The halliards are led along the deck fore and aft in the grip of clean brawny fists with sinewy arms and broad backs behind them, the ordinary seamen and boys tailing on, and perhaps the cook, steward, carpenter, and sailmaker lending a hand, and all hands join in a ringing chorus of the ocean, mingling in harmony with the clear sky, indigo-blue waves, and the sea breeze purring aloft among the spars and rigging:
“Oh, poor Reuben Ranzo,
Ranzo, boys, O Ranzo,
Oh, Ranzo was no sailor,
Ranzo boys, O Ranzo.
So they shipped him aboard a whaler,
Ranzo boys, O Ranzo,
And he could not do his duty,
Ranzo boys, O Ranzo.
So the mate, he being a bad man,
Ranzo boys, O Ranzo,
He led him to the gangway,
Ranzo boys, O Ranzo,
And he gave him five-and-twenty,
Ranzo boys, O Ranzo,
But the captain, he being a good man,
Ranzo boys, O Ranzo,
He took him in the cabin,
Ranzo boys, O Ranzo,
And he gave him wine and whiskey,
Ranzo boys, O Ranzo,
And he learned him navigation,
Ranzo boys, O Ranzo,
And now he’s Captain Ranzo,
Ranzo boys, O Ranzo.�
Finally the mate’s clear, sharp order comes: “Belay there; clap a watch tackle on the lee fore brace.� “Aye, aye, sir!� And so every sheet, halliard, and brace is swayed up and tautened to the freshening breeze. The gear is coiled up, the brasswork polished until it glistens in the morning sun, the paintwork and gratings are wiped off, decks swabbed dry, and the pumps manned to another rousing chanty:
“London town is a-burning,
Oh, run with the bullgine, run.
Way, yay, way, yay, yar,
Oh, run with the bullgine, run.�
The “old man� gets his morning sights, the log is hove, the wheel and watch are relieved at eight bells, and the clipper is ready for another day of stress and strain.
Mornings like these bring keen appetites to officers and men, so the watch below sit about on their chests in the forecastle or on the fore hatch and dive into the mess kid with knives and spoons. It may be a chunk of salt pork or cold salt beef, or what Rufus Choate, in one of his flights of forensic eloquence, described as the “nutritious hash,� “succulent lob-scouse,� or “palatable dandy funk,� with plenty of hard tack in the bread barge, and all washed down with unlimited coffee. Not quail on toast or devilled kidneys, to be sure, but good substantial seamen’s food, upon which a man can work better at sea, grow stronger, and become less tired than on any other.
In the old days captains used to lay in large stocks of chickens, eggs, etc., for their crews at Anjer Point, but before the ship was half-way across the Indian Ocean, the men would begin to crow in the dog watch, and come aft in a body, asking that their salt junk might be restored to them. In those days, as now, salmon were plentiful in California, but their introduction on board the clipper ships failed to tempt the appetites of sailormen when off soundings. They said they liked salt junk a good deal better. Besides, it gave them something to growl about—for sailors knew how to curse junk according to traditions approved by generations of jackies, but when it came to chickens and salmon they were at a loss for sufficiently vigorous and appropriate expletives to express their disgust. There used to be a yarn about an old shellback who, in a cross-examination, was asked by a smart Boston lawyer whether the crew did not have enough to eat. The mariner replied, “Well, yes, your honor, there was enough of it, such as it wasâ€�; and upon further inquiry as to the quality of the food, he answered, “Now, you see, sir, it was like this: the food was good enough, what there was of it.â€� And this summed up a sailor’s idea of food and pretty much everything else, in those days.
The building of clipper ships in the United States reached its zenith in 1853. In that year forty-eight clippers were added to the California fleet, and the wild excitement of building, owning, and racing these splendid ships was at its height. Every one who had capital to invest wanted one, or at least shares in one, and the ship-building yards were taxed to their utmost capacity. It should be remembered also that there was a great deal of other ship-building going on in the United States besides the clippers, and that captains, officers, and crews for such a large number of vessels were by no means easy to obtain.
In this year Donald McKay built the Empress of the Seas and Romance of the Seas; William H. Webb, the Fly Away, Snap Dragon, and Young America; Jacob A. Westerwelt, the Cathay and Sweepstakes; Samuel Hall, the second Oriental, the Amphitrite, and Mystery; Greenman & Co., the David Crockett; Roosevelt & Joyce, the David Brown; John Currier, the Guiding Star; Thomas Collier, the second Panama; J. W.
