I was unprepared for what has always since seemed to me
to be a thoroughly picturesque method of placing the shores.
Our ship was hauled into the dock, the gates were closed, and the pumps
began to lower the water. Finally she settled on to the keel blocks and
the shores were floated into place, each end being held from above by
a line. As the water sank lower the wedges were inserted between the
shores and the dock walls, and a man with a large wooden mallet took
his place at each wedge. Then the foreman, standing at the head of the
dock began a song which the mallet bearers took up, singing beautifully
in unison, their voices booming upward from the dry dock, halfway down
the sides of which they stood. And as they sang they kept time with
great strokes of their mallets on the wooden wedges, the musical wooden
sound ringing in unison with their song as every man drove his crashing
blows with every other man.
I stood on the bridge of the ship listening to the lilting song, and
the great musical crashes that punctuated it, every man striking at
exactly the same instant that every other man struck. Never before or
since have I seen a more practical demonstration of the uses of song
or heard so beautiful a song of industry. It was an “Anvil Chorus” with
a different setting.
There is another type of dry dock that is widely used and is of great
importance where it is too expensive or difficult to build the type to
which I have just referred. This other type is the floating dry dock.
In principle it is a huge barge, rectangular in shape, and with highly
raised and very thick sides and open ends. Its bottom is built up of
many compartments and its “reserve buoyancy” must be at least a little
greater than the total weight of the largest ship it is designed to
accommodate. That is, it must be able to float while carrying a load of
15,000 tons if it is meant to be used by ships up to that displacement.
[Illustration: THE _AQUITANIA_
_A British built ship operated by the Cunard Line._]
These floating dry docks need only to be placed in a sheltered spot
where the water is deep enough for the dock to be sunk so that the dock
floor is a little farther beneath the surface than is the keel of the
ship that is to be docked. When everything is in readiness—that is,
when the keel blocks are properly placed and the incoming ship has been
otherwise prepared for—water is allowed to enter the inner compartments
of the dry dock. Gradually the whole thing sinks until only the two
high sides are visible above the water. When it has sunk until there
is enough water over the dock floor for the incoming ship to float in,
the valves are closed and the ship is hauled in and made fast. Then
giant pumps begin to expel the water that has been allowed to enter
the compartments. This causes the dry dock to come once more to the
surface, and as it rises beneath the ship the keel blocks press up on
the ship’s keel, shores or bilge blocks are put in place, and when the
ponderous float regains the surface there is the ship, high and dry,
where men can scrape and paint and repair her or accomplish the other
tasks assigned to them.
It is interesting to watch the labours of a crew of workmen in a
dry dock. If a ship looks large in the water, it looks startlingly
gigantic in a dry dock, especially if one walks down to the dock floor
and views the high bow or the overhanging stern from the level of the
keel. Propellers from a distance look small, but with half-a-dozen men
realigning their blades or working about them, they look huge indeed.
[Illustration: THE _PARIS_
_The greatest French Merchant ship, operated by the French Line._]
A hundred men may be swinging on scaffolds which are hung over the
ship’s side by lines from the deck, and they remind one who is watching
from a distance of flies or ants on a wall. A regiment of workmen may
disappear beneath the huge bulge of the ship’s underbody in order to
scrape or paint or repair. Fathoms of cable may follow an anchor from
the hawse pipes to the dock floor as the “ground tackle”—that is, the
anchors and cables—is cleaned, painted, and examined. Propellers or
sections of propeller shafts may be swung over the yawning dock and
lowered into it by great cranes, to take the places of others lost or
damaged. Sections of the ship bent or cut by collision may be replaced
to the raucous tune of nerve-shattering riveting hammers. Rivets
loosened by the “working” of the plates or by galvanic action may be
renewed. Plates damaged by any of a hundred causes may be replaced, and
great piles of barnacles scraped from the steel skin of a ship that has
been overlong between dockings may accumulate on the dock floor. Sea
valves are reground, the rudder is examined, propeller-shaft supports
are looked over, and, when the work on the ship’s great underbody is
completed, the workmen take their tools and depart, great valves are
opened in the dry dock walls, the water enters, and once more the great
ship floats. The dock gate or the caisson is removed, and carefully the
monster of the sea is backed from her gigantic hospital, fit, so far
as her underwater parts are concerned, for another round of duty at sea.
But dry docks are not necessary for all the repairs a ship might need
to undergo. To replace or repair engines she may go alongside a quay or
a pier, and for any of a thousand jobs she need never stop her regular
voyages. But repairs or changes are always under way. To the voyager on
a handsome liner little of this is apparent, but it is always known to
the crew, and rare indeed is the time on a steamship when repairs are
neither under way nor contemplated.
This continuous round of repairs does not mean, though, that the
steamships of to-day are not properly designed and built. It only means
that a great ship is so vastly complicated that some part of it is
always just a bit below par. A small town needs repair men to keep its
electric-light system properly working. Its water system is similarly
under constant supervision. Its gas, its paving, and a dozen other
parts of its equipment are always being repaired, renewed, or extended.
The same is true on board ship, except that, at least on the giant
liners, the ship’s equipment is more complicated than the town’s.
This wandering discussion presents a few of the difficulties that face
the designer, the builder, and the operator of ships. Such difficulties
are all but infinite in number, and constant vigilance is vital to
the efficient operation of the ships of to-day. But so reliable have
these great structures grown to be that one of the greatest—the
_Mauretania_—while launched in 1907, was able after fifteen years of
constant and efficient service consistently to defeat newer ships of
greater size and greater power in her constant voyages to and fro
across the Atlantic. Such results as this must be credited to the
designer, the builder, and the officers and crews of these complicated
structures of the sea.
CHAPTER XIII
SHIPPING LINES
The development of ships has been largely influenced by competition.
The ship that can make the quickest voyages can demand the highest
freight rates for most things. Furthermore, a fast ship can make more
voyages than a slow one, and the owner may make a greater profit
because of the greater amount of freight handled. These factors, and
others less evident, enter into the operation of ships.
To-day great shipping lines control most of the earth’s merchant ships.
As we know these lines they are a growth of hardly more than a hundred
years, but thousands of years ago their counterparts existed.
Phœnicia was the greatest trading nation of the ancient world. Ships
sent out by the traders of Phœnicia sailed to every corner of the
Mediterranean, and even went out into the Atlantic, where they braved
the rough waters of the Bay of Biscay and sailed up the English Channel
on their adventurous trading voyages. For every ship that sailed to
distant parts, however, many remained nearer home, visiting ports but
a little distance off, and returning with less romantic but equally
important cargoes.
Many merchants of Tyre, of Acre, and of Sidon were shipowners. Some
sent their ships to Egypt, some to Greece, some to Sicily and Italy,
some to the Bosphorus and the Black Sea. Some traded with Cyprus and
the Ægean Isles, some with Asia Minor. Some again sent their ships to
the Adriatic. It was only a few who risked their ships and cargoes on
those long voyages to the ends of the world, out beyond the Pillars of
Hercules, and north along the tide-washed coasts of western Europe to
where the days were far longer in the summer than the nights, and where
the winter nights left but little of the day.
Naturally, the traders who were successful built other ships, and sent
them in the same trade that had made their fortunes, for that was the
trade they knew. If a ship-owner had had great success in sending his
ships to the Bosphorus, the natural thing for him to do with any new
ships he might build was to send them there. When he died and his son
came to rule over the destinies of his business, what would be more
natural than for him to continue to send his ships to the same part of
the world?
Naturally, the frequent wars of ancient times upset the plans of
merchants even as wars upset such plans to-day, but barring such
unfortunate events, trade went on in the more or less even tenor of its
ways, save for rather numerous difficulties caused by pirates and by
storm or shipwreck.
One can almost imagine Tyre and Sidon with their streets of merchants’
houses, over the doors of which, if they were given to the modern idea
of signs, which is unlikely, hung shingles reading “Ithobal and Son,
Traders to the Bosphorus and the Euxine.” “Assurbani-pal, Ship-owner
and Trader to the Valley of the Nile.” But whether or not their places
of business were decorated with such signs, their warehouses were full,
and ever and anon their ships departed and returned, laden with goods
of value that they carried across the seas.
Properly enough, then, some of these old traders may be considered the
operators of some of the very earliest shipping lines.
One can almost imagine some old and experienced trader talking solemnly
with the builder of his ships.
“Tuba’lu, my friend,” one can think of him as saying, “that last galley
thou builtest for me was all but lost while on her very first voyage to
the Bosphorus. Tiglath, her captain, tells me that just as he passed
the rocks that lie off the island of Chios, a summer storm, not great,
but rather sudden, smote him. His ship was so distressed by it that he
all but gave himself up for lost. He has told me that, had his prayers
to the gods to end the storm availed him not, most certainly would he
have been dashed to pieces, and all my cargo of precious wares would
have been lost. He tells me that the ship is not fit for storms, and
that had he not, by the goodness of the gods, been favoured by good
weather for all the rest of his voyage, he could never have returned
with his cargo, which has made for me so good a return upon my moneys.
What thinkest thou of the ship?”
“My good friend Ithobal,” the builder of ships might be supposed to
have replied, “methinks the ship was just a bit too deeply laden when
she left Tyre. So deeply did she lie upon the waters that I warned
Tiglath against the very danger that he later came upon. Yet did he
heed me not, saying that to make moneys for his master he had need to
carry many goods.”
“And so he has, Tuba’lu, my friend,” Ithobal might have replied. “My
ships must carry many goods to make profits for me on such long and
dangerous voyages.”
“Then, Ithobal, my friend,” the ship-builder possibly replied, “but
let me raise her sides by a cubit and mount upon her stern a larger
steering oar. Methinks her safety will be then assured.”
So it might be supposed that ships were improved in those far-distant
days.
Traders similar to those of Phœnicia were common in Greece, in
Carthage, in Rome, in Venice, and Genoa, and in other ports for
thousands of years. Until the introduction of machinery and the use
of steam power for manufacturing goods the cargoes of ships were
limited largely to valuable goods taking up but little space, and so
such methods were efficient enough, especially as the purchasing power
of the masses was small, and their necessities were almost entirely
homemade.
The period following the 11th Century showed some increase in the
amount of freight handled, and a result of the discovery of America
was to enlarge this still more. Still, however, the greater portion
of the population of European nations had simple wants and simpler
pocketbooks, and not for another three hundred years did the mighty
purchasing power of great numbers of people begin to make itself felt
in a demand for imported goods.
With the introduction of machinery, however, and especially with the
introduction of steam, the workmen found it possible to purchase what
had theretofore been unthinkable luxuries, and the demand for imported
goods grew enormously.
