Kitabı oku: «Reminiscences of a Liverpool Shipowner, 1850-1920», sayfa 6
Chapter VIII
THE “QUEEN OF THE AVON” A Reminiscence of 1858
The old-fashioned sailing-ship was handicapped by her inability to contend successfully with strong head winds. After the continuance of a succession of north-west gales the river Mersey and our docks became crowded and congested with outward bound ships waiting for a shift of wind to enable them to get away, and when this took place the river was a wonderful sight. I remember, as a boy, standing on the shore at Seaforth and counting over three hundred sailing vessels of all sorts and sizes working their way out to sea on the ebb tide between the Rock Light and the Formby Light ship, and interspersed among them were also a number of sailing-ships towing out to sea. This crowd of shipping was not only very picturesque, with their divers rigs and tanned sails, but was interesting, as it contained many types of vessel now extinct. The “brig,” square-rigged on both masts, was a good-looking, weatherly craft; the “billie boy,” carrying a square sail forward and a jigger aft; the sloop, which did most of our coasting work, had a big square-cut mainsail and jib; and the old Dutch galliot, with her bluff bows and paint of many colours; all these have now practically disappeared.
The most trying winds, however, were the easterly gales, which prevailed in November and December, and also in the spring. With easterly gales blowing I have known Liverpool to be a closed port for weeks together, few or no vessels entering it; and more than once this blockade of our port by easterly gales had a serious effect upon our stocks of cotton and produce. The inward-bound fleet was caught in the chops of the Channel, and was there detained until the wind changed. It is of such an experience I wish to write.
I had gone out to Australia in the celebrated clipper “Red Jacket.” At Sydney I took my passage home in a small barque of 400 tons, called “Queen of the Avon.” I was the only passenger, and selected this little ship purposely that I might learn something of the practical working of a ship at sea. I told the Captain of my wish, and found him quite sympathetic, and he offered to teach me navigation; but when I showed him the log I had kept on the “Red Jacket,” and the many observations I had taken and worked out, he said he felt he could not teach me much. He, however, agreed to my taking my trick at the wheel, and going aloft when reefing or making sail.
When the ship was ready for sea the police brought off our crew, for, in consequence of the lure of the goldfields, it was only possible for a ship to keep her crew by interning them with the police while she was in port – in other words, placing them in gaol. The police and the crew soon set our topsails and foresail, and with a fair wind we quickly passed down Sydney’s beautiful harbour. When we reached the entrance the police, getting into their boat, left us, and we started upon our long voyage to Valparaiso. From Valparaiso we proceeded to Guayaquil, where we loaded a cargo of cocoa for Falmouth for orders.
Our voyage was uneventful. I obtained the knowledge of seamanship I desired, for we were fortunate in having in our small crew an old man-of-war’s man named Amos. Amos was a splendid man, a stalwart in physique, and most estimable in character. He quickly took the lead in the forecastle, and exercised great moral influence. No “swear word” was heard when old Amos was present. When reefing he had the post of honour at the weather earing, and when he got astride the yardarm the weather earing was bound to come home. He taught me my knots, bends, and splices, and looked after me when aloft.
At the end of ninety days we sighted the Wolf Rock off the Land’s End. In the afternoon we were off the Lizard, and stood off shore to clear the Manacle Rocks. The crew were busy hauling up the cables from the chain locker, for we expected to be in Falmouth before sunset, and all hands were bright and gay at the early prospect of being on shore once more. The wind, however, became more easterly, and when we again tacked we failed to clear the Manacles. Standing out again we were blown off the land, and thirty days elapsed before we again made the Manacles, during which time we battled day after day with a succession of easterly gales. We were blown off as far west as the meridian of the Fastnet; then we got a slant, and crawled up as far as the Scillies, only to be blown off again.
It was monotonous and weary work; standing inshore during the day and off-shore at night, mostly under double-reefed or close-reefed topsails, or hove to with a heavy sea running. Indeed, we met many ships which apparently had given up the contest, and remained hove-to waiting for a change of wind. We had some bright sunny days, but mostly drab grey Atlantic days, and an easterly wind always. At the end of ten days H.M.S. “Valorus,” a paddle sloop, came within hailing distance, and offered to supply us with fresh provisions. This offer our skipper declined, much to the disappointment of his crew, for our hencoops had been empty for weeks, and our one sheep and two pigs had been consumed long ago, and we were living upon hard biscuit and salt tack, boiled salt beef and plum duff one day and roast pork and pea soup the next. There was no variation; our food had become distinctly monotonous.
