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.”