The East India Company was an early concern in this new epoch of
world trade. In 1600 this organization was founded and, by government
charter, was given a monopoly on trade to the Far East. Because there
was no competition this company grew fabulously rich, bringing to Great
Britain wonderful cargoes of goods not securable except in India and
China. This, however, was but a greater attempt at trading, and except
in size and in organization was not greatly different from the methods
in vogue two thousand years before.
It was not until the 19th Century that shipping lines as we know
them came into existence. Actually it was the steamship that brought
about the introduction of shipping lines, although the famous old
packet lines that ran between Europe and America went by the name of
lines several years before the first steamship line was organized.
The first of these packet lines was the Black Ball Line, which was
established in 1816. So successful did this line become that it was
followed within the next few years by several others. The Red Star
Line, the Swallowtail Line, and the Dramatic Line were some of the
most important. Winter and summer the packets operated by these lines
raced across the Atlantic, sailing on scheduled dates, and making
remarkably short passages, and giving remarkably good service for the
times. The ships were not large, some of them being hardly more than
three hundred tons burden, but for the first ten years of the Black
Ball Line’s existence the ships of that line averaged twenty-three days
for the eastward passage and forty days for the westward, which was
much lower than the average of other ships of the time. These packet
lines continued in operation until about 1850, when they had largely
faded from the sea, unable to compete with the steamships then becoming
reliable, comfortable, regular, and fast.
The first steamship line to organize was the City of Dublin Steam
Packet Company, which began operations in 1823. During the following
year the General Steam Navigation Company was incorporated, and several
other British steamship lines followed rapidly. At first these were
for the coasting trade, where the regular service they maintained was
valuable in the extreme, for railroads had not yet appeared. Before
long, however, these lines began visiting the continent, and the
transatlantic voyages of the _Savannah_ in 1819 and the _Royal William_
in 1833 drew the attention of steamship-builders and operators to the
advantages of transoceanic routes.
In 1837 three companies were organized—the British and American Steam
Navigation Company, the Atlantic Steamship Company, and the Great
Western Steamship Company. In 1838 their first ships sailed to America.
The _Great Western_ made her first crossing in 13 days and a few hours,
almost equalling at her very first attempt the fastest voyage (and
that from America to Europe) a sailing ship ever made. Brave as was
the start made by these three lines, however, they soon went out of
business.
It is probable that one of the most serious blows they received in
their short periods of activity resulted from the success of Samuel
Cunard in securing from the British Government the contract for
carrying the mails from Liverpool to Boston and Halifax. This contract,
which included a fairly sizable subsidy, required that Cunard build
and operate four steamships, which the subsidy enabled him to operate
successfully despite the competition of the other three lines. Cunard’s
steamers, being all alike and of very nearly the same speed, and being
despatched at regular intervals, soon took from his competitors the
little business they had, and they went out of business or transferred
their ships to other duties.
The Cunard Line, then, from the Fourth of July, 1840, when the
_Britannia_ sailed for Boston, has been a successful transatlantic
line, and is to-day the oldest transatlantic line in existence, as well
as one of the finest and most powerful. At first this company was known
as the “British and North American Royal Mail Steam Packet Company,”
and its first ships, the _Britannia_, the _Acadia_, the _Caledonia_,
and the _Columbia_, were each 207 feet long, about 1,150 tons, and
could carry 115 cabin passengers and 225 tons of cargo.
In 1840 the Pacific Steam Navigation Company obtained its charter
and was the pioneer steamship line along the western coast of South
America. Earlier than this, however—in 1835—a firm of London merchants
began to run steamers from England to the Far East. These steamers,
sailing more regularly and with more dispatch than the sailing vessels,
were given the contract to carry the mails. This service became the
Peninsular and Oriental Steam Navigation Company, which is still a
vigorous and enterprising line, although now it sails out and back
through the Suez Canal and not by the long route around the Cape of
Good Hope.
One of the two oldest existing steamship lines is the General Steam
Navigation Company, which I have already mentioned. Founded in
1824, this line still runs steamers from England and Scotland to
the continent and the Mediterranean. In 1846 one of its ships—the
_Giraffe_—carried the first cargo of live cattle to England.
While the Allan Line has operated steamships only since 1852, it may
be said to have been founded about 1816, when Captain Alexander Allan
began running several sailing vessels between Scotland and Canada.
Although this line did not adopt steamships until thirty-six years
after it was founded, it has had a leading place in the development
of steamships. An Allan liner inaugurated the “spar deck” in order
that a clear promenade deck might be constructed. The first Atlantic
steamship to be built of steel—the _Buenos Ayrean_—was an Allan liner
built in 1879. The _Virginian_ and the _Victorian_ were built in 1905
and were the first transatlantic steamships propelled by turbines. Such
developments as these entitle a steamship line to great credit.
The largest privately owned shipping company in the world is the Wilson
Line, and it is also one of the oldest. It traces its beginnings to
1835 and operates ships between Great Britain and Scandinavia as well
as between Britain and the Far East, and to the United States. It also
operates ships to South America and other parts of the world.
The World War radically affected steamship lines, almost eliminating
some and crippling many. The peace brought about the enlargement of
several at the expense of the German lines that, during the preceding
two decades, had thrust their way to the very forefront of the shipping
world, only to lose it all by the terribly mistaken policies that they
themselves had helped to foster.
In 1900 the two greatest steamship lines in the world were the
Hamburg-American and the North German Lloyd. In 1910 they were
surpassed only by a consolidation of seven British and American lines
known as the International Mercantile Marine. Yet these two huge
companies, at the close of the World War, were left with hardly more
than a handful of ships each, all of their greatest liners, as well as
most of their smaller ones, having been taken from them to sail under
the British, American, French, and other flags.
Consequently, the greatest steamship company to-day—and it is so great
as to have no close second—is the International Mercantile Marine,
made up of the White Star, the Leyland, the American, and the Atlantic
Transport lines, the Dominion and British North Atlantic Company, the
National Steamship Company, and some other allied shipping interests.
This combination of shipping lines is controlled by British and
American capital, but most of its ships sail under the British flag.
American shipping laws are partly responsible for this, because of
numerous restrictions they insist upon, which have proved to be
detrimental to lines operating ships under the American flag. Other
lines, entirely American owned, have been transferred to foreign
register for the same reason.
Prior to the World War American deep-sea shipping had shrunk to a
woeful degree, and most of America’s imports and exports were carried
in foreign ships. The war, however, changed all that, and the United
States, in a remarkably short time, had built ships enough to place
it second only to Great Britain on the sea. Many of these ships were
hurriedly and badly built, it is true, and many ridiculous experiments
were tried out, but, despite mistakes, a great merchant fleet was built
and put into operation. This, of course, was a war measure, but with
the signing of the Armistice America set herself the task of operating
this huge fleet. Post-war trade, however, did not call for so many
ships as were in operation, and vast fleets of ships were tied up to
deteriorate in idleness. Not only America suffered. Great Britain, too,
found herself with more ships than cargoes, and all over the world
ships were tied up to wait for better times or to fall to pieces in the
waiting.
This unfortunate condition, however, was not entirely without
advantages. It forced economies in operation that resulted in increased
efficiency, for ships could only continue to carry cargoes if they
did so at low rates, and the shipping lines, therefore, studied every
method by which they could reduce their costs of operation.
This, of course, brought about many rearrangements. Some formerly
successful lines went bankrupt. Many new and inexperienced lines
disappeared. Many masters and mates found themselves ashore without
work, forced to take employment at whatever tasks they could get. But
new lines did make their way, and most of the experienced lines managed
to hold on, even going into new fields, as the practical elimination of
the German lines gave them some opportunity to do. And following the
war, American ships became known in ports where the American flag had
not been seen for a generation or more.
This probably means that America is on the seas to stay. No longer do
internal developments take the attentions of the entire nation. The
growth of manufacturing, the lack of wide public domains open to the
“homesteader,” the widespread American interests overseas, all point
to a permanent merchant marine, not, perhaps, so great as is Great
Britain’s, because America is not so vitally dependent on the sea as is
Great Britain, but great because America is great, and growing because
America is still developing.
In this development shipping lines are the vital factors. Individual
ships are merely pawns on a world-wide chessboard. A single ship can
do nothing in the complex structure of modern commerce. Lines must
maintain regular service. They must maintain home and foreign offices.
They must know where cargoes are to be had and where they are to go.
They must have armies of agents and brokers constantly in touch with
them. Their ships must be able to voyage and return, voyage and return
again, always filled, never idle, never at a loss for cargoes, else
their costly structures will crumble, their finances wane, and they
will find themselves faced with bankruptcy, disruption, reorganization
or destruction.
Because of world economics shipping lines find it possible to develop
or find themselves broken. Because the margin between success and
failure is usually a narrow one shipping lines find it essential to
seize upon every development that increases efficiency and decreases
cost. Simple steam engines became compound, because shipping lines
had to operate their ships with a smaller outlay for fuel in order to
compete with sail. Iron gave way to steel, because greater strength was
thus secured with less weight. The turbine has made its way against
the reciprocating engine because of its increased efficiency and its
consequent saving in expense. Oil is being more and more widely burned
instead of coal, because its efficiency makes it cheaper through the
use of fewer men, through increased steaming ability and less weight,
as well as its cleanliness (on passenger ships) and the reduction in
time used in coaling.
Shipping lines are very similar to railroads. A railroad train would
be of no use to any one if it were owned and operated as a unit, even
though it had all the tracks in a nation at its disposal. The train
is practical only because the railroad company maintains freight and
passenger stations, foreign and domestic agents, and all the detailed
force that a modern railroad requires. Furthermore, it sends its
trains over certain routes at certain specified intervals, ready to
move freight and passengers as they are ready to be moved. So must
a shipping line be operated. Ships must be where they are needed,
else freight accumulates or is diverted to other lines. The huge
investments ships require necessitate that there be no loss of time and
consequently ships must not wait for freight to come to them. Because
ships carry great amounts of freight and cannot lengthen or shorten
themselves, as trains can, to accommodate fluctuating quantities, it is
often necessary for freight to go in “tramp” steamers to ports which
attract small amounts of freight. But cargoes must be waiting at those
ports for shipment to some other or the ship loses time and the line
loses money. Because of this agents are for ever busy, cablegrams are
for ever being flashed through the ocean depths, or ships are diverted
by wireless in order to take advantage of temporary conditions.
These are the duties of shipping lines, and the vast companies of the
modern world of the sea are amazingly capable, brilliantly alert, for
ever in touch with shifting channels of trade, alert to fill the needs
of a busy world that pays them only for the service it demands.
