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:

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:

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 was”; 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.” 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.

Cox, the Red Gauntlet; Briggs Brothers, the John Land and Golden Light; and Toby & Littlefield, the Morning Star—all beautiful ships, the pride of their owners and captains.

The Romance of the Seas, owned by George B. Upton, of Boston, was the last extreme clipper ship built by Donald McKay for the California trade. She was a beautiful vessel, with extremely fine lines, heavily sparred, and proved an exceedingly fast ship in moderate weather. Captain Dumaresq was in command on her first voyage to San Francisco. She was 1782 tons register; length 240 feet, breadth 39 feet 6 inches, depth 29 feet 6 inches. The Sweepstakes, owned by Grinnell, Minturn & Co., and designed by Daniel Westervelt, a son of Jacob A. Westervelt, was a very sharp and handsome ship, and was the last extreme clipper built in the Westervelt yard. She made three passages from New York to San Francisco averaging 106 days. Captain George Lane, who commanded her for a number of years, was subsequently a commander in the Pacific Mail between San Francisco and China, and later became the agent of the company at Hong-kong.

The Young America, the last extreme clipper built by William H. Webb, was owned by George Daniels, of New York, and for several years was commanded by Captain David Babcock. This ship was 1962 tons register; length 236 feet 6 inches, breadth 42 feet, depth 28 feet 6 inches. She proved an excellent and fast vessel. Among her many fine passages may be mentioned: from New York to San Francisco, 103, 107, 110, 112, 117, and 116 days, and from San Francisco to New York, 92, 97, 85, 101, 103, and 83 days; San Francisco to Liverpool, 103 and 106 days; Liverpool to San Francisco, 117, 111, and 99 days; and twenty consecutive passages from New York to San Francisco averaging 117 days. Her best performance, however, was from 50° S. in the Atlantic to 50° S. in the Pacific, in the record time of 6 days. She, too, was an exceedingly handsome ship, and was Mr. Webb’s favorite among all the splendid ships constructed by him. After thirty years’ continuous service in the San Francisco trade, during which she is said to have rounded Cape Horn over fifty times, she was finally sold to a firm in Austria, upon condition that her name should be changed. She then became known as the Miroslav and foundered with all hands in 1888, while bound from Philadelphia to a European port.

CHAPTER XV

THE “GREAT REPUBLIC” AND THE “DREADNOUGHT”

This vessel was 4555 tons register, and measured: length 335 feet, breadth 53 feet, depth 38 feet. She had four decks, the upper or spar deck being flush with the covering board and protected by a rail on turned oak stanchions. She carried a fifteen horse-power engine on deck to hoist the yards and to work the pumps, this being the first time an engine was put aboard a sailing ship for these purposes. She had four masts with Forbes’s rig[10] on the fore-, main-, and mizenmasts, the after-or spankermast being barque-rigged.

October 4, 1853, was a proud day for Boston. Business was suspended, and the schools were closed in order that every one might have an opportunity to see the launch of the Great Republic. People flocked from far and near. It was estimated that thirty thousand persons crossed by ferry to East Boston, while Chelsea Bridge, the Navy Yard at Charlestown, and the wharves at the north end of the city were thronged by at least as many more. The shipping at the Navy Yard was gayly dressed with bunting, and the harbor was filled with steamers and pleasure boats crowded with people. It was a beautiful day, with a clear blue sky, bright sunshine, and a gentle westerly breeze.

All the staging used in the construction of the ship had been removed, leaving her in full view as she rested upon the ways. Her long black hull had no ornament except a beautifully carved eagle’s head where the sweep of her raking stem and the sharp lines of her bow intersected, and across her handsome stern the American eagle with extended wings, under which her name and port of hail were carved in plain block letters. She had the same graceful sheer, finely formed midship section, and beautifully moulded ends that had been seen in this yard in the Stag-Hound, Flying Cloud, Bald Eagle, Westward Ho, Flying Fish, and Sovereign of the Seas, only on a much larger scale; indeed, from end to end she looked the out-and-out clipper. Spars were erected at the mast partners, and from the main she carried a long coach-whip pennant and a large white flag with the arms of the United States in the centre; from the other three spars she flew large United States ensigns, and from a staff on her bowsprit, the Union Jack.