The crowd of ships thus weather-bound increased day by day – ships from Calcutta and Bombay, deeply-laden rice ships from Rangoon, and large heavily-laden American ships with guano from the Chinchas. Some we met almost daily; others came upon the scene now and again, and we welcomed them as old friends. The only vessels that got through to their port of destination in spite of the easterly gales were the fruit schooners conveying cargoes of oranges from the Azores. They were smart brigantines – perfect witches of the sea – well handled, and they never missed a chance. They seemed to have the power of sailing right into the teeth of the wind. At the end of a further ten days another relief ship hailed us, but our Captain again declined any supplies, arguing with himself that the east winds could not last much longer; but another ten days had to pass before a gentle westerly swell told us that westerly winds were not far away, and before twenty-four hours had elapsed we squared away before a westerly breeze. We soon passed the Lizard, and the Manacles, and dropped our anchor in Falmouth, making the passage in 120 days, of which we had spent thirty in the chops of the Channel.
Chapter IX
THE “GREAT EASTERN” A Reminiscence of 1861
Some account of the memorable voyage of the “Great Eastern,” when she broke down in the middle of the Atlantic, may be of interest. It is an old story, but it is memorable as marking an epoch in the history of the Atlantic trade, which owes not a little of its progress to its failures. The enterprise which produced these failures is entitled to our admiration for its boldness and courage.
The “Great Eastern” was a remarkable ship. She was, in a sense, twenty years ahead of her time. On the other hand, if she had possessed sufficient engine power for her displacement, she would have revolutionized steamship travel across the Atlantic and hastened the era of large and swift Atlantic liners.
The “Great Eastern” was designed by Brunel, and built in 1858 for the East India and Australian trades, for which routes a large coal carrying capacity was necessary. But she never entered those trades. Her speed in smooth water was twelve to thirteen knots, but in a head sea she could do little more than hold her own, hence the cause of her troubles.
The following figures give her dimensions, contrasted with the largest vessel of her time – the “Scotia” – and the ships of to-day: —
It will be seen from these figures how great was the departure of the “Great Eastern” from the largest vessel of her period, and how small she would appear to-day by the side of the “Aquitania.” Not only was she a great advance in size, but she had many other novel points. She was propelled by two sets of engines, oscillating paddle engines and horizontal screw engines, which together developed 11,000 horse-power. She was fitted with six masts and four funnels. Her cabin accommodation was unusually capacious and lofty. Speaking from memory, her saloon was 18 to 20 feet high. She had a smoking room, while in the “Scotia” smokers had still to be content with the fiddlee, sitting upon coils of rope. The “Great Eastern” had but few deck houses, so that her decks were magnificently spacious.
She sailed from Liverpool for New York on a beautiful afternoon in the early autumn of 1861. We had on board about four hundred saloon passengers, and a considerable number in the second cabin. She was commanded by an ex-Cunarder, Captain Walker. The dock quays in Liverpool, margining the river, were lined with a vast concourse of people to see the great ship depart.
We had a splendid run down the Channel, and on the following evening we passed the Fastnet. Our people were having a gay time, singing and dancing on deck, and greatly enjoying themselves. In the middle of this revelry we passed the “Underwriter,” one of the Black Ball sailing-packets, also bound for New York. She was under whole topsails, plunging into a head sea and throwing the spray fore and aft.
We looked upon her with admiration, but with feelings of immense superiority. The old order had passed away, and the new had arrived in the “Great Eastern.” Many were the congratulations expressed upon the advance in naval architecture, and many indeed fancied that the perils and discomforts of the sea were things of the past. The next day was one of those drab grey days so frequent upon the Atlantic. The wind was increasing in force, and more northerly. The sea was getting up, but the great ship, meeting it almost dead ahead, scarcely heeded it. “She is as steady as a rock.” “Wonderful!” were some of the remarks passed around as we took our morning constitutional.
By noon the scene had changed. The wind had veered round to the north, bringing up a heavy beam sea. The big ship began to lurch and roll heavily, taking heavy spray overall. Some of her movements were significant of danger – she hung when thrown over by a sea, and recovered very slowly. A huge sea striking her on the starboard bow swept her fore and aft, and carried away one of our paddle wheels and several boats. An ominous silence shortly prevailed, and it was whispered that the rudder had been carried away. The great ship fell into the trough of the sea and became unmanageable, lurching and rolling heavily and deeply. The seas, from time to time, striking her with great force, made her quiver fore and aft. The second paddle wheel was soon swept away, and boat after boat was torn from the davits, the wrecks in many instances being suspended by the falls. While destruction was being wrought on deck, the damage in the saloons and state-rooms was appalling. They were simply wrecked by the furniture getting loose and flying about, breaking the large mirrors which adorned the saloon, and adding broken glass to the dangerous mass of debris. Many of our passengers were badly wounded.