Perhaps the fierce competition of to-day seems harsh, yet it is
constructive. Perhaps it bears too heavily upon many deserving
individuals, yet through it has come about the vast improvement that
has marked the shipping world in the last hundred years—an improvement
that has shortened voyages, limited the time between continents,
reduced the very world until voyages around it are now almost
commonplace summer holidays.
Without competition the old East India Company sent its ships from
England to the East for 300 years, and served Britain little better
at the end of that time than at the beginning. With competition the
transatlantic voyage has been cut from forty days to little more
than four. Giant ships plough every sea and offer their magnificence
to every passenger who cares to pay the passage money. No longer do
silks and spices fill the holds of the argosies of the deep. Iron ore
or polished motor cars, bales of cotton or crates of textiles, toys
or machinery, hides or shoes, lumber or furniture—it matters not.
Given only a place of origin and another place overseas where buyers
wish it delivered and ships there will be to carry it. There is not
a single harbour between the eternal ice of the two polar seas that
is not visited by ships. There is not a person of the billion and a
half who inhabit the globe but is affected by them. The natives of
Central Africa buy cotton goods made in England of cotton grown in
Alabama. The Eskimos of the frozen north hunt for seals with guns
made in Connecticut. Oil that gushes from the rocks of Transcaucasia
is refined, and burned in motor cars as they roll along the Champs
Élysées. Copper from the Andes is made into roofing for houses
everywhere on earth. Toys made in Czechoslovakia or Japan fill the
counters of the toy shops of Britain and America.
No longer do oceans divide the world. As shipping lines continue their
development they cannot fail to weld the world into a vast economic
unit, interdependent and friendly, useful to one another and to
unnumbered generations of the future.
To-day we look back to the beginnings of the shipping lines and smile
as we think of their trifling activities. In a hundred years they
have grown from infancy to vigorous manhood, but their future will
not be one of senility. Instead, as years go by, their growth will
greatly continue, and a hundred years from now the point of view of our
children’s children will probably be to the shipping lines of to-day
what ours is to the lines of a hundred years ago.
CHAPTER XIV
THE IMPORTANCE OF SHIPS
Since time immemorial man has sailed the sea, yet is the sea but little
known. To most of us it is an enigma, even though we may often have
viewed its undulating surface from the deck chairs of ocean liners. But
the ocean is not to be learned by idling passengers in deck chairs. One
must play a part—no matter what—in the struggle to master it before one
may feel acquainted with it. Nor even then may one become familiar,
nor trust it over much. Sometimes it rages loud and long, and finally,
worn out with the strain of raging, goes into a sort of restless doze,
with occasional reawakenings of anger. Sometimes it hides beneath a
mask of fog—quiet but untrustworthy, motionless but sulky—giving out no
warnings of its dangers, and stubbornly interfering with those that man
sends out. But these are not the moods most natural to the sea.
Its moods are generally genial. Sometimes it lies for days, untroubled
by its storms, unhidden by its fogs. All day its surface twinkles in
the sunlight or all night rocks the bright reflection of the moon.
It winks and smiles and whispers to the sides of every passing ship.
Its sounds are sibilant and liquid. Or it may be playful, leaping
joyously in great blue surges, through which the sunlight gleams. Now
and then, perhaps, a wave may pop an inquisitive crest a little above
the rail, and sprinkle sparkling drops of salty water over a sailor or
a passenger, but one need only look down beside the ship and see the
colour of the waves to know that therein lies only virile playfulness.
And these are the more usual of the moods of the sea. Now and then it
turns gray with anger and flings itself about in fits of fuming rage.
Now and then it glowers beneath the fog, ugly and menacing. But in
that, as in its sunny gentleness and boisterous fun, it has only the
attributes of many a child—quick to foolish anger, quick to sullen
sulking, but just as quick to gentleness and fun, and much more given
to them.
But the sea, unfortunately, is generally judged by its moments of
petulance. It is generally the story dealing with storm or fog that
finds its way into the papers. In that we react toward the sea just as
we do toward our neighbours’ children. Weeks may pass during which they
are guiltless of a single childish prank and we are likely not to think
of them at all. But let them tie a tin can to our old dog’s tail or run
our cat high up among the branches of a tree, and we are likely to be
loud in criticism of them.
And so the sea. It periodically, so to speak, ties tin cans to the
tails of even the biggest ships. It sometimes drives badly treated
vessels into the protecting reaches of our harbours. But for every
traveller who has seen a storm at sea there are a hundred who never saw
one, albeit many of these latter, because the ship may have rolled a
bit too much to suit their untrained stomachs, would swear that they
had passed through storms of the very greatest magnitude.
But storms, by and large, are not so serious as landsmen sometimes
think. This is proved by the numerous long ocean voyages that have
been made—that are constantly being made, as a matter of fact—by small
ships, by yachts, by tiny sailboats, even by open rowboats, all over
the world, and often for pleasure.
In 1896 two young Americans left New York in a small light rowboat,
without sails or engine, and sixty-two days later landed at Havre,
France, having rowed the entire distance—aided, of course, by the
Gulf Stream Drift and by the fact that the prevailing winds were from
astern. Such a trip is foolhardy in the extreme and proves nothing
except that there are people foolish enough to do even so nonsensical a
thing.
[Illustration: THE _SPRAY_
_In which Captain Joshua Slocum circumnavigated the globe._]
In 1849 a 41-foot sailboat sailed from New Bedford for San Francisco—a
13,000-mile voyage around Cape Horn, the most notorious cape in the
world—and in 226 days had arrived at her destination.
In 1877 a man and his wife sailed a 20-foot decked whaleboat from New
Bedford to Penzance, England, in forty-nine days. In 1878 a certain
Captain Andrews and his brother sailed from Boston to England in a
boat only 15 feet 6 inches long. They made the crossing in forty-five
days.
Captain Joshua Slocum is famous among small-boat sailors. He made a
voyage of 5,000 miles from Brazil to the United States in a 33-foot
decked dory built from material salvaged from a wrecked ship. Later he
sailed alone around the world in the 37-foot yawl _Spray_, on a voyage
that occupied three years and two months. Captain Voss, a Canadian,
sailed 40,000 miles in a 40-foot Alaskan war canoe which he had
decked and otherwise prepared for the voyage. In 1911 Captain Thomas
Fleming Day and two companions sailed the 25-foot yawl _Seabird_ from
Providence, Rhode Island, to Gibraltar in thirty-seven days including
a five-day stop at the Azores. In 1912 the same Captain Day, with
another party, took the 35-foot motor cruiser _Detroit_ from Detroit,
Michigan, to St. Petersburg, Russia. In 1921 Alfred Loomis and some
friends sailed a 28-foot yawl from New York to Panama. Nor have I
listed more than a fraction of the small boats that have crossed wide
stretches of open ocean. That such voyages are not so ridiculous as
many people unacquainted with the sea believe is proved by the valuable
services rendered by the British motor launches during the World
War. These 60- and 80-foot motor boats patrolled the rough waters of
the Irish and North seas and the English Channel throughout the long
submarine campaign, and America, as I have said before, in 1917 and
1918, sent shoals of submarine chasers, each but 110 feet in length,
across the Atlantic to England, Ireland, France, the Mediterranean,
and even to the Arctic coast of Russia, all without the loss by
shipwreck of a single vessel. Yet despite all this evidence that proves
the seaworthiness of small vessels and proves, too, the essential
kindliness of the sea, most people ashore think of long voyages in
small boats as being foolhardy and suicidal.
Of course, many such voyages have been foolhardy, and some have been
suicidal. But to the person who knows the sea and who knows boats such
voyages need be neither the one nor the other. A properly designed and
constructed small boat well handled is not likely to founder. When
carelessness or lack of information enters into either the designing,
the construction, or the operation of such a boat the result may be
different, although the sea, being usually in kindly mood, allows many
such to pass unscathed.
[Illustration: THE _DETROIT_
_This 35-foot motorboat made the voyage from Detroit, Michigan, to St.
Petersburg, Russia._]
[Illustration: A RECONSTRUCTION OF ONE OF CALIGULA’S GALLEYS
_This luxurious ship was built on Lake Nemi, Italy, during the reign
of the Emperor Caligula (37-41 A. D.). It sank to the bottom at some
unknown period, and has often been examined by divers, for it is
still in a fair state of preservation. It is 250 feet long, and its
equipment was of the most luxurious kind. Suggestions for its recovery
have been made, and it is possible that the lake, which is a small
one, may be drained in order to study this old ship and another one
that is lying near it._
]
In 1922 A. Y. Gowan sailed a 98-foot motor cruiser around the world.
That the boat was not designed for such a voyage is proved by the fact
that her gasolene capacity was not great enough to permit her to make
the longer jumps between ports entirely under her own power. This
necessitated tows, and for many a weary mile of the way she wallowed
and jerked at the end of a towline. Yet this yacht, intended though she
was for protected waters, made the voyage, although she must have been
uncomfortable to a degree in rough weather. This voyage proves that
with a little thought, in these days of weather reports and compiled
data on prevailing winds and stormy seasons, a small vessel may lay her
course so as to avoid the most serious bad weather—barring, of course,
local storms that do, sometimes, attain great ferocity. It is well
known, for instance, that during the summer months the North Atlantic
is generally mild while during some of the winter months it grows
exceptionally boisterous and ugly. Therefore the small boat that would
cross it had best choose the summertime. Should Mr. Gowan’s little
yacht ever find herself in the grip of a really serious North Atlantic
winter gale she would run a most excellent chance of never seeing
pleasant weather again. Yet, as I have said, a tiny rowboat crossed
this very stretch of water in the summer of 1896.
[Illustration: A EUROPEAN SIDE-WHEELER
_These steamers are often seen in European waters and are widely used
as excursion boats._]
All of this merely means that good judgment, based upon experience
and compiled information, is about the most valuable bit of sea-going
equipment that the deep-sea small-boat sailor can have. Nor does that
apply only to small-boat sailors. Nor, again, is it always necessary
for the sailor, merely because his boat is small, to feel that he must
stay in port in heavy weather or founder if it come upon him while he
is on the sea. Not by such a doctrine have the fishermen of Gloucester
made for themselves the reputation that they have. Summer and winter
they take their schooners out to the Grand Banks and live out the
greatest storms that try those storm-tossed waters. From the deck of
a 50-foot Gloucester fisherman I have seen the seas tower high before
her bow, seemingly about to crush the craft, and have seen the mighty
troughs, which, from the crests of the great seas, seemed abysmal in
their depth, yet did the little vessel ride through them without so
much as a splintered rail. These schooners come in loaded with fish and
often encrusted with ice. It is true that their sails are sometimes
split, their masts sometimes swept overboard. Yet is the fatality among
such vessels light, despite the fact that they face most of the storms
that blow each winter on the Banks.
