William H. Webb Samuel Hall
Clipper-Ship Builders
pumps, gypsy winches, gun-metal roller bushes in the sheaves of the brace, reef tackle and halliard blocks, geared capstans, and plenty of the best stores and provisions, with spare spars, sails, blocks, and rigging in abundance. The owners fitted out their vessels with rational economy and looked to their captains, whom they rewarded liberally, to see that nothing was wasted and that the ships performed their voyages quickly and well.
There was no allowance of food, as on British ships, on board the American clippers; a barrel of beef, pork, bread, or flour was supposed to last about so many days, according to the ship’s company; a little more or less did not matter. The water was in charge of the carpenter, and was usually carried in an iron tank which rested on the keelson abaft the mainmast and came up to the main deck. This tank was in the form of a cylinder, and held from three to four thousand gallons; some of the larger ships carried their water in two of these tanks. Each morning at sea, water equal to one gallon for every person on board was pumped out of the tank and placed in a scuttlebutt on deck; the carpenter then made a report of the number of gallons remaining in the tank to the chief officer, who entered it in the log-book. During the day the crew took the water they needed from the scuttle-butt, the cook and steward what they required for the galley and aft; and while there was no stint, woe to the man who wasted fresh water at sea in those days, for if he managed to escape the just wrath of the officers, his shipmates were pretty sure to take care of him. The salt beef and pork were kept in a harness cask abaft the mainmast, and when a fresh barrel of provisions was to be opened, the harness cask was scrubbed and scalded out with boiling water, and so was always sweet and clean. The cooks and stewards were almost invariably negroes, and it is to be regretted that there are not more like them at the present time—especially the cooks. “Plenty of work, plenty to eat, and good pay,â€� is what sailormen used to say of American clippers, the sort of ships on board of which good seamen liked to sail.
The forecastle on board the old type of vessels was in the forepeak, below the main deck, a damp, ill-ventilated hole, but in the California clippers it was in a large house on deck between the fore-and main-masts, divided fore and aft amidships by a bulkhead, so that each watch had a separate forecastle, well ventilated and with plenty of light. There was nothing to prevent a crew from being comfortable enough; it depended entirely upon themselves. Indeed, there were no ships afloat at that period where the crews were so well paid and cared for as on board the American clippers. Seamen who knew their duties and were willing to perform them fared far better than on board the ships of any other nationality.
Perhaps, the most marked difference between American merchant ships and those of other nations was in regard to the use of wine and spirits. On board British ships grog was served out regularly to the men before the mast, and the captain and officers were allowed wine money. Nothing of this sort was permitted on American vessels. Robert Minturn, of the firm of Grinnell, Minturn & Co., in his evidence before a parliamentary committee in 1848, stated that teetotalism not only was encouraged by American ship-owners, but actually earned a bonus from underwriters, who offered a return of ten per cent of the insurance premium upon voyages performed without the consumption of spirits. On board the packet ships and other vessels which carried passengers, there was always wine on the captain’s table, but the captain and officers rarely made use of it. The sailors were allowed plenty of hot coffee, night or day, in heavy weather, but grog was unknown on board American merchant ships.
In those days, after a New York clipper had finished loading, it was the custom for her to drop down the East River and anchor off Battery Park, then a fashionable resort, where she would remain for a few hours to take her crew on board and usually to ship from five to ten tons of gunpowder, a part of her cargo that was stowed in the main hatch, to be easily handled in case of fire. Tow-boats were not as plentiful in New York harbor as at present, and unless the wind was ahead or calm, the clippers seldom made use of them, for with a leading breeze these ships would sail to and from Sandy Hook much faster than they could be towed. One of the clippers getting under way off Battery Park was a beautiful sight, and an event in which a large part of the community was interested.
The people who gathered at Battery Park to see a clipper ship get under way, came partly to hear the sailors sing their sea songs, or chanties, which were an important part of sea life in those days, giving a zest and cheeriness on shipboard, which nothing else could supply. It used to be said that a good chanty man was worth four men in a watch, and this was true, for when a crew knocked off chantying, there was something wrong—the ship seemed lifeless. These songs originated early in the nineteenth century, with the negro stevedores at Mobile and New Orleans, who sung them while screwing cotton bales into the holds of the American packet ships; this was where the packet sailors learned them. The words had a certain uncouth, fantastic meaning, evidently the product of undeveloped intelligence, but there was a wild, inspiring ring in the melodies, and, after a number of years, they became unconsciously influenced by the pungent, briny odor and surging roar and rhythm of the ocean, and howling gales at sea. Landsmen have tried in vain to imitate them; the result being no more like genuine sea songs than skimmed milk is like Jamaica rum.
There were a great many Whitehall boats kept at the lower end of the Park, and the Battery boatmen were fine oarsmen, Bill Decker, Tom Daw, Steve Roberts, and Andy Fay being famous scullers. There were some smart four-and six-oared crews among them which used to swoop down and pick up the valuable prizes offered by the Boston city fathers for competition each Fourth of July on the Charles River, but the convivial life which the gay Battery boatmen led did not improve their rowing, and in 1856 they were defeated by the famous Neptune crew, of St. John, N. B., in a match rowed on the Charles River for the stake of $5000, and later were quite eclipsed by the even more famous Ward crew of Newburgh.