The sun gleamed and sparkled upon her smooth, bright yellow-metal sheathing, when at twelve o’clock the signal was given and the shores fell, to the wild chorus of topmauls, so well known in every Atlantic port fifty years ago. She moved slowly at first; then, gathering way, fairly leaped into the sea, amid smoke and fire from the burning ways, the roar of artillery, the music of bands, and the cheers of the vast multitude. So swiftly did she leave the ways that two anchors and the powerful steamer R. B. Forbes barely succeeded in bringing her up, close to Chelsea Bridge. The Great Republic was named by Captain Alden Gifford, who performed the ceremony by breaking a bottle of Cochituate water over her bow as she began to move along the ways. This was an innovation that created much comment at the time, and was permitted by Mr. McKay in deference to the wishes of Deacon Moses Grant and a number of energetic Boston women who were pushing the temperance movement and desired to advertise their wares.

During the afternoon she was towed under the shears at the Navy Yard to receive her masts, yards, and rigging, and the work of fitting them was done under the supervision of Lauchlan McKay, her captain. As no vessel before or since ever had such enormous spars, their dimensions are interesting enough to be given in full:

The spankermast, nowadays called the jigger, was 26 inches in diameter, 110 feet long, including 14 feet head, and the topmast was 40 feet long divided at 15 and 10 feet above the cap, for the gaff-topsail and gaff-topgallantsail. The spanker boom was 40 feet long, including 2 feet end, and the gaff 34 feet, including 8 feet end. The bowsprit was 44 inches in diameter and 30 feet out-board; the jibboom 23 inches in diameter, and 18 feet outside of the cap, and the flying jibboom was 14 feet long including 6 feet end. Her fore and main rigging and fore-and maintopmast backstays were 12½ inch, four-stranded Russian hemp rope, wormed, and served over the eye and over the ends to the leading trucks. The mizen rigging and mizentopmast rigging were of eight-inch rope.

It was Mr. McKay’s intention to put the Great Republic into the Australian trade in competition with the British clippers that were then coming out, and when her rigging and outfit were completed, she was towed to New York by the R. B. Forbes and placed in the hands of Grinnell, Minturn & Co., who began loading her for Liverpool at the foot of Dover Street, East River. Thousands of people came to see this splendid ship, including the Governor of New York, members of the Legislature, and other prominent citizens. The season was favorable for a rapid passage across the Atlantic, and it was confidently predicted that the Great Republic would make a record run to Liverpool.

She was nearly ready for sea with all her sails bent below the royals, when, on the night of December 26, 1853, a fire broke out in Front Street, one block from where the vessel lay, and nearly in line with her as the wind was then blowing. At a little past midnight the watchman called the second mate, as sparks were flying across and falling in all directions about the ship. All hands were at once called and stationed with buckets of water in various parts of the ship; men were sent into the fore-, main-, and mizentops, and whips were rove to send up buckets of water. Soon the foresail burst into flames, and one by one the topsails and topgallantsails took fire. Every effort was made to cut the sails from the yards, but the men were driven back exhausted, and the firemen, who by this time had arrived with their engines, refused to work on board or near the ship for fear of falling blocks and gear.

Captain McKay, and Captain Ellis, representing the underwriters, had a hurried consultation, and it was decided, in order to save the hull, to cut away the masts. The fore-and foretopmast stays and rigging were cut and the mast went over the side into the dock; the topmast in falling broke short off and came down, end on, through three decks. The main-and mizenmasts were next cut away, and in falling, crushed boats, deck-houses, and rails, and disabled the steam-engine. At this time the decks were a mass of burning yards, masts, sails, and rigging. The firemen now got to work, and toward morning succeeded in putting out the fire on deck.