Had it not been that small boats can safely sail the seas it is
difficult to see how we ever could have arrived at the era of great
ships. Ancient history tells us of ships that, at least until the prime
of Greece and Rome, could not by any stretch of the imagination be
called large. Yet the old ships of the Phœnicians sailed, even before
the days of Greece, all over the Mediterranean, out into the Atlantic,
as far north as the English Channel, at least, and on one occasion,
around Africa. Then came Greece, and ships grew somewhat in size. Then
Rome appeared, and ships grew larger still, although most of them still
were small, as always. By the time of Caligula (37-41 A. D.) Roman
shipwrights had greatly increased the size of their large ships, as is
proved by a ship now resting on the bottom of Lake Nemi in Italy.
During and following the Dark Ages ships had again become small, and
only gradually did they enlarge. Even by the time of the Spanish Armada
a ship of 1,000 tons was considered huge. Yet such ships, as I said,
were considered very large, not more than a handful of the more than
three hundred ships in the Armada and the British fleet opposing it
approaching such a measurement, and hardly more than three or four
exceeding it. Among the 197 British ships that opposed the Armada but
seven were more than 600 tons.
[Illustration: A HUDSON RIVER STEAMER
_The passenger steamers of the Hudson are large, speedy, and are
capable of carrying thousand of excursionists._]
Even at the beginning of the 19th Century ships of a thousand tons or
more were rare, and the famous clipper ships of even a later period
were smaller almost as often as they were larger. Yet did these
ships speed on their way across the oceans in all weathers in their
furtherance of trade.
Of the billion and a half people who inhabit the world to-day few
indeed appreciate the huge importance of ships. As I pointed out in
my opening chapter, the world as we know it could not exist without
them. Even the far simpler world of the ancients required them, and the
modern world depends on them far more.
In Great Britain there is a wide and real appreciation of the value of
merchant shipping. But the fact that Britain is an island depending
upon lands across the seas for the very food that gives it life makes
the importance of ships more evident. Not only for that, of course, are
ships vital to Great Britain. To buy food her people must manufacture
goods to sell to foreign peoples. Does the manufacturer weave textiles?
His raw materials come from the United States, from Egypt, from
Australia and New Zealand. Does he manufacture tires? His raw materials
must be bought in the East Indies and Egypt. Does he manufacture
cutlery? His product, or at least much of it, must be sold in foreign
markets in order that such foreign products as are not to be found in
Britain may be purchased. Does he need oil? He must buy it from the
Dutch East Indies, from Transcaucasia, from America. Do the people
need sugar for their tea? It must come from Cuba or Jamaica. Does the
country need copper? It may come from Peru or Michigan. Furs? From
Canada. Wheat? Argentina, Canada, Australia, the United States, Russia.
Coffee? Brazil or Java. Rice? Japan, the Philippines. Lumber? Canada.
Paper? Canada or Scandinavia.
And for every cargo bought in foreign lands a cargo should be returned,
else trade is unhealthy and will languish. Britain, to a large extent,
imports raw products and food, and exports manufactured articles and
coal. This the people know and deeply realize. The result is that
Britain’s merchant fleet is the greatest the world has ever seen.
[Illustration: A STEAM YACHT
_Unfortunately the type of yacht pictured here is less common than
formerly. These are being replaced by yachts with less graceful lines,
differing from this in many respects but perhaps most noticeably in
having a perpendicular bow and no bowsprit._
]
But in the United States the vital importance of ships is not widely
understood. During the last decade of the 19th Century and the first
one of the 20th it might almost have been said that the subject was
not understood at all. The World War corrected that somewhat, but even
after that holocaust had forced the subject before the public and had
created a condition that demanded ships, the subject was not more than
superficially grasped. The result was that the nation that had suddenly
leaped to a position in world shipping second only to Great Britain so
lightly took its responsibilities that its great fleet of ships was
permitted to run down when an economic crisis made it impossible for
them to find cargoes. Almost as important in this deterioration of the
American Merchant Marine after the war were the backward laws and lack
of interest on the part of the people.
But the United States is not so situated that the importance of ships
can easily be appreciated. The people would not starve if there were
no ships, for the nation’s own resources, seconded by those of Canada,
would prevent such a calamity. The land has coal and steel, has copper
and cotton and farm products. It _could_ have enough sugar without
going overseas. Its great area and diversity of climatic conditions
produce, perhaps, more of the necessities of life than can be produced
by any other single nation. Yet is it dependent upon ships. Without
them the millions of automobiles would shortly stop running—for lack of
rubber, from which to make tires and insulation. Without ships the vast
wheat crop could only with difficulty be harvested—for lack of binder
twine, which is made from Yucatan sisal.
These imports are vital and there are others equally so, besides
thousands without which we could get along, but less comfortably.
Coffee and tea, spices, silk, diamonds (not merely for jewellery, which
is unimportant, but for industry in which vast numbers of them are
essential to many processes of manufacture), chocolate, fish (or at
least most of them), many metals necessary to industry, ingredients for
many important drugs and medicines, mahogany and other fine woods which
are vital for more than furniture, and a thousand other things that now
are a part of everyday life.
The high standards of living now commonly accepted by the people of
the United States would be greatly lowered were it not for the ships
that bring to its ports the products of foreign lands and take away
the country’s excess food products and manufactured and raw materials
bought by those foreign lands.
[Illustration: AN EXPERIMENT OF 1924
_This ship, designed by a German, is propelled by the wind blowing
against the two strange towers. These towers are rotated by a motor
with the result that, according to the Magnus law, the pressure of
the wind becomes greater on one side of each tower than on the other,
thus tending to move the ship. It seems hardly likely, at the time
this book goes to press, that this application of a formerly unused
physical law will revolutionize the propulsion of ships._
]
Nor, as the World War showed Americans, is it wise to depend upon
foreign nations to transport all their products to America and carry
all America’s products away. To be healthy the nation should maintain
its own cargo fleet, which, in turn, should provide itself with
terminal facilities not only at home but also abroad, in order that
cargoes may be loaded and unloaded economically and without delay.
America has passed the era in which the interior development of the
nation utilized all the energies of its ambitious population. Already
it has stepped into the field of foreign commerce in which it must now
continue. Time was when the nation’s interests lay entirely at home,
but that time is no longer. Increasingly will America’s exports be a
factor in foreign markets, and upon this depends to an ever-growing
extent the welfare of Americans. Time was when the land was the
producer only of raw materials. Now it is one of the world’s greatest
manufacturing nations, with an infinite number of products that cannot
be consumed at home.
Ships, then, must become a growing interest of Americans, for upon
ships, and largely upon their own ships, must they depend to maintain
the standards of living that have made Americans the most fortunate of
the peoples of the world.
Whether it be the citizen of New York or of San Francisco, of the
mountain states or of the prairies—whether it be the clerk, the farmer,
the manufacturer, or the ranchman—whether it be the millionaire or
the day labourer, the teacher or the business man, still should he
interest himself in ships, for only upon a wide appreciation of their
value can wise legislation be built, and only with the support of the
people can great fleets be maintained to carry the nation’s products to
other lands and return with those vital cargoes upon which the nation’s
comfort and happiness are so largely built.
THE END
APPENDIX
APPENDIX
An abridged dictionary of nautical words and expressions
I am anxious that it should not appear that I believe the following
list to be either complete or adequate. The phraseology of sailors is
often so saturated with nautical expressions that a person uninitiated
into the fraternity of the sea might easily find their conversations
almost beyond his comprehension. The words that follow, however, and
their definitions, will make clear any portion of the text of this
book which may have more of a nautical flavour than I intended, and
may, too, clarify other things in the minds of those unacquainted with
the language of the sea.—H. D.
=a=—An Anglo-Saxon prefix for “on” or “in.” It is in constant use at
sea, as in _aback_, _aboard_, _astern_, etc.
=aback=—Spoken of square sails blown back against a mast by a sudden
change of wind, or, in some instances, put in that position purposely
for some special purpose.
=abaft=—Behind or toward the stern of a vessel. Thus, _abaft_ the
bridge will mean toward the stern from the bridge.
=abeam=—On the side of a vessel, amidships. Thus, an object _abeam_,
or _on the beam_, is an object at right angles to the vessel amidships.
=aboard=, or =on board=—On, or in, a vessel.
=about=—A turning round. To go _about_—To turn a vessel round, in
sailing, so that the wind comes over the other side. See _tack_.
=adrift=—Anything which floats unfastened, as a boat or a spar, which
may have broken away, or a ship which has parted from her anchor.
Seamen also refer to articles carelessly lying around a ship as
_adrift_.
=aft=—Behind; toward the after or stern part of a vessel. Thus, the
poop deck is _aft_.
=alee=—To put the helm _alee_ means to bring it toward the side of the
ship away from the wind. This heads the boat into the wind, or, if the
helm is kept _alee_, brings her about.
=aloft=—Up in the tops—overhead. In the upper rigging, or on the
yards, etc.
=alongside=—By the side of.
=amidships=—Generally speaking, the middle portion of a vessel.
=anchor=—A metal hook specially designed to take hold of the bottom
in comparatively shallow water. A cable connecting the anchor and the
ship makes it possible for a ship to maintain her position against
wind or tide or current. Anchors are of many shapes and vary in size
from a few pounds to a number of tons.
=anchorage=—A section of a harbour or a roadstead where ships may
anchor.
=aneroid=—A barometer which is operated by the pressure of the
atmosphere on a metal disc covering a partial vacuum. The varying
pressure operates the hand on a dial, and this is graduated to the
same scale as is a mercurial barometer.
=artemon=—A sail used on Roman ships. It was square and was mounted at
the bow on a kind of mast that leaned over the bow. Later its place
was taken by the spritsail.
=astern=—Behind. In the after part of the vessel; behind the vessel;
in her wake.
=astrolabe=—An instrument of the late Middle Ages with which mariners
attempted to learn their latitude. The instrument was very imperfect
in its workings.
=astronomical ring=—An instrument that was meant to improve on the
astrolabe, but which was just as inaccurate.
=athwart=, =athwartships=—Across. Hence the rowers’ seats in an open
boat are called thwarts because they lie _athwart_, or across the
boat. To drop _athwart_ anything—To come across it; to find it.
=auxiliary=—A sailing ship equipped with an engine for use in
emergency or in crowded waters is said to be an auxiliary. Sometimes
sails are carried on power-driven vessels for use in case it is
desirable not to use the engine or in case of breakdown. In this case
also the ship is an auxiliary.
=avast=—The order to stop or pause in any exercise; as, “_Avast_
heaving.”
=aweather=—Toward the weather side; _i. e._, the side upon which the
wind blows.
