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Title: The Book of the Ocean

Author: Ernest Ingersoll

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOOK OF
THE OCEAN ***

THE BOOK OF THE OCEAN

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THE CENTURY BOOK
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THE CENTURY BOOK OF
THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.
The story of the pilgrimage of a party of young folks to the famous Revolutionary battle-fields from
Lexington to Yorktown. Introduction by the Hon. Chauncey M. Depew.

THE CENTURY BOOK
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The Century Co.

Original Image.

DRAWN BY LOUIS LOEB. ENGRAVED BY M. HAIDER.
THE MAJESTY OF THE SEA.

THE
BOOK OF THE OCEAN

BY

ERNEST INGERSOLL
AUTHOR OF “KNOCKING ROUND THE ROCKIES,”
“THE OYSTER INDUSTRIES OF THE UNITED STATES,”
“FRIENDS WORTH KNOWING,”
“WILD NEIGHBORS,”
“THE CREST OF THE CONTINENT,” ETC.

Illustrated

NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
1898

Copyright, 1898,
By The Century Co.

THE DE VINNE PRESS.

CONTENTS

PAGE
I The Ocean and its Origin 1

II Waves, Tides, and Currents 9

III The Building and Rigging of Ships 27

IV Early Voyages and Explorations 39
Part I—Previous to the Discovery of America.
Part II—From Columbus to Cook.

V Secrets Won from the Frozen North 77

VI War-Ships and Naval Battles 107
Part I—Wooden Walls, from Salamis to Trafalgar.
Part II—The Present Era of Steam and Steel.

VII The Merchants of the Sea 155

VIII Robbers of the Seas 171

IX Yachting and Pleasure-Boating 187

X Dangers of the Deep 201

XI Fishing and other Marine Industries 231

XII The Plants of the Sea and their Uses 249

XIII Animal Life in the Sea 259

Index of Illustrations 275

General Index 277

THE BOOK OF THE OCEAN

CHAPTER I

THE OCEAN AND ITS ORIGIN
OOKING at the land, we divide the surface of the earth into
eastern and western hemispheres; but looking at the water, we
make an opposite classification. Encircle the globe in your
library with a rubber band, so that it cuts across South America
from about Porto Alegre to Lima on one side, and through southern Siam
and the northernmost of the Philippine Islands on the other, and you make
hemispheres, the northern of which (with London at its center) contains
almost all the land of the globe, while the southern (with New Zealand as its
central point) is almost entirely water, Australia, and the narrow southern
half of South America being the only lands of consequence in its whole
area. Observing the map in this way, noticing that, besides nearly a
complete half-world of water south of your rubber equator, much of the
northern hemisphere also is afloat, you are willing to believe the assertion
that there is almost three times as much of the outside of the earth hidden
under the waves as appears above them. The estimate in round numbers is
one hundred and fifty million square (statute) miles of ocean surface, as
compared with about fifty million square miles of land on the globe.
To the people whose speculations in geography are the oldest that have
come down to us, the earth seemed to be an island around which was
perpetually flowing a river with no further shore visible. Beyond it, they
thought, lay the abodes of the dead. This river, as the source of all other
rivers and waters, was deified by the early Greeks and placed among their
highest gods as Oceanus, whence our word “ocean.” Accompanying, or
belonging to him, there grew up, in the fertile imagination of that poetic
people, a large company of gods and goddesses, while men hid their
absence of real knowledge by peopling the deep with quaint monsters.
“The word for ‘ocean’ (mare) in the Latin tongue means, by derivation, a
desert, and the Greeks spoke of it as ‘the barren brine.’”

Over these old fables we need not linger. All the myths and guesswork
that went before history represented the sea as older than the land, and told
how creation began by lifting the earth above the universal waste of waters.
The story in Genesis is only one of many such stories.

A QUIET SEA, AND THE SUN AT MIDNIGHT.
From a photograph.

Scientific men believe that when our planet first went circling swiftly in
its orbit it was a glowing, globular mass of fiery vapors; but as time passed,
the icy chill of space slowly cooled these vapors, and chemical changes
steadily modified, sorted, and solidified the materials into the beginnings of
the present form and character, until at last water came into existence. This
must have been at first in the form of a thick envelop of heated vapors,
impregnated with gases, that inwrapped the globe in a darkness lit only by
its own fires.

