On the other hand, George Washington ended his career in success and glory. But few, except students and pedants, know much about Washington beyond that he was the founder of a new nation and the Father of a new country which a century after his death has become the most formidable on earth.
Thus, in either case, whether of success or of failure, both gigantic, mankind rates the importance of each by the impress he made upon the events of his time and by its enduring character.
Viewed broadly, the Europe of to-day as compared with the Europe of 1775 is as completely the creation of the popular forces incarnated in Napoleon Bonaparte, as the American Republic of to-day as compared with the revolted Colonies of 1775 is the creation of the popular forces whose exponent George Washington was. From this point of view, the fact that one failed while the other succeeded in the personal sense cuts no figure whatever.
CLIPPERSHIP MORNING LIGHT
These observations, while they have none other than a general relation to our immediate subject, are pertinent to the main thread of our theme. The real test of greatness in an individual, and therefore of the historical value of his character and career, being the impress he makes upon the events of his time, it follows that, unless the mention of a man’s name instantly suggests some great thing or things that he has done, or in a masterful way has helped to do, that man was not great; he made no impress upon his times, and his biography can possess no historic value. But whenever the name of a man stands as the exponent of some great thing done or as the symbol of notable achievement, then the character and career of that man belong to history, and the obligation devolves upon literature to suitably perpetuate his memory.
This, the prime test and condition of enduring fame, has been fulfilled by the subject of this memoir, Charles Henry Cramp. Not alone in his own country, but in Europe and Asia,—from St. Petersburg to Tokio,—the mention of his name instantly suggests triumphs in the science of naval architecture and marine engineering and successes in the art of building ships. However, before proceeding to a history of the career and life-work of Mr. Cramp himself, it seems proper to survey the historical antecedents of his science and his art in his own field of action.
The art of naval architecture and the industry of ship-building were almost coeval with the primitive establishment of the English-speaking race on the American continent, and this was more particularly true of Philadelphia than of any other place. In the earliest grants of land to settlers, William Penn invariably included a clause requiring them, when clearing the land granted, to “spare all smooth and large oak-trees suitable for ship-timber.”
In 1685, three years after Penn arrived in the Colony, it was reported to the Lords of Trade in London that “six ships capable of sea-voyage and many boats have been built at Philadelphia.” From this early beginning the industry grew rapidly, until in 1700 four yards were engaged in building sea-going ships alone, besides several smaller concerns which built fishing-boats and river-craft. Two rope-walks, two or three block-makers’ shops, and several other special manufactories of ship-building material, had been put in operation. At first the spar-iron work needed was brought from England, but by the beginning of the eighteenth century all the ship-smithing required for Philadelphia-built ships was done on the spot.
The first four yards were located at different points along the beach, between the foot of Market Street and the foot of Vine Street, and there they remained until about the middle of the eighteenth century. By that time the value of that part of the river front for commercial wharf purposes had increased to such an extent that the ship-building industry could not afford to hold it. In the meantime new yards had been established down as far as South Street, others as far north as the present foot of Fairmount Avenue. Obedient to this law of trade the four older yards moved their plants either northward or southward, as convenience or economy might dictate. But after 1744 no ships were built between Market and Vine Streets. The last of these original shipyards of Penn’s time to succumb was the largest and most important one in Philadelphia. It was owned and managed by Mr. West, who was at that time the leading ship-builder in the Colonies; and the ground his shipyard occupied had been deeded to him by William Penn in part payment for a ship he had built for Penn several years before. He removed to the present foot of Green Street.