The Story of the American Merchant Marine

by John Randolph Spears

With a paid-up capital of $1,200,000, four ships were built that cost at least twice as much as the money in hand would pay for, and they were each at least 700 tons larger than the contract called for. The builders gave Collins credit, and thereby secured the work on their own terms. And yet while thus paying the highest prices for his ships, and with an ever growing debt staring him in the face, Collins was recklessly extravagant in furnishing his cabins, and in every department of the company's management.

As a result, within six months after the contract was signed with the Secretary of the Navy, Collins was back in the lobby at Washington, "begging and boring" for further help. By the act of August 3, 1848, the Secretary of the Navy was authorized to advance $25,000 a month on each of the four ships until they should be put into commission, and the time for completing them was extended to June 1, 1850. Under a subsequent agreement this advance was paid back in small instalments.

And during all this time Collins walked the streets, telling all who would listen that he was going to run the Scotch-built, Scotch-managed Cunarders off the sea!

When done, the ships were found to have fine models—they rode the waves in a way that excited the admiration of all sailors. But the keelsons under the engines were only forty inches deep, while the keels were 277 feet long, and there was "give" enough to rack the engines to pieces—a fact showing conclusively the ignorance of the designer so far as ocean steamships were concerned. And yet George Steers, the famous designer of the yacht America, was the responsible man! As the Scientific American had said of our engineers, he "wanted experience."

The Atlantic began the service on April 27, 1850. It was in this year that the average American sailing ship was making three voyages where foreign ships made but two. For thirty years our sailing packets had carried the broom on the North Atlantic. The captains of the Canton tea clippers, dressed in raw silk, were strutting about the water front, boasting of passages that were the wonder of the world. And here was a new line of steamers with a managing owner who had won fame as the owner of swift ships, and who had been assuring the whole world that he was going to beat all creation with steam!

In the mind of the captain of the Atlantic the honor of the Stars and Stripes was in his custody, and he could keep it safe only by driving the ship to the utmost limit of speed. And each of the other ships was also driven to the last gasp. In May, 1851, the Pacific ran from New York to Liverpool in 9 days, 20 hours, and 16 minutes. In August, 1852, the Baltic crossed from Liverpool to New York in 9 days and 13 hours. Collins had kept his promise to drive a ship across the Atlantic in less than ten days.

In the meantime, the Cunard Company, to meet the determined opposition, built new ships, and the British government raised the subsidy to $16,500 per voyage. Orders were issued in England to drive the new Cunarders, too, but it was impossible for them to equal the rampant Collins liners at that time.

For a time it seemed to the American people that the supremacy upon the seas was to be maintained with steam, and not a few Englishmen, including the editor of the London Times, took a pessimistic view of the situation. A little later, however, the situation was seen in its true light. On February 15, 1851, when the Atlantic had been in commission but ten months, the Scientific American said editorially that "it is very foolish to push through a steamship on a long passage by dint of coal." The New York Herald, a nautical specialist, was complaining, meantime, that the American firemen were wretchedly inefficient. It was admitted by the company, later still, that for the first twenty-eight voyages of the line the average cost of coal was $8612.28, the amount consumed being well up toward 2000 tons.

And yet the big coal bill was one of the least of the evils of the situation. By driving the engines to the limit on every mile of the route the weak timbers under the engines were needlessly strained, with the result that the engines were racked out of line and torn to pieces. No sooner did a ship get rid of its passengers at the pier than an army of machinists came on board to make repairs; and they were employed in relays, day and night, until the passengers came to the pier for the next passage.

"Either the scale upon which it was planned was not required, and could not be sustained by the country, or it has been most shamefully mismanaged," said Congressman Borland, in a speech in the House, on May 17, 1852, in reference to the Collins Line. Collins had come to Congress for an increase in the subsidy, and a statement of the company's affairs which he submitted shows that Borland was right in both ends of his statement. (See App. Cong. Globe, 32 Cong. 1 sess.) The statement is dated December 15, 1851. It showed that the expenses for the first twenty-eight voyages had averaged $65,215.59. The income was—for passengers, $21,292.65; freights, $7,744.20, subsidy, $19,250,—a total of $48,286.85, leaving a net loss of $16,928.74 per voyage.