After that, when further changes had come about,—let us picture it,—
what deluges of rain were poured out of and down through those murky
clouds where thunders bellowed and lightnings warred! At first all the rains
that fell must have been turned to steam again; but by and by the steady
downpour cooled the shaping globe so that all the water was not vaporized,
but some stayed as a liquid where it fell, and this increased in amount more
and more, until finally, between the hissing core of the half-hardened planet
and the dense clouds which kept out all the sunlight, there rolled the heated
waves of the first ocean—an ocean broken only by the earliest ridges, like
chains of islands, marking the skeletons of the continents that were to
follow—an ocean sending up ceaseless volumes of steam to form new
clouds.
Yet all the while the cooling of
the planet went on. Now, when any
heated substance cools it contracts,
and the globe as a whole is no
exception to the rule; but a sphere
formed of so incompressible a
substance as rock can shrink only
by some sort of folding or
displacement of its surface.
EATING AWAY THE COAST.
Therefore, as the cooling of our
globe proceeded, explosions and swellings constantly occurred at weak
points or lines on or near the surface, where the prodigious strain forced a
break. That these upheavals were most prominent and extended in the
northern hemisphere is shown by the fact that the great masses and heights
of land are grouped there; and the trend of mountain-ranges seems to show
that the range of breakage and upheaval was in general in north-and-south
lines. Elsewhere, and mainly in the southern hemisphere, broad areas of
perhaps stiffer crust sank downward, making the vast depressions into
which poured the waters of the primeval sea, and where our oceans still
sway and roll.
All these changes, however, have been in the direction of insuring more
and more stability; and when the ocean water had thoroughly cooled, the
very chill of its vast masses in the depths of the troughs assisted in the
work, for the cold water, by more rapidly withdrawing their heat, caused the

rocks beneath their basins to
become denser, thicker, stronger,
and consequently less liable to
break or change, than were those
rocks forming the foundations of
the continents.
The moment it had shores to beat
upon, that moment the ocean began
to knock them to pieces under its
pounding surf, and to grind the
fragments so small that they could
be drifted away, reassorted, and
deposited wherever the water was
sufficiently quiet to let them fall.
The original rocks—chiefly granite
—held the different forms of lime,
magnesia, etc., to make the
limestones; the silica to make the
gritty sandstones; the alumina to
make the clays; and so on. The sea
not only was the agent to eat this SURF AT FORT DUMPLING, R. I.
old, rich crust to pieces and
respread it into strata, but to sort out for us the materials to a considerable
extent, laying down beds of limestone by themselves, and sandstone, shales,
marl, etc., by themselves. It is probable, says Professor Shaler, that layers of
rock twenty miles in thickness have thus been laid down on the gradually
settling ocean floor, much of which has been raised again to form
continental lands.
Hitherto we have spoken of the waters that surround the continents as if
they formed one mass, as, practically, they do; but for convenience sake we
may designate certain areas by separate names, which ought now to be
defined. Thus the larger, more open spaces are known as oceans, and of
these five are recognized, namely, Pacific, Atlantic, Indian, Arctic, and
Antarctic. Parts or branches of these, more or less inclosed by land and
usually comparatively shallow, are termed seas.

The Pacific Ocean is the largest, it alone covering more space than all the
continents combined, having a breadth, east and west, of ten thousand miles
(about the length of the Atlantic), and an area of seventy million square
miles. The equator divides it into the North and South Pacific. The former is
comparatively free from islands, and is inclosed northward by the
approaching extremities of Alaska and Siberia; while the latter widens at the
south into the boundless Antarctic Ocean. Its basin is a vast depression of
fairly uniform depth, studded in the western part by island peaks,—the
summits of submerged volcanic mountain-ranges. The name “Pacific,” or
“Peaceful,” was given to it by Magalhaens (Magellan), its first navigator, in
1540 (see Chapter IV), in his joy at having escaped from the tempestuous
experience he had long endured in the South Atlantic. On the whole the
Pacific deserves its name as compared with the Atlantic—a fact chiefly due
to its great size. The term “South Sea” was formerly much used for it, but
English-speaking persons now usually mean by that phrase the island-
studded district between Hawaii and Australia.

PERCÉ ROCK, IN THE GULF OF ST. LAWRENCE, SHOWING DESTRUCTION OF SHORE-
ROCKS BY WATER.