The firemen had left, and it was supposed that the hull and cargo were safe, when suddenly smoke was discovered coming from the hold, and it was found that the burning foretopmast in falling through the decks had set fire to the cargo. This fire had gained such headway that it was beyond control; the ship was therefore scutted in three places and sunk ten feet when she took the bottom. Every means was used to extinguish the fire, but she burned for two days until the flames reached the water’s edge. After the fire had burned itself out a coffer-dam was built and the wreck floated by means of steam pumps. It was found that a portion of her cargo of grain had swollen to such an extent as to start the knees and beams of the lower hold, and that the hull was otherwise badly strained and buckled. She was therefore condemned and abandoned to the underwriters. The ships Joseph Walker and White Squall were also destroyed in this fire.

The wreck of the Great Republic was subsequently sold by the underwriters to Captain N. B. Palmer and taken to Greenpoint, Long Island, to be rebuilt by Sneeden & Whitlock, and she eventually became the property of A. A. Low & Brother. The rebuilding occupied more than a year, and when the Great Republic again appeared, much of the original beauty of her hull had been restored. The spar-deck had not been replaced, but her freeboard was nearly the same, as the height of the bulwarks was only a little below the former upper deck, and the same sheer line had been preserved. Forward, the eagle’s head which had been destroyed was replaced by a carved billet head and scrool, and her bow was still exceedingly handsome. A great change had been wrought aloft; her sail plan had been cut down and all of her spars greatly reduced in length—the fore-and mainmasts 17 feet, the fore-and main-yards 20 feet, and all other spars in proportion. She still carried four masts, but her rig had been changed to Howes’s double topsail yards.

As rebuilt the Great Republic registered 3357 tons, and was still the largest merchant ship of her time,

but her reduced rig required only one half the number of hands to handle it—fifty able seamen and fifteen ordinary seamen and boys. It was for this purpose that her sail plan had been cut down, as freights were beginning to slacken and the tide of economy was setting in. It is to be regretted that she could not have made a few voyages under her original rig, as her performance in strong winds under the reduced rig left little room for doubt that she would have proved, what Mr. McKay intended her to be, the swiftest sailing ship ever built.

The Great Republic sailed on her first voyage, February 21, 1855, commanded by Captain Limeburner, and made the run from Sandy Hook to Land’s End in thirteen days. On her arrival at London, three days later, she was obliged to lie in the Thames, as no dock was large enough to take her. She was subsequently chartered by the French Government as a troop ship during the Crimean War, and carried 1600 British soldiers from Liverpool to Marseilles. During the Civil War, she was chartered by the United States Government as a troop ship, and was one of the transports in Butler’s expedition to Ship Island.

The burning of the Great Republic was a severe blow to Donald McKay, from which he never fully recovered, but he soon began to bring out Australian clippers, some of which proved quite as famous as the ships he had previously constructed.

The well-known packet ship Dreadnought also came out in 1853. She was built by Currier & Townsend at Newburyport, and was 1413 tons register; length 210 feet, breadth 40 feet, depth 26 feet. This ship was owned by Governor E. D. Morgan, Francis B. Cutting, David Ogden, and others, of New York, who subscribed to build her for Captain Samuel Samuels. He superintended her construction and under his able command she made some remarkably quick voyages between New York and Liverpool, sailing in David Ogden’s Red Cross Line, with the Victory, Racer, and Highflyer.

Captain Samuels was born in Philadelphia in 1823 and went to sea when he was eleven years old, and a narrative of his adventures afloat and on shore is contained in his interesting memoirs entitled, From the Forecastle to the Cabin, published in 1887. He was a most amiable and entertaining companion, full of good humor and penetrating wit. He also cherished a belief in the uplifting influence of an enterprising press agent, and perhaps no merchant ship of modern times has been better advertised than the Dreadnought. She sailed on her first voyage from New York for Liverpool, December 15, 1853, and from that date until her arrival at New York, January 28, 1855, had made eight passages between New York and Liverpool, the average time of her eastern passages being 21 days 15 hours, and her western passages 24 days 12 hours from dock to dock.