The engineers were trying to repair the broken rudder-stock by coiling round it iron chains to form a drum, so as to be able to get a purchase upon it. That night was a night of much anxiety, but the behaviour of the passengers was exemplary. The ladies found a part of the saloon where they could sit on the deck in comparative safety, and here they knitted and sang hymns. There was a general effort to make the best of things.
The following morning the weather had slightly moderated, but the sea was still mountainous, and we rolled heavily. The chain cable stowed in one of the forward lower decks broke loose, and burst through the outer plating and hung in a festoon overboard. The cow-house had been destroyed, and one of the cows was suspended head downwards in the skylight of the forward saloon, and a swan which had been in the cow-house was found in the saloon.
The Captain sent for some of the passengers he knew, and told them that, as the crew had broken into the liquor store, he wished to form special guards to patrol the ship. Some twenty or thirty volunteered, and for four hours each day we patrolled the ship, having a white handkerchief tied round our left arm as our badge of office.
Food had become a difficulty. All the crockery had been smashed, so the victuals were brought down in large stew pans, and taking pieces of broken dishes, we helped ourselves as best we could.
In the afternoon the “Scotia,” outward bound for New York, hove in sight. The great Cunarder looked stately and magnificent, and as she gracefully rode over the big seas without any effort, simply playing with them, she told us what design, knowledge and equipment could do. After sailing round us, she bore away on her voyage. Another miserable night followed, and it was obvious that the mental strain was beginning to tell upon some of our people.
The following day the weather was much finer and the sea moderate, but we were still helpless, a derelict on the wide Atlantic. No success had attended the effort to repair the rudder-stock; nothing would hold it. In the afternoon a small Nova Scotian brig hove in sight, and sailed round us, as we thought, within hailing distance. One of our passengers offered the Captain £100 per day if he would stand by us. No answer coming, an offer to buy both his ship and her cargo was conveyed to him, but still no answer came, and in the evening she sailed away. The Captain of the brig was apparently some time afterwards informed of what had taken place, and promptly claimed one day’s demurrage, and was suitably rewarded.
It was now evident that our only hope was to hasten the repair of the rudder-stock. In our dire emergency a young American engineer, Mr. Towle, offered a new suggestion, to build a cross head on to the broken stock, and to steer the ship with tackles attached to it. After some hours’ work and the exercise of much ingenuity, he succeeded, to the great joy of everyone.
The screw engines were still in good order, and the big ship was soon on her way back to Queenstown, where we arrived five days after passing it on our outward voyage. The damage done to the ship was considerable, and some idea of the violence with which she had rolled can be formed from the fact that when the baggage room was opened, it was found that water having got into it, the baggage had been churned into a pulp, and was taken out in buckets.
The “Great Eastern” ended her somewhat inglorious career by laying cables across the Atlantic, and finally was broken up on the New Ferry shore at Birkenhead. She had served, however, one great purpose which had borne good fruit – she taught us that to successfully fight the Atlantic on its days of storm and tempest, which are many, the design of the engine and its power should receive as much consideration as the design of the ship’s hull.
Chapter X
BUILDING AN EAST INDIAMAN A Reminiscence of 1856
Build me straight, O worthy Master,
Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel
That shall laugh at all disaster,
And with wave and whirlwind wrestle.
– Longfellow.
The building of a wooden East Indiaman recalls much of what was romantic in the history of British shipping – much of what was essentially British in the art of the craftsman. The old shipwright with his black wooden toolbox slung over his shoulder, or plying his adze or the caulking iron, is a type of a British artisan unhappily now becoming extinct. He was no ordinary workman following day after day the same monotonous job, for his work called for the constant exercise of his own individuality, of his powers of observation, and his ingenuity in the application of the teachings of experience; the selection of suitable timber, of proper scantling, oak crooks for the floors, aprons and knees, the curved timber for the futtocks, all called for skill and knowledge, and he had to keep constantly in view, when building, the necessity for giving proper shifts to the scarfs and the butting of the planks – all demanding not only thought, but daily presenting new problems which only a trained eye and experience could solve.
The rhythm of the old shipbuilding yard had a peculiar charm and attraction; it was not the monotonous deafening roar of the hydraulic riveter heard in the modern yard, but the music of the adze and the humming of the caulking chisel made a sort of harmony not unpleasant to the ear; while the all-prevailing smell of tar imported a nautical flavour which is entirely absent from the iron shipbuilding yard. We now only think in terms of angle iron, plates, butt straps, and rivets which follow one orthodox pattern. The iron ship is but a tank with shaped ends, or a girder, or a series of box girders, for every deck, and every row of pillaring constitutes a girder; their size and shape are all set out by the draftsman in the drawing office, the work in the yard is purely mechanical; the old skill of the craftsman is not called into play.