=aweigh=—Spoken of an anchor when it has been lifted from the bottom.
=aye= (_adv._, perhaps from _ajo_, Lat. (defective verb), to say
yes)—Yes; always used in lieu thereof at sea, with a repetition,
“_Aye, aye_, sir,” meaning, “I understand; and will execute the order.”
=back=—With sailing ships: To _back_ a square sail is to haul it over
to windward so that the wind blows it against the mast. With steam
vessels: _Back_ her is an order to reverse engines, so that the ship
may be suddenly stopped or made to go astern.
=back-stays=—Ropes stretched from a mast to the sides of a vessel,
some way aft of the mast, to give extra support to the masts against
falling forward.
=balance lug=—See LUG.
=bale=, =baler=—To _bale_ or _bale out_ is to remove water from a boat
by means of a _baler_, which may be any small container capable of
holding water.
=ballast=—Weight deposited in a ship’s hold when she has no cargo,
or too little to bring her sufficiently low in the water. It is used
to counterbalance the effect of the wind upon the masts and give
the ship a proper stability, that she may be enabled to carry sail
without danger of upsetting, and is sometimes used in steam vessels to
increase their stability or to correct their “trim”; that is, in order
that neither bow nor stern will float too high.
=balloon canvas=, or =press canvas=—The extra spread of canvas (_i.
e._, sail) used by yachts in racing, generally, in a great sail often
called a “ballooner.”
=bank= (of oars)—A tier of oars all on one level. In ancient
oar-driven ships there were often several banks. All the oarlocks that
were at the same distance above the water level mounted oars said to
be in the same bank.
=barbette=—The heavy armoured foundation on which the turret of a
modern battleship is mounted.
=barge=—A general name given to most flat-bottomed craft. In ancient
and mediæval times the name was given also to large boats of state
or pleasure, and in later days to one of the small boats of a
man-of-war. The barges of to-day are of various descriptions, being
either sea-going, river, or canal.
=barkentine=—A three-masted sailing vessel, square rigged on the fore-
and mainmasts, and fore and aft rigged on the mizzen. For illustration
see page 201.
=barometer=—An instrument for measuring the weight or pressure of the
atmosphere. A careful study of its changing record makes it possible
to foretell many of the changes in the weather.
=batten=—A long strip of wood. Battens are used for many purposes,
such as covering seams inside the hull. To _batten_ down—To cover up
tightly; usually spoken of hatches when they are closed tightly.
=battle cruiser=—A large and very powerful fighting ship, of high
speed, and with an armament equal or superior to that of a battleship,
but very lightly armoured.
=beam=—The width of a vessel at her widest part.
=bearing=—The direction, or angular distance from a meridian, in which
an object lies.
=beat=—To _beat_ to windward is to make progress in a sailing vessel
in the direction from which the wind is blowing.
=belay=—To make fast; as, to _belay_ a rope.
=belaying pin=—A movable pin or bolt of wood or metal to which lines
are belayed.
=below=—To _go below_ is equivalent, on shipboard, to going downstairs.
=berth=—A bed or bunk on board ship; a place for a ship to tie up or
anchor is sometimes called a berth.
=between decks= or =’tween decks=—Any place below the main deck on a
ship of more than one deck.
=bilge=—That part of the hull of a ship inside and adjacent to the
keel.
=bilge keel=—Fins of wood or steel approximately paralleling the keel
but built into and projecting from the ship at about where the bottom
and the sides might be said to join. They are intended to minimize the
rolling of the ship.
=bilge water=—Water that collects in the bottom of the ship. As this
is always at the lowest part of the hull, oil and other impurities
are always a part of the bilge water, with the result that its odour
is generally offensive and it is very dirty.
=binnacle=—The fixed case and stand in which the steering compass of a
vessel is mounted.
=bireme=—An ancient ship, driven by two banks of oars.
=bitts=—Posts of metal or timber projecting from the deck, to which
lines may be made fast.
=Blackwall hitch=—A knot. For illustration see page 193.
=block=—A pulley used on board ship.
=boat=—A small vessel. It is improper to refer to large ships as boats.
=bob stay=—A stay or rope made fast to the stempost of a ship at the
cutwater and leading to the end of the bowsprit.
=bolt-ropes=—The ropes along the borders or edges of a sail for the
purpose of strengthening those parts.
=bonnet=—A narrow strip of canvas laced to the foot of sails on small
vessels to increase their area in light winds. More common in mediæval
times than now.
=boom=—The spar at the foot of a fore and aft sail. There are other
booms for other uses, such as a _boat boom_—a spar projecting from the
side of a ship and to which small boats floating in the water are made
fast when the ship is at anchor.
=bow=—The front end of a vessel. The _port bow_ is the left side of
the front end, and the _starboard bow_ is the right side.
=bowline=—A knot. For illustration see page 193.
=bowsprit=—The spar projecting from the bow of a ship and to which the
fore stays are led from the foremast. It is a highly important part of
a sailing ship’s rigging, but when used on power-driven ships, as it
often is on steam yachts, it is more decorative than necessary.
=boxing the compass=—Repeating the points of the compass in order,
starting from any point.
=brace=—Ropes on a square-rigged ship leading to the ends of the yards
and used for the purpose of setting the yard at the proper angle to
the mast are called _braces_.
=breaker=—A small water barrel.
=breakers=—Waves that curl over and break because of shallow water.
=breakwater=—An artificial bank or wall of any material built to break
the violence of the sea and create a sheltered spot.
=bridles=—Several lines leading from a larger line to distribute the
strain on an object to which they are attached.
=brig=—A vessel with two masts (fore and main) both of them square
rigged. For illustration see page 201.
=brigantine=—Same as a brig except that it has a fore and aft
mainsail. For illustrations see page 201.
=broadside=—The firing of all the cannon on one side of a warship at
the same moment.
=bulkhead=—A partition of almost any material. Nowadays steel
bulkheads are most common. Their purpose is to divide the ship,
generally laterally, into separate compartments that, in the highest
designs, are watertight.
=bulwarks=—A parapet around the deck of a vessel, serving to guard
passengers, crew, and cargo from the possibility of being swept
overboard.
=bumboat=—A small harbour boat allowed to visit ships in port and
supply the sailors with various articles.
=buoy=—A floating marker intended as a guide or a warning. Buoys have
been more or less standardized, but in many different parts of the
world similar shapes and colours still stand for different things.
=cabin=—A habitable apartment on shipboard.
=cable=—The rope or chain by which a ship’s anchor is held.
=calking=—Stuffing the seams of wooden ships with oakum.
=can buoy=—A buoy which shows above water the form of a cylinder.
=canoe=—A light boat propelled by paddles. Sometimes sails are also
used.
=capstan=—A kind of windlass sometimes found on ships, and used
principally for raising the anchor.
=caravel=—A ship commonly in use in the “age of discovery”; that is,
during the 15th Century. Columbus’s _Santa Maria_ was one of these.
For illustration see frontispiece.
=careen=—The operation of tilting a ship over to one side or the other
by means of tackle led from her masts to points at some distance from
her side.
=cargo liner=—A freight ship that sails on schedule dates over a given
route, as passenger liners do.
=carrick bend=—A knot. For illustration see page 193.
=carvel=—A method of small boat-building in which the board coverings
present a smooth surface.
=catamaran=—A boat made up of two parallel and equal hulls held
together by a framework.
=catboat=—A small sailing boat with one mast and a single sail
which is generally similar in shape to the mainsail of a sloop. For
illustration see page 203.
=centreboard=—A movable sheet of metal or wood sometimes used by small
sailboats. It extends through the keel and presents a large surface
to the water and tends to eliminate lateral motion while the boat is
under sail. A kind of folding keel.
=chart=—A map of the sea and coast projections for use by navigators.
Features of the bottom are also shown for shallow water.
=chronometer=—An accurate timepiece generally registering the time at
Greenwich, England. Navigators require this instrument in working out
their longitude.
=clinker=—A method of small boat-building in which the covering planks
overlap as weatherboarding does on the side of a house.
=clipper=—A fast sailing ship suddenly developed in the first half
of the 19th Century. Generally, but not necessarily, the clippers
were full-rigged ships. They were popular for about fifty years. For
illustration see page 63.
=cockpit=—See WELL.
=collier=—A vessel employed in the coal trade.
=companionway=—The entrance to a ladder or flight of stairs leading
from one deck to the one below.
=compass=—A magnetized instrument which points approximately in the
direction of the Magnetic Pole and from which directions can be
learned.
=corvette=—A small warship of the late 18th and early 19th centuries.
=crossjack= (pronounced “cro-jak”)—The square sail sometimes hung from
the lowest yard on the mizzenmast of a full-rigged ship. It is not
commonly used.
=crosstrees=—The arms extending laterally near the head of a mast
at right angles to the length of the vessel and to the extremities
of which the topmast shrouds are stretched for the purpose of giving
support to the topmast.
=cruiser=—A large, fast, and lightly armoured ship of war. The
expression is also used in yachting, meaning a boat meant for cruising.
=cutter=—A sailing boat with one mast carrying staysail, jib, fore and
aft mainsail, and sometimes a topsail. Other sails are also sometimes
added. In various navies the expression is used to denote a large
heavy rowboat propelled by as many as ten oars.
=cutwater=—That portion of the stem of a vessel that cleaves the water
as she moves ahead.
=davit=—A light crane mounted on a ship’s side and used for hoisting
and lowering boats. Ordinarily two davits are used to each boat. The
projecting beam over which the anchor is sometimes hoisted is also
sometimes called a davit.
=deck=—The covering of the interior of a ship, either carried
completely over her or only over a portion. Decks correspond to the
floors and roof of a flat-topped building.
=derelict=—A ship adrift at sea without her crew.
=destroyer=—Formerly called “torpedo-boat destroyer.” These ships are
enlargements of torpedo boats and were originally designed to destroy
those small, fast warships. They have proved very useful for many
naval duties, and are now an important part of every large navy’s
forces.
=dhow=—A small sailing vessel common in Egyptian and Arabian waters.
It generally carries one or two lateen sails.
=dinghy=—A small open boat used as a tender for a yacht.
=dock=—An artificially constructed basin for the reception of vessels.
It may be a wet dock, where ships lie while loading and unloading, or
a dry dock, in which they are repaired after the water is pumped out.
=dock yard=—An enclosed area in which the work connected with the
building, fitting out, or repair of ships is carried on.
=drabbler=—An additional strip of canvas, sometimes laced to the
bottom of the “bonnet” on a square sail when the wind is light. Rarely
seen nowadays, but common in the Middle Ages.
=draft=—The depth beneath the surface of the water of the lowest point
of a ship’s keel.