Captain Samuels commanded the Dreadnought for ten years, and during that time she made from seventy to eighty passages across the Atlantic, and must have had ample opportunity to make fast voyages and day’s runs. The following abstracts from the logs of her best passages are therefore of interest:

She sailed from New York for Liverpool, November 20, 1854; passed Sandy Hook at 6.30 P.M. and ran to noon, November 21st, 120 miles; 22d, 57 miles; 23d, 225 miles; 24th, 300 miles; 25th, 175 miles; 26th, 125 miles; 27th, 250 miles; 28th, 263 miles; 29th, 240 miles; 30th, 270 miles; December 1st, 242 miles; 2d, 222 miles; 3d, 212 miles; 4th, 320 miles. Total 3071 miles. The log records:

At noon on the 4th took a pilot off Point Lynas; was detained eight hours for want of water on the bar; arrived in the Mersey at 10 P.M.; thus making the passage in 14 days 4 hours, apparent time. Deducting eight hours for detention by tide at the bar, and also deducting the difference of longitude, 4 hours and 45 minutes, gives the mean or true time of passage, 13 days 11 hours and 15 minutes. Average speed for the passage, 9½ miles per hour. On this passage, the Dreadnought was off Cape Clear, Ireland, in 12 days 12 hours from Sandy Hook.

She sailed from New York, May 4, 1855, and arrived at Liverpool May 20th; passage recorded as 15 days 12 hours.

She sailed from Sandy Hook, January 24, 1856 (time not given), and ran to noon, January 25th, 345 miles; 26th, 312 miles; 27th, 252 miles; 28th, 223 miles; 29th, violent gale, drifted 90 miles west-southwest; 30th, 115 miles; 31st, 212 miles; February 1st, 228 miles; 2d, 208 miles; 3d, 185 miles; 4th, 238 miles; 5th, 252 miles; 6th, 244 miles; 7th, 212 miles; 8th, off Point Lynas. Hove-to until daylight for pilot and tide. Total distance run 3116 miles in 14 days, or an average of 222 miles per day.

The Dreadnought sailed from New York, February 27, 1859; at 3 P.M. discharged pilot, and ran to noon, February 28th, 200 miles; wind south to west-northwest, brisk breezes. March 1st, 293 miles; west-northwest fresh breezes. 2d, 262 miles; northwest to north-northwest brisk gales and snow-squalls. 3d, 208 miles; north-northwest to north heavy gales and snow-squalls. 4th, 178 miles; north-northeast to north heavy gales and snow-squalls. 5th, 218 miles; north to north-northeast heavy gales and snow-squalls. 6th, 133 miles; northeast to south light breezes. 7th, 282 miles; south-southeast brisk breezes and clear. 8th, 313 miles; south-southwest to south fresh breezes and clear. 9th, 268 miles; south to southeast brisk gales. 10th, 205 miles; southeast to southwest brisk breezes and squally. 11th, 308 miles; south to southwest strong breeze and squally. 12th, 150 miles; southwest, thick weather. Distance sailed from Sandy Hook to the Northwest Lightship, 3018 miles; passage 13 days 8 hours, mean time.

It was during this passage that the Dreadnought is supposed to have made the run from Sandy Hook to Queenstown in 9 days 17 hours, but an analysis of the abstract log shows that 9 days 21 hours after discharging her pilot to the eastward of Sandy Hook she was not within 400 miles of Queenstown.

How this mythical tale originated, is difficult to imagine, but it has been passed along from one scribe to another these many years, until at last it has reached the dignity of an “historical fact,” having recently been embalmed in an encyclopedia. Curiously enough, Captain Samuels appears to be

almost the only person who has written about the Dreadnought who does not refer to this fable. In his memoirs, he makes no mention of it.