It was my good fortune, when I left school in 1856, to spend some time in the shipbuilding yard of George Cox & Son, of Bideford, in order that I might obtain some knowledge of the craft. The firm were engaged building the “Bucton Castle,” of 1,200 tons register, for the Calcutta trade, to class thirteen years A1, the highest class at Lloyd’s. It is of my experience in building that ship of which I purpose writing.
It will occur to many that Bideford was a strange out-of-the-way place for a shipyard. Bideford we only associate with Charles Kingsley and “Westward Ho!” with its long bridge of twenty-three arches, a bridge which has the repute of being a soul-saving bridge, an alms-giving bridge, a dinner-giving bridge, a bridge which owns lands in many parishes; but Bideford, with its wide expanse of sands and tidal bores, is about the last place to suggest shipbuilding. But Bideford, like Plymouth and Devonport in olden days, was in close proximity to large forests of oak and other woods essential to wooden shipbuilding.
The first thought of the builder of a wooden ship was to secure his timber, good natural oak crooks for the floor timbers, knees and aprons, and the futtocks forming the turn of the bilge, and good square timber for the frames, beams, etc. Not only had this to be carefully selected free from rends and shakes, but it had to be piled up in the yard and seasoned. In the same way elm timber required for the sheathing, and the pine necessary for the decks and inside ceiling, all required seasoning before being worked up.
The plans of the proposed ship having been prepared and duly laid off in the drawing loft, the first step was to provide the blocks upon which she was to be built, and the ways from which, when completed, she would be launched. Upon these blocks the keel was laid, usually constructed of elm, which is tough and does not split. The keel was in several lengths, fastened together with long scarfs, bolted through. On each side a rabbit or groove was cut to receive the garboard strake (the first strake of planking). On the top of the keel the floor timbers were laid across alternately, long and short, and on the top of the floors the keelson was bolted. The keelson ran the full length of the ship. There were also sister keelsons on either side, covering the ends of the floors. To the end of the floors the first futtocks were scarped and bolted, and these formed the turn of the bilge, and above came the timbers forming the frame. The selection of the timber required for the floors and futtocks needed a very skilled eye; pieces of timber which would require the least dressing must be chosen, and the piles of timber were examined over and over again to find the piece which would give the nearest approach to the curve required when the ship was in frame. Then came the planking or sheathing. This had to be carefully worked in proper shifts, to prevent the butts of the planking coming into close proximity. The upper strakes or sheer strakes and the bilge strakes were always doubled. In a similar way the interior of the ship was lined or ceiled, all with a view to strength. ’Tween deck beams and main deck beams were thrown across and rounded up, to give strength and camber to the decks. They were fastened to longitudinal timbers running along the sides of the ship, called shelfs, and these shelfs were secured to the framing of the ship by wooden knees reinforced in high-class ships by iron knees. The structure was fastened by wooden treenails and metal through-bolts of copper or yellow metal. The butt end of every plank was secured by a metal bolt, in addition to treenails securing it to every timber.
I have said enough to prove that the shipwright of the olden time had to exercise more individuality and skill than is necessary to-day.
The shipbuilder’s work was not completed when he had launched his ship; she had to be rigged and fitted out, and copper-sheathed to prevent the ravages of worms and marine insects; and in course of time the ship had to be salted, the spaces between the frames being filled with rock salt to preserve the timber from decay.
American ships, which were very numerous and handsome in design, were usually built with hacmatac frames and pine sheathing, and Canadian vessels were built entirely of soft wood with iron fastenings, and rarely received a higher class than nine years A1.
Although the reminiscences of the old wooden shipbuilding days are pleasant and interesting, if we had been limited to wooden ships the progress of commerce and the spread of civilisation would have been greatly hindered. It was not possible to build a wooden ship of over 4,000 tons – I think this was the size of the “Great Republic” – and the number of vessels required to lift the merchandise now requiring to be carried by sea would have exhausted our available forests of timber. The iron and steel ships have saved the situation, not only enabling us to move the cargoes the world requires, but enabling us to construct steamers of large size and great speed which have built up a passenger trade which, even sixty years ago, was never dreamed of.
It is remarkable that in land travel, just as the growth of the population demanded it, we have had improvements in the mean of locomotion – the pack-horse, the wheel, the steam engine, the railway, and electric traction have followed each other. So at sea – from the ancient galley to the wooden sailing ship, the clipper ship, the paddle steamer, the screw steamer, the high-pressure engine, the condensing engine, the double and triple expansion engine, the turbine, and we have in front of us looming largely oil fuel, to be followed probably by some form of electric propulsion. From this it would almost seem as if a Providence provided for us transport facilities in proportion to our needs for the conveyance of our products and for travel.
I was interested in recently visiting Bideford to find that the old shipbuilding slips still exist – although unused for nearly fifty years. They have this year been bought by the firm of Hanson & Co., who have a small ship under construction.