=dreadnaught=—A modern battleship carrying heavy armour and a main
battery of guns all of a very large and uniform calibre.
=driver=—The fore-and-aft sail on the mizzenmast of a square-rigged
ship. It is sometimes called the spanker.
=dry dock=—An artificial basin which can be flooded in order to permit
the entry of ships, and then pumped dry in order that their hulls may
be examined, painted, and repaired.
=dugout=—A canoe or boat made from a log hollowed out and cut
down until it has become a vessel capable of carrying one or more
passengers.
=ensign=—The flag carried by a ship as the insignia of her
nationality. Also, the lowest commissioned officer of the United
States Navy.
=fathom=—A nautical measure, equal to six feet.
=fid=—A bolt of wood or metal which holds the heel of a topmast.
=fife rail=—A plank or rail in which a group of belaying pins is kept.
=figure of eight=—A knot. For illustration see page 193.
=flagship=—That ship of a fleet or squadron which flies the flag of
the admiral in command.
=fore and aft=—An expression signifying those sails which, when at
rest, lie in a line running from bow to stern of a vessel. The sails
of a schooner are fore and aft.
=forecastle=—Formerly a raised “castle” built at the bows of ancient
and mediæval ships from which the decks of enemy ships could be
attacked. Nowadays the quarters of the crew on board ship—generally in
the bows of ships.
=foremast=—The mast nearest the bow of a vessel having more than one
mast, except on yawls, ketches, and other sailboats where the mast
nearest the bow is larger than the mast farther astern.
=foresail=—On a square-rigged ship, the lowest square sail on the
foremast. On a schooner, the sail stretched between the boom and the
gaff on the foremast.
=forward=—The forward part or the forepart; that is, the vicinity of
the bow of a vessel. To go _forward_ is to go toward the bow.
=freeboard=—That portion of a vessel’s side which is free of the
water; that is, which is not submerged.
=freighter=—A ship engaged in carrying freight.
=frigate=—A warship of the last days of sail. It was full rigged and
had two decks on which guns were mounted. The _Constitution_ is a
_frigate_. For illustration see page 145.
=full-rigged ship=—A ship carrying three masts, each mounting square
sails. For illustration see page 201.
=funnel=—The smokestack or chimney connected with the boilers of a
ship.
=furl=—To roll a sail and confine it to its yard or boom.
=gaff=—The spar at the top of some fore and aft sails, such as the
mainsail or foresail of a schooner.
=galleon=—A heavy vessel of the time of Spain’s nautical supremacy.
=galley=—(1) In ancient and mediæval times a ship of war propelled by
oars and sails. (2) The kitchen of a ship.
=gangplank=—A movable runway used to bridge over the gap from a ship’s
deck to a pier.
=gangway=—A narrow platform or bridge passing over from one deck of a
vessel to another, as from the poop to the midship deck of a freighter.
=gear=—Any part of the working apparatus of a vessel, as the gear of
the helm, which consists of the tiller, the chains, the blocks, and
all other necessary parts.
=gig=—A small boat formerly often carried on shipboard and meant for
use when in port.
=gimbals=—The brass rings in which a compass is mounted, and which
permit it to remain horizontal despite the motions of the ship.
=gondola=—A Venetian boat, used in the canals more or less as taxicabs
are used in streets. It is propelled by one or two oarsmen, each with
a single oar.
=granny=—A knot. For illustration, see page 193.
=graving dock=—Same as dry dock.
=ground=—To run a ship into water so shallow that she rests on the
bottom.
=ground tackle=—The gear connected with and including the anchors of a
ship.
=gunboat=—A small warship used for minor naval duties.
=gunwale=—The top of any solid rail along the outside of a vessel is
generally called a _gunwale_.
=guy=—A steadying rope, as the _guy_ of a spinnaker, which serves to
keep that sail forward.
=gybe=—The swinging over of a fore and aft sail when the wind,
accidentally or intentionally, has been brought from one side of it
to the other around its free edge. This is sometimes a foolish and
dangerous manœuvre.
=halyard=—A rope (sometimes a chain) by which a sail, flag, or yard is
hoisted.
=handsomely=—A term which sounds contradictory. It means the opposite
to hastily, and is used often with reference to ropes or halyards; as,
“Lower away _handsomely_,” which means lower away gradually.
=hatchway=—An opening in the deck of a vessel through which persons or
cargo may descend or ascend.
=hawsepipes=—Short tubes through which the anchor cable passes from
the forward deck to the outside of the bow.
=hawser=—A cable or heavy rope used for towing and for making fast to
moorings.
=head sails=—All the sails set between the foremast and the bow and
bowsprit of a sailing ship. These are the fore staysail and the inner,
outer, and flying jibs. Occasionally there may be others, such as a
spritsail.
=helm=—Used interchangeably with the word “tiller.” Theoretically,
every rudder is equipped with a helm or tiller, although actually
tillers are seldom used except on small boats. To port your _helm_
(tiller) means to push the handle of the tiller to the port side. This
steers the vessel to starboard. Therefore, when the order to port the
_helm_ is given on board any ship, it is intended that the steering
apparatus be so operated that were there a tiller on the rudder it
would be moved to port.
=hermaphrodite brig=—A two-masted sailing ship with square sails on
the foremast and fore-and-aft sails only on the main. This type is
often incorrectly called a brigantine. For illustration see page 201.
=hold=—The inner space in a vessel in which the cargo is stowed.
=holystone=—A soft, porous stone used for scouring the decks. Its name
comes from its shape, which fancy has suggested is that of a Bible,
and to the fact that when it is in use the sailors are invariably on
their knees.
=hull=—The hull is the body of a vessel, exclusive of rigging or
equipment.
=Jacob’s ladder=—A collapsible ladder made of wooden steps strung
between two ropes. It is used over the sides of a ship when the ship
is at sea, as, for instance, when a pilot comes aboard or departs.
=jaws=—The horns at the end of a boom or gaff, which keep it in its
position against the mast.
=jib=—One of the triangular headsails of a sailing vessel. There are
several, as follows: balloon jib, flying jib, inner jib, jib of jibs
(only on large ships), jib topsail, middle jib, spitfire, standing
jib, storm jib.
=jib-boom=—A spar running out beyond the bowsprit for the purpose of
carrying other jibs. _Flying jib-boom_—A boom extending beyond the
_jib-boom_ for the purpose of carrying the flying jib.
=jigger=—The fourth mast from the bow in a ship carrying four or more
masts. The second from the bow in a yawl or a ketch.
=jolly boat=—A boat corresponding to a dinghy.
=junk=—A ship common in China and Japan. It is ungainly in shape, but
is often remarkably seaworthy. It is driven by sails which are often
made of matting.
=kayak=—A small canoe used by the Eskimos. It is made by covering a
light framework with skins, and is decked. Generally there is but one
hatch just large enough for a single occupant to sit in. Occasionally
there are two of these openings. It is propelled by paddles.
=kedge=—A small anchor carried by large vessels for use in shallow
water or for use in keeping the main anchor clear.
=keel=—The backbone of a ship. It is a strong member extending the
entire length of the centre of the bottom, and from it the ribs are
built at right angles. _Fin-keel_—A thin and deep projection below
the keel of some sailing ships, principally yachts, designed so as to
prevent the ship from being blown sideways by the wind, and generally
weighted at the bottom by an addition of lead or iron to insure
stability to the vessel.
=keelson=—An addition to the keel inside the boat. It rests upon the
keel and strengthens it.
=ketch=—A sailing vessel with two masts and with fore-and-aft sails.
The mast nearer the bow is the larger of the two and is called the
main. The one toward the stern is, in America, generally called the
jigger, and in England the mizzen. It is placed just forward of the
wheel or tiller. It is in this particular that it differs from a yawl.
=knot=—A nautical mile per hour is a measure of speed. It is often
incorrectly used as a synonym for a nautical mile.
=knot=—The fastening of a rope. For illustrations see page 193.
=landlubber=—An uncomplimentary term used by sailors in reference to
any one not familiar with ships and the sea.
=larboard=—The old term for port, or the left-hand side of a vessel.
No longer in use because of its close resemblance to starboard, which
is the term meaning the right-hand side.
=lateen=—A triangular sail of large size hung from a very long yard.
It is common in Egyptian waters and is to be seen occasionally about
the Mediterranean and in the East. The yard is often of immense
length, sometimes being twice as long as the boat itself.
=launch=—A small vessel propelled by some kind of motor, and generally
used for pleasure. To _launch_—To put a new vessel into the water.
This is ordinarily a function of more or less formality.
=lead=—A leaden weight attached to the end of a line used to measure
the depth of the water.
=lee=—The lee side of a vessel is the side opposite that against which
the wind blows. A lee shore is a shore on the lee side of a ship, and
is therefore to be feared, for the force of the wind tends to blow the
ship ashore. “Under the _lee_ of the shore,” however, is an expression
meaning in the shelter of a shore line from which the wind is blowing.
=leech= (meaning =lee edge=)—The aftermost, backmost, or lee margin of
a sail.
=leg-of-mutton=—A triangular sail sometimes used on small sailboats.
=leeward=—On the lee side. An object to _leeward_ is on the lee side.
Pronounced “loo-ard” or “lew-ard.”
=lifeboat=—A boat carried for the purpose of saving lives in case
the ship which carried it is wrecked. Strict laws force all ships to
carry these small boats, and the ships must carry life preservers in
addition. Lifeboats are also maintained ashore in order to assist the
crews of wrecked ships.
=lighter=—A barge intended for use in port or on rivers and meant
to carry freight. The name comes from the fact that these barges
“lighten” or unload ships. Ships also are often loaded from them.
=lighthouse=—A structure erected ashore or in shallow water and
equipped with a powerful light, visible for miles at night. This acts
as a warning, and shows the position of the danger to navigation which
it is erected to mark.
=lightship=—A floating lighthouse, securely moored where it may mark a
danger, such as a reef or a shoal, or at the entrance to a harbour in
order to show the safe way in.
=line=—A small rope. _The line_—A nautical expression for the equator.
=line-of-battle ship=—The most powerful naval vessels at the end of
the days of sailing navies.
=liner=—A term which has come to mean a large passenger ship operated
by a steamship line. The expression seems to include only salt-water
ships. For instance, a river steamer, even though operated on a
regular schedule by a steamship line, would not be called a liner.
=log=—An instrument that measures the distance a ship travels through
the water. (2) The journal in which all the events of importance and
interest on board ship are carefully written.
=lubber=—An awkward fellow.
=lubber’s line=—A line marked on the inside of a mariner’s compass
case, showing the exact fore and aft direction of the ship. The moving
compass card revolves so that the points or degrees with which it is
marked pass close to this line, and thus the man who is steering the
ship can always tell exactly the direction in which the ship is headed.