The best passage to the westward made by the Dreadnought was in 1854, when she ran from the Rock Light, Liverpool, to Sandy Hook in 19 days While it cannot be said that the Dreadnought ever made the fastest passage of a sailing vessel between New York and Liverpool, as the records in this respect are held by the Red Jacket, Captain Asa Eldridge, from Sandy Hook to the Rock Light, in 13 days 1 hour, in 1854, and by the Andrew Jackson, Captain John Williams, from Rock Light to Sandy Hook in 15 days, in 1860, still the uniform speed of the Dreadnought’s many voyages entitles her to a high place among the celebrated packet ships of the past.

The Dreadnought was a strikingly handsome and well-designed, though by no means a sharp ship. Her masts, yards, sails, ironwork, blocks, and standing and running rigging were of the best material and were always carefully looked after. She was a ship that would stand almost any amount of driving in heavy weather, and her fast passages were in a measure due to this excellent quality, though mainly to the unceasing vigilance and splendid seamanship of her commander. She was wrecked in 1869 while under the command of Captain P. N. Mayhew; her crew were rescued after being adrift fourteen days in the boats, but the noble old packet ship went to pieces among the rugged cliffs and crags and roaring breakers of Cape Horn.

CHAPTER XVI

AMERICAN CLIPPERS OF 1854 AND 1855

On this passage the Flying Cloud gave a fine example of her sailing qualities. She sailed eight days after the Archer, also an exceedingly fast ship, and led her into San Francisco by nine days. Captain Creesy received a grand ovation on this, his second record passage, and the merchants of San Francisco, always generous and hospitable, vied with each other to do him honor. Upon his return to New York, a banquet was given him at the Astor House, then the finest hotel in the city, and a splendid service of silver plate was presented to him by the New York and Boston Marine Underwriters.

The Romance of the Seas sailed from Boston two days after the David Brown, commanded by Captain George Brewster, of Stonington, had passed out by Sandy Hook, but came up with her off the coast of Brazil. From this point they were frequently in company for days together, finally passing through the Golden Gate side by side, March 23, 1854. After discharging their cargoes, they again passed out of the Golden Gate together, this time bound for Hong-kong, and while they were not in company during this passage of 45 days, they anchored in Hong-kong harbor on the same day and almost at the same hour. The log of the Romance of the Seas records that skysails and royal studdingsails were set just outside the Golden Gate and were not taken in during the passage until entering the harbor of Hong-kong.

It is difficult to realize the intense interest with which these clipper ship races were regarded in those days; and it is doubtful whether at the present day any branch of sport inspires so much wholesome, intelligent enthusiasm as did these splendid ocean matches of the old clippers.

In this year a change came over the California trade. The wild rush to the mines had subsided, and the markets of San Francisco, while not over-stocked, were so sufficiently and regularly supplied as to render great speed in the transportation of merchandise unnecessary; the rates of freight had therefore declined, but were still good. Twenty ships, the last of the extreme clippers, were built in 1854 for the California trade, including some which became celebrated, such as the Canvasback, Fleetwing, Grace Darling, Harvey Birch, Nabob, Nonpareil, Ocean Telegraph, Rattler, Robin Hood, and Sierra Nevada; but we miss from among the ship-builders of this year the names of Donald McKay, William H. Webb, Samuel Hall, Jacob A. Westervelt, and George Raynes, none of whom brought out California clippers.

Although no more extreme clippers were built for the California trade after 1854, a fine class of ships, known as medium clippers, was constructed, some of which proved exceedingly fast, and remarkable passages continued to be made. Many of these medium clippers would be considered very sharp and heavily sparred vessels at the present time.

The Sunny South, of 703 tons register, was one of the prettiest clippers ever launched at New York, and was the only sailing ship built by George Steers, the designer of the yacht America, steam frigate Niagara, and Collins Line steamship Adriatic. She was built for the China trade, was launched at Williamsburg, September 7, 1854; was owned by Napier, Johnson & Co., and was commanded by Captain Michael Gregory. It is a singular fact that while this ship was well known to possess great speed when in company with other clippers, yet she never made a passage worthy of being recorded, and was not a very successful ship financially; although the product of the skill of a designer, who, dying in early manhood, left a name so interwoven with his country’s triumphs upon the sea that it can never be forgotten.

In 1859, the Sunny South was sold at Havana, her name being changed to Emanuela. At that time her royal studdingsail booms and skysail masts and yards were removed. On August 10, 1860, she was seized in the Mozambique Channel flying the Chilian flag, with a cargo of slaves on board, by the British man-of-war Brisk, and the following particulars of her capture are given by one of the officers of that vessel:

“At 11:30 A.M. on the 10th of August last, as Her Majesty’s ship Brisk, Captain De Horsey, bearing the flag of Rear-Admiral the Hon. Sir Henry Keppel, K. C. B., was running to the northward in the Mozambique Channel, a sail was reported as seen from the masthead. Steam was got up without delay, and sail made in chase. It being hazy, the stranger was shortly lost sight of. When the weather had partially cleared the stranger was reported four points on our starboard bow, and the ship’s course was altered in that direction. We were now going eleven knots and a half, and the Captain, feeling that it must be something out of the common that would alter bearings at that distance in so short a time, proceeded himself with his glass to the foretopmast head, officers mounting the rigging.

“That a general excitement prevailed was evident from the manner in which our sails were trimmed, taken in, and set again. Hottentots and landsmen, who on other occasions only looked at ropes, now laid hold of them with a will. The Captain’s order from the masthead to keep away two points showed that he had observed something suspicious—in fact, he had noticed a sudden alteration in the course of the chase, and pronounced her to be a long, rakish-looking ship, too large to be a slaver, but thought there was something very suspicious in the sudden alteration of her course, her crowd of sail, and the unusual number of staysails.

“At about 3 P.M. we could see her hull from the deck, and, carrying with us a fresh breeze, while she was in the doldrums, we closed on her rapidly. When within half a mile we hoisted our colors, when every glass was pointed toward her peak, and all sorts of conjectures were made as to what colors she would show. No one could imagine that so large a vessel could be a slaver.

“On closing under her lee, and when within a cable’s length, a white package was thrown from her side into the sea; and the experienced then exclaimed, ‘A slaver, and there go her papers!’ A few minutes more, and we sheered up alongside to leeward of as beautiful model of a ship as ever was seen. Some forty dejected looking individuals, apparently a mixture of all nations, stood on her deck; still no colors, nor did she appear inclined to shorten sail or heave-to. The Captain then determined to run ahead and lower the quarter-boats to drop down and board; and as this manœuvre was being carried out a blank gun caused her to square the mainyard, which she did with studding-sails hanging to the yard, and luffed up into the wind.

“It was an anxious five minutes to those on board while the boats were away. A small white British ensign run up at her peak showed that she was a prize, and a voice hailed us, ‘Eight hundred and fifty slaves on board!’”

In 1855 the California fleet was increased by the building of thirteen medium clipper ships, among which were the Andrew Jackson, Carrier Dove, Charmer, Daring, Herald of the Morning, Mary Whitridge, and Ocean Express. Only three passages were made from Atlantic ports to San Francisco during this year in 100 days or less; the Herald of the Morning, from New York, 99 days; Neptune’s Car, from New York, and Westward Ho, from Boston, each 100 days. Thirteen ships made the passage in over 100 days and less than 110 days; among them being the Boston Light, from Boston, 102 days; the Cleopatra and Red Rover, from New York, each 107 days; the Flying Cloud, from New York, and Meteor and Don Quixote, from Boston, each 108 days; the Flying Fish, two passages from Boston in 109 and 105 days, and the Governor Morton, from New York in 104 days.

This was Captain Creesy’s last voyage in the Flying Cloud, and he now retired to his home in Salem until 1861, when he was appointed a Commander in the United States Navy and assigned to the clipper ship Ino. She carried a crew of eighty men from Marblehead, and on her second cruise in 1862 made the record run of twelve days from New York to Cadiz. Captain Creesy subsequently commanded the clipper ship Archer, and made two voyages to China. He died at Salem in 1871, in his fifty-seventh year. So long as the American clipper ships and their brilliant exploits hold a place in the memory of man, the names of Josiah Creesy and the Flying Cloud will be remembered with pride.