=luff= (of a sail)—The weather edge; that is, the edge toward the
wind. To _luff_, in sailing, is to bring a vessel’s bow more toward
the wind.
=lug=—A type of sail of which there are three principal kinds: dipping
lug, balance lug, and standing lug. A lug sail is four-sided and
is hung from a yard which is mounted on a mast in a fore and aft
position. See illustration of lugger, page 201.
=lugger=—A boat using a lug sail.
=main=—In all rigs of vessels the word “main” applies alike to the
principal mast and the principal sail it carries. Generally in ships
equipped with two or more masts the second from the bow is the
mainmast, although in some rigs, such as ketches and yawls, the mast
nearest the bow is the main.
=marine=—A man in the naval service serving something like a soldier
on board a warship. Nowadays the duties of marines often take them
ashore where their services are identical with those of soldiers.
=mariner=—Anciently a first-class or able-bodied seaman.
=martingale=—The rope extending downward from the jib-boom to the
“dolphin striker.” Its duties are those of a stay, or brace.
=mast=—A long piece or system of pieces of timber or metal placed
nearly perpendicularly to the keel of a vessel to support rigging,
wireless antennæ, halyards, etc.
=master=—The captain of a merchant vessel.
=mate=—literally the master’s assistant. There may be as many as four
or five mates on a ship, rated first, second, third, etc. They are
officers next in rank to the master.
=mess=—At sea a company of men or officers who eat or live together.
=’midships=—The same as AMIDSHIPS.
=mile=—A nautical mile equals one sixtieth of a degree of latitude,
and varies from 6,046 feet at the equator to 6,092 in latitude 60
degrees.
=mizzen=—Generally the third mast from the bow of a ship carrying
three or more masts is called the mizzenmast. The sails set from this
mast have the word “mizzen” prefixed to their names, as _mizzen_
topsail, _mizzen_ topgallant sail, etc. Also parts of the mast prefix
the word, as _mizzen_ topmast.
=moonraker= (or =moonsail=)—In square-rigged ships the sail set above
the skysail. (Very rare.)
=moor=—To moor is to make a ship fast to a mooring which is a kind of
permanent anchor to which a buoy is attached.
=Mother Carey’s chicken=—A small seabird, properly called the stormy
petrel (_Procellaria pelagica_).
=nautical mile=—See MILE.
=naval architecture=—The science of designing vessels.
=navigation=—The science which enables seamen to determine their
positions at sea and to lay down courses to be followed.
=nun buoy=—A buoy which shows above water in the shape of a cone.
=oakum=—A substance to which old ropes are reduced when picked to
pieces. It is used in calking the seams of boats and in stopping leaks.
=oar=—An instrument used in propelling boats by hand. It may be of any
length over four or five feet, although, as it is meant to be operated
by man power, it must be limited in size so as not to constitute too
great a weight. It is made up of a handle, a shaft, and a flat section
meant to come in contact with the water. At about one third of the
distance from the handle to the end of the blade it rests in a special
fitting called an oarlock or a rowlock. By submerging the blade in
the water and pulling the handle in a direction at right angles to
the length of the oar it tends to propel the boat. It differs from a
paddle in that a paddle does not rest in a lock. A sweep is a very
large oar, generally operated by several men.
=oilskins=—Waterproof coats and trousers worn over other clothing at
sea.
=on soundings=—When a ship is in water shallow enough to permit the
depth to be easily ascertained by means of the lead she is said to be
_on soundings_. At sea the expression _to sound_ means to learn the
depth of the water by means of the lead.
=outboard=—Board means the side of a vessel; therefore _outboard_
means outside her or beyond the gunwale.
=outrigger=—A type of small boat common in the East Indies is one
made up of a narrow hull kept from overturning by a small timber
floating in the water parallel to the hull and made fast to the hull
by means of crossbars. This type is known as an _outrigger canoe_. The
outrigger is the small float that keeps the canoe from capsizing. For
illustration see page 17.
=overboard=—Over the side of a ship.
=packet=—A small passenger or mail boat.
=paddle=—A kind of oar. In use, however, a paddle uses no leverage
except what is offered by the hands of the operator.
=paddle-wheel=—A large wheel sometimes used by steamboats and on which
flat boards are so arranged that when the wheel turns the boards come
in contact with the water, thus propelling the boat.
=painter=—A rope attached to the bow of an open boat, by which the
boat may be tied.
=peak=—The upper end of a gaff. Also the uppermost corner of a sail
carried by a gaff.
=peak halyards=—The halyards or ropes by which the peak is elevated.
=pier=—A long narrow structure of wood, steel, or masonry, built from
the shore out into the water, and generally used for the transfer of
passengers and goods to and from ships.
=pilot=—A man qualified and licensed to direct ships in or out of a
harbour or channel. He boards the outgoing ship as she sails and is
taken off, once the ship is outside the restricted waters that he is
licensed to take her through, by a pilot boat. Incoming ships take
pilots from the pilot boat as they approach the restricted waters
where pilots are needed.
=Plimsoll mark=—A mark placed on the sides of ships by Lloyds or some
other marine insurance firm, to show how deeply they may be laden. As
a cargo comes aboard, a ship sinks in the water, but the insurance is
void if the Plimsoll mark is sunk below the water line.
=point=—The card of a mariner’s compass is generally divided into
thirty-two parts. These are the points of the compass. Nowadays
compasses are more and more being divided into degrees, but still the
points are generally shown as well. _Reef points_—short ropes hanging
in rows across sails to make it possible to tie a part of the sail
into a restricted space so as to present less surface to the wind.
=poop=—Properly, an extra deck on the after part of a vessel.
=port=—The left-hand side of a vessel when one is facing the bow.
=port tack=—A sailing vessel is on the port tack when under way with
the wind blowing against her port side.
=porthole=—An opening in the side of a vessel. The term generally
refers to the round windows common on most ships.
=prau=—The Philippine name for a type of canoe. Praus may or may not
have outriggers.
=propeller=—A heavy apparatus somewhat similar to an electric fan in
appearance, which, when mounted on the end of a shaft outside the
stern of a vessel, below the water line, and set to turning by the
engines, moves the ship through the water.
=prow=—The cutwater of a ship.
=punt=—A small flat-bottomed boat, generally square ended.
=quarter=—That section of a ship’s side slightly forward of the stern.
The port quarter is on the left side and the starboard quarter is on
the right to the observer facing forward.
=quartermaster=—A petty officer on board ship, whose duties have to do
almost exclusively with steering the ship and with other tasks about
the bridge.
=quay=—An artificial landing place, generally of greater area than a
pier.
=quinquireme=—An ancient ship propelled by five banks of oars.
=raft=—A group of any timbers bound together to form a float.
=ratlines=—Small lines crossing the shrouds of a ship and forming
the steps of a ladder by means of which sailors may mount the masts.
Pronounced “rat-lins.”
=reef=—A low ridge of rock usually just below the surface of the
water. (2) To _reef_ a sail is to reduce the area spread to the wind
by tying part of it into a restricted space.
=reef point=—See POINT.
=revenue cutter=—A ship operated by a government to prevent smuggling
and otherwise to enforce the law.
=ribs=—The members which, with the keel, form the skeleton of a vessel.
=riding lights=—The lights a ship is required by law to carry at night
while anchored.
=rig=—The manner in which the masts and sails of a vessel are fitted
and arranged in connection with the hull.
=rigging=—The system of ropes on a vessel by which her masts and sails
are held up and operated.
=roadstead=—A place of anchorage at a distance from the shore.
=row=—To propel a boat by means of oars is to row.
=royal=—In the built-up mast of a square-rigged ship the fourth
section above the deck is the royalmast. Its complete name prefixes
the name of the mast above which it rises, as _fore royalmast._ The
sail on the royalmast is named accordingly, as _fore royal_. The royal
yard is the yard from which the royal sail is spread.
=rudder=—A flat, hinged apparatus hung at the stern of a ship, by the
movement of which the ship is steered.
=running lights=—The lights that a ship is required by law to carry at
night while under way.
=sail=—A sheet of canvas or other material which, when spread to the
wind, makes possible the movement of a vessel. For various sails in
use see illustration, page 213.
=schooner=—A fore-and-aft rigged vessel with two or more masts, the
foremost of which is the foremast. See page 201.
=scout cruiser=—A very fast and lightly armoured modern warship
smaller than a battle cruiser but larger than a destroyer, used for
scouting.
=scow=—A large flat-bottomed boat without power and of many uses.
=screw propeller=—See PROPELLER.
=scuppers=—Openings in the bulwarks of a ship to carry off any water
that may get on the deck.
=seam=—The space between two planks in the covering of a vessel. It is
in the _seam_ that the calking is placed.
=seamanship=—The art of handling ships.
=sextant=—The instrument in almost universal use at sea for measuring
the altitude of the sun and other celestial bodies. From this the
latitude and longitude may be worked out.
=sheepshank=—A knot. For illustration see page 193.
=sheer=—The straight or curved line that the deck line of a vessel
makes when viewed from the side.
=sheet=—The rope attached to a sail so that it may be let out or
hauled in as occasion may require.
=ship=—A term applied indiscriminately to any large vessel, but among
seamen it means a sailing vessel with three masts on all of which
square sails are set. For illustration see page 201.
=shoal=—A shallow place in the water.
=shoot the sun=—A bit of nautical slang, meaning to determine the
altitude of the sun with a sextant.
=shrouds=—Strong ropes forming the lateral supports of a mast.
Nowadays they are usually wire rope.
=skiff=—A small open boat. In different localities it is of different
design. Occasionally fairly good-sized sailing vessels are called
skiffs.
=skipper=—The master of a merchant vessel, called, by courtesy,
captain ashore and always so at sea.
=skysail=—The square sail sometimes set above the royal. It carries
also the name of the mast on which it is set, as _main skysail._
=sloop=—Sailing vessel with one mast, like a cutter but having a jib
stay, which a cutter has not. A jib stay is a support leading from the
mast to the end of the bowsprit on which a jib is set.
=smack=—The name given indiscriminately to any sort of fishing vessel
using sails.
=snow=—A vessel formerly common. It differs slightly from a barque. It
has two masts similar to the main and foremasts of a ship, and close
behind the mainmast is a trysail mast. This vessel is about extinct.
=sounding=—Determining the depth of water and the kind of bottom with
the lead and line.
=southwester=—(pronounced sou-wester)—A waterproof hat with the widest
part of the brim at the back.
=spanker=—The fore-and-aft sail set on the mizzenmast of a
square-rigged ship. Sometimes called the driver.
=spar=—A spar is any one of the timber members of a vessel’s gear.
=spinnaker=—A racing sail of immense spread reaching from the topmast
head to the end of a spinnaker boom which is a spar set out to take
it. Sometimes it is possible for the same sail to be made to perform
the services of a balloon jib, by carrying the spinnaker boom out
until the end to which the sail is made fast is beside the end of the
bowsprit.
=splice=—(Verb) To join rope by interweaving the strands. (Noun) The
joint made in rope by interweaving the strands.
=spritsail=—A sail common before the introduction of the jib. It is a
small square sail set on a yard hung below and at right angles to the
bowsprit. Sometimes, formerly, a short vertical mast was erected at
the end of the bowsprit, and from this was set the sprit topsail.
=squadron=—Part of a fleet of naval ships under a flag officer.
=squall=—A sudden and very strenuous gust of wind or a sudden increase
in its force. Small storms that come up quickly are often called
squalls.
=square-rigged=—That method of disposing of sails in which they hang
across the ship and in which they are approximately rectangular in
shape.
=starboard=—The right-hand side of a vessel to a person facing the bow.
=stays=—Supports made of hemp or wire rope supporting spars, or, more
especially, masts.
=staysails=—Sails set on the stays between the masts of a ship or as
headsails.
=stem=—The foremost timber of a vessel’s hull.
=stern=—The rear end of a vessel.
=stern castle=—In ancient times an erection built at the stern of a
ship to assist in its defense.
=stevedore=—A man whose task it is to stow the cargoes of ships and to
unload cargoes.
=stoke hold=—That compartment in a steamship from which the fires
under the boilers are stoked or tended.
=stoker=—A man who stokes or feeds the fires beneath the boilers of a
ship.
=stow=—To stow a cargo is to pack it into a ship so that it will not
shift as the vessel pitches and rolls.
=studding sails=—On square-rigged ships narrow supplementary sails
are sometimes set on small booms at the sides of the principal square
sails. These are studding sails.
=submarine=—A ship which is so designed as to be able to dive beneath
the surface.
=supercargo=—A member of a ship’s crew whose duties have only to do
with superintending transactions relating to the vessel’s cargo.
=superdreadnaught=—A battleship of considerably greater strength than
the original British battleship _Dreadnaught_, which gave its name to
a class of ships.
=swamp=—To be swamped is to have one’s boat filled with water, but not
necessarily to sink.
=sweeps=—Very large and clumsy oars, sometimes used on sailing ships
to move them in calms, or in narrow places where it is impracticable
to use their sails. They are also sometimes used on barges and rafts.
=swell=—An undulating motion of the water, always felt at sea after a
gale.
=tack=—To tack in sailing is to change the course of a vessel from
one direction or tack to another by bringing her head to the wind and
letting the wind fill her sails on the other side, the object being to
progress against the wind.
=taffrail=—The sternmost rail of a vessel, that is, the rail around
the stern.
=tarpaulin=—A waterproofed canvas. Formerly it was waterproofed by the
application of tar.
=telltale=—An inverted compass, generally mounted on the ceiling of
the captain’s cabin. Thus, without going on deck, or even without
lifting his head from his pillow, the captain can check up the course
the helmsman is steering.
=tender=—A small vessel employed to attend a larger one.
=tholes= or =thole pins=—Pegs fitted into holes in a boat’s gunwale
and between which oars are placed when rowing.
=throat=—That part of a gaff that is next to the mast, and the
adjoining corner of the sail.
=throat halyard=—The rope that elevates the throat.
=thwart=—Athwart means across, and in a boat the seats are called the
thwarts, because they are placed athwart or across the boat.
=tiller=—The handle or beam at the top of the shaft to which the
rudder is attached, and by which the rudder is turned. It is in use
only on comparatively small vessels.
=tonnage=—The measure of a ship’s internal dimensions as the basis for
a standard for dues, etc.
=top=—In square-rigged ships the platform built on the masts just
below the topsails, and to which the sailors climb by means of
the ratlines. The name of the mast on which the top is located is
prefixed, as, _main top_, _mizzen top_, etc.
=topmast=—In a mast built up of two or more parts the topmast is the
second from the deck.
=topgallant mast=—In a mast built up in sections the topgallant mast
is the third section above the deck.
=topsail=—The second sail from the deck on any mast of a
square-rigged ship. Sometimes ships have lower and upper topsails,
but in this case each of these is narrower than the ordinary topsail.
The name of the mast on which the topsail is set is prefixed, as,
_fore topsail_, _main topsail_, etc. On fore-and-aft rigged vessels
the topsail is a triangular sail set between the gaff and the topmast.
=topgallant sail=—The third sail from the deck on any mast of a
square-rigged ship, except when the ship is equipped with lower and
upper topsails, in which case the topgallant sail is the fourth.
=topsail schooner=—A schooner which, on the foremast, spreads a square
topsail.
=torpedo boat=—A small, fast ship of war built to use torpedoes
as its major weapons. This type was common during and after the
Spanish-American War, but became extinct, or practically so, after the
introduction of the torpedo-boat destroyer.
=torpedo-boat destroyer=—See DESTROYER.
=tramp=—The name usually given to merchant freighters that have no
regular routes. They carry almost any cargoes that offer, and may
carry them to almost any port.
=trawler=—A vessel usually driven by power and used in fishing. It
tows a heavy net called a trawl.
=trick=—At sea, the time allotted to a man to be at the wheel or on
any other duty.
=trireme=—In ancient times, a ship propelled by three banks of oars.
=trysails=—Small sails used in bad weather when no others can be
carried, or, occasionally, for rough work.
=trysail mast=—In old ships a mast for hoisting a trysail. (Seldom
seen.)
=tug=—A small, powerful vessel usually propelled by steam and used to
assist larger ships about protected waterways. Tugs are also used to
tow barges or almost anything that can float. In the narrow waters of
harbours and particularly in going alongside piers and quays, large
ships need the assistance that these small vessels give them. There
are also larger tugs for use in towing barges or other vessels at sea.
These are known as sea-going tugs.
=turret=—An armoured turntable in which the larger guns of warships
are mounted.
=turret steamer=—A steamer which, below the water line, is similar
to other ships, but which above the water line has its sides turned
abruptly in, so that its main deck is greatly narrower than its
water-line beam. For illustration see page 131.
=twin screw=—A ship equipped with two propellers is said to be a _twin
screw_ ship.
=umiak=—An open boat used by the Eskimos and some Northern Indians.
It is made up of a frame covered with skins. Its size varies, but an
average size would probably be in the neighbourhood of twenty feet in
length.
=vessel=—From the French _vaissel_. A general term for all craft
larger than a rowboat.
=vinta=—A Philippine name for one type of outrigger canoe.
=waist=—Actually that part of a vessel between the beam and the
quarter. In old ships with sterns highly raised it was that portion
forward of this raised section—that is, the section of the deck that
was lower than the rest.
=wake=—The track a vessel leaves behind her on the surface of the
water.
=watch=—To stand a watch on board ship is to be on duty for a given
time, usually, but not always, for four hours.
=water sail=—A small sail sometimes set beneath the foot of a lower
studding sail. Rare.
=ways=—An incline built for a working foundation on which to erect
the hulls of ships. When the ship is ready to be floated, it is slid,
generally stern first, from the ways into the water.
=weather=—As a nautical expression this term is applied to any object
to windward of any given spot; hence, the _weather_ side of a vessel
is the side upon which the wind blows. A vessel is said to have
_weathered_ a gale when she has lived safely through it.
=weigh=—To lift the anchor from the bottom is to weigh anchor.
=well=—A depression sometimes built in the decks of yachts or
sailboats which is not covered over by a deck. It is often called a
cockpit, and is for the convenience and protection of passengers and
crew. (2) An opening leading to the lowest part of the bilge, in which
the depth of bilge water may be measured.
=whaleback=—A disappearing type of steamer once common on the American
Great Lakes.
=whaleboat=—A boat that is sharp at both ends and is propelled by
oars. This type was used by whalers, and is now common on ships of
war, because of its seaworthiness, ease of handling, and sturdiness.
=whaler=—A ship used in the whaling industry.
=wharf=—A loading place for vessels.
=wheel=—When used in its nautical sense, this expression refers to the
wheel by which a ship is steered.
=wherry=—In different localities wherries are of different sizes and
designs. They are small boats, generally driven by oars.
=windjammer=—A slang expression for a person who prefers sails to
engines.
=windward=—That side of a vessel or any other object upon which the
wind is blowing is the windward side. An object which is to windward
is in the direction from which the wind is blowing.
=wind sail=—A tube of canvas, with wings of canvas at the top so
arranged as to direct fresh air below decks. It is a kind of temporary
ventilator.
=wing and wing=—In a fore-and-aft vessel it is possible, when running
directly before the wind, to haul the sails on one mast out to
starboard and those of another mast out to port. This is said to be
sailing _wing and wing_.
=wreck=—A wreck is the destruction of a ship. The ship herself or the
remnants of her after the catastrophe.
=wreckage=—Goods or parts of a ship cast up by the sea after a
shipwreck.
=xebec= (pronounced “zebec”)—A small three-masted vessel,
lateen rigged, and often with an overhanging bow. Common in the
Mediterranean.
=yacht=—A pleasure boat. The term is indefinite in application, and
generally means only the more elaborate pleasure craft owned by the
wealthy.
=yard=—A spar suspended from a mast for the purpose of spreading a
sail.
=yaw=—To yaw in a sailing vessel is to deviate from the true course.
It is often the result of having an inexperienced man at the wheel.
=yawl=—A sailing vessel equipped with two masts, the main and the
jigger. (In England the jigger is often called the mizzen.) The
mainmast is the larger of the two and supports one or more jibs, a
fore-and-aft mainsail, and sometimes a topsail. The jiggermast carries
a small fore-and-aft sail, and the mast is set astern of the tiller or
wheel. For illustration see page 201.
=zenith=—The point directly overhead.
Transcriber’s Notes
pg 6 Changed: they almost univerally used
to: they almost universally used
pg 12 Changed: the coasts of Spain, Portugual, France
to: the coasts of Spain, Portugal, France
pg 47 Changed: feature of the spritsail was partially reponsible
to: feature of the spritsail was partially responsible
pg 74 Changed: She how she scoons!
to: See how she scoons!
pg 91 Changed: fitted with steam stearing gears
to: fitted with steam steering gears
pg 191 Changed: Sir Henry Manwayring, of the Elizabethan navy
to: Sir Henry Mainwayring, of the Elizabethan navy
pg 259 Changed: A sister ship of the ill-fated Titantic
to: A sister ship of the ill-fated Titanic
pg 279 Changed: To most of us it is an engima
to: To most of us it is an enigma
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