The Mary Whitridge became one of the most famous of the clippers launched in 1855. She was built in Baltimore, where she was owned by Thomas Whitridge & Co., and was commanded by Captain Robert B. Cheesborough, also of that port. She was 877 tons register; length 168 feet, breadth 34 feet, depth 21 feet. On her first voyage she made the remarkable run of 13 days 7 hours from Cape Charles to the Rock Light, Liverpool. She was engaged for many years in the China trade under the command of Captain Benjamin F. Cutler and bore the reputation of being the finest and fastest ship sailing out of Baltimore.

At this time an important development took place in the California trade. It had been found that the fertile soil of the Pacific slope could be made to yield other treasures than gold, and in May, 1855, the barque Greenfield, Captain Follansbee, loaded the first consignment of wheat exported from California, consisting of 4752 bags. She was soon followed by the Charmer, commanded by Captain Lucas, which loaded a full cargo of 1400 tons of wheat for New York at $28 per ton freight. The export of wheat in sailing vessels rapidly increased, enabling ships to earn freights out and home, and this continued for many years.

In 1855 Donald McKay built three fine medium clipper ships, the Defender, Amos Lawrence, and Abbott Lawrence, which remind us that a number of Boston ships bore the names of her distinguished citizens. There were the Thomas H. Perkins, Rufus Choate, Starr King, Edward Everett, R. B. Forbes, Enoch Train, John E. Thayer, George Peabody, Samuel Appleton, Robert C. Winthrop, Russell Sturgis, and perhaps others now forgotten. There were already a ship, a barque, two brigs, and two schooners named the Daniel Webster, besides several steamboats and tugs and a pilot-boat; hence, the owners of ships who were desirous of honoring the great statesman were obliged to adopt some other means of expressing their admiration, and since Webster was known as the Defender of the Constitution and also as the Expounder of that document, there were two ships named the Defender and the Expounder. Some one suggested that the latter ship might, perhaps, have been named in honor of Yankee Sullivan, a noted prize-fighter then retired from the ring.

The Defender was 1413 tons register, and carried a splendid full-length figurehead of Daniel Webster. She was owned by D. S. Kendall and H. P. Plympton, of Boston, and was commanded by Captain Isaac Beauchamp.

My object in drawing attention to this vessel is to mention a notable gathering at Mr. McKay’s house on the day of her launch, July 27, 1855. The leading merchants of Boston and their families were his guests on that occasion, and speeches were made by the Hon. Edward Everett, ex-Mayor, the Hon. Benjamin Seaver, and Enoch Train. In the course of his address, Mr. Everett remarked: “I was at a loss, I confess, to comprehend the secret of the great success which has attended our friend and host. Forty-two ships, I understand, he has built—all vessels such as we have seen to-day. I do not mean that they were all as large, but they were as well constructed and looked as splendidly, as they rode on the waves. Forty-two vessels![11] No one else, certainly, has done more than our friend to improve the commercial marine of this country, and it has long seemed to me that there was a mystery about it. But since I have been under this roof to-day, I have learned the secret of it—excellent family government, and a good helpmeet to take counsel with and encouragement from. A fair proportion of the credit and praise for this success is, I am sure, due to our amiable and accomplished hostess [Cheers]. I congratulate also the father of our host, the father of such a family. He has, I am told, fourteen sons and daughters, and fifty grandchildren. Nine of the latter were born during the last year. I wish to know, my friends, if you do not call that being a good citizen!”

When the Abbott Lawrence was launched, in October of the same year. Mr. McKay was called upon to respond to the toast, “In memory of Abbott Lawrence,” and his brief speech has fortunately been preserved:

“Ladies and gentlemen: I regret my inability