The Atlantic commemorates in its name the myth of Atlas and his island.
Atlas seems to have been originally, among the Greeks, the name of the
Peak of Tenerife, of which they had vague information from the earlier
Phenician sea-wanderers. Then this was forgotten, and in place of the fact
arose a myth of a Titan who stood upon a vast island in or beyond the
“Western Sea,” called Atlantis. Legends of wars with its people form a part
of the nebulous hero-story of the beginnings of Athens; and it is said to

have sunk out of sight long before records began. There have always been
those who believed this story founded upon fact, and only a few years ago a
book was printed in the United States arguing that the tale was the history
of a real land; but not only is there no literary or historical evidence that
Atlantis had any firmer foundation than vague memories of the Cape Verd
or Canary Islands, but every evidence of the geological condition and
history of the eastern shores and bed of the middle Atlantic Ocean shows
that no such convulsion as the destruction of this island calls for ever took
place there, or that there was ever such a land to be submerged. The Atlantic
occupies a long, winding, comparatively narrow trough, that measures
about ten thousand miles north and south, from the ice of the Antarctic to
the ice of the Arctic ocean, and has only a few islets south of Iceland, the
Faroes and the Shetlands, which rise from a plateau stretching from
Labrador to Great Britain, the higher points of which were probably above
the water within comparatively recent geological times, possibly since man
appeared upon the globe. The average depth of the Atlantic south of this
ridge is about thirteen thousand feet, but greater depths are found along the
African and American coasts, on each side of a long submerged ridge from
which rise the isolated islands of Cape Verd, St. Helena, and Tristan da
Cunha. The width from Norway to Greenland is only about eight hundred
miles, but between Montevideo and Cape Town it is thirty-six hundred
miles, and the average width is about three thousand miles. The shape and
situation of the Atlantic make it the most stormy of the three great oceans,
and it is the one where the phenomena of tides, currents, etc., are most
prominently manifested, as we shall see. It is also the most frequented and
best known, because it has been necessary to study it for the benefit of
commerce.
The Indian Ocean is simply the extension of the vast southern water-zone
northward of parallel 40°, south latitude, where, from the Cape of Good
Hope to Tasmania, it is six thousand miles in width. At this line the depth
suddenly decreases, as though the edge of a submerged Antarctic plateau
defined the southerly rim of its basin there. This ocean contains several
large and some groups of small islands, but these are mostly near the shore,
and connected with the neighboring continent by shallow waters, showing
that they rise from a submerged plateau. The average depth of the Indian
Ocean is about fourteen thousand feet; its surface-water is warmer and

salter than that of any other; and its winds and weather are more regular and
peaceful than in either the Atlantic or the North Pacific.
The Arctic Ocean is the well-defined body of water around and probably
over the north pole. It is connected with the Pacific only by the narrow and
very shallow Bering Strait, and with the Atlantic by comparatively narrow
openings. It has been fairly well explored as far north as the parallel of 80°,
and found to contain many islands; but it appears that there is great depth of
water north of Spitzbergen and northeast of Greenland, making it probable
that the trough of the Atlantic reaches to or beyond the pole itself. Most of
its area is covered with drifting ice.
The Antarctic Ocean is regarded as the space of water within the
Antarctic circle; but this is surrounded by a zone of deep ocean, unbroken
almost half-way to the equator, except by the narrow southern part of South
America and by New Zealand. It is an area, apparently rather shallow, of
ice, fogs, and tempestuous gales, inclosing lands of unknown extent.

WAVE-WORN CLIFFS AND PEBBLE-BEACH AT ETRETAT, FRANCE.
(FROM A PAINTING BY WILLIAM P. W. DANA.)

But these geographical distinctions are merely convenient methods of
speech. After all, there is only one ocean “poured round all,” and its
particles are incessantly changed in place and remingled by means of a
world-wide system of tides and currents, the effect of which is to keep sea-
water everywhere uniform in character and perfectly pure and healthful.

IN MID-OCEAN: A GREAT WAVE.

CHAPTER II

WAVES, TIDES, AND CURRENTS
OW that we have studied the ancient ocean, it is time to study its
present characteristics and understand the great and important
part it plays in the world.
A very striking thing about the ocean is its flatness. Being water, it seeks
always to find its level; and we commonly assume that it everywhere does
so, and take the sea-level as the standard from which to calculate all heights
above or depths below its surface; that is, we assume that every part of the
surface of the ocean when calm and at mean tide is exactly the same
distance from the center of the globe. This, however, is not wholly true.
Careful observation has shown that the Pacific is several feet lower on the
western shore of the Isthmus of Darien than is the Atlantic on its eastern
shore—a fact due, no doubt, to the crowding of water by the Gulf Stream
into the Caribbean Sea. The Mediterranean is known to be somewhat higher
than the Atlantic, and other differences exist in similar places elsewhere.
This introduces the subject of depth—a matter which we have learned
accurately only within a very few years. In the early days ropes alone were
used for sounding, and these had to be of considerable size to bear the
strain; but a mile or so of rope became too heavy to handle, and depths
below that length remained unmeasured. Then a little machine was tried
consisting of a heavy weight having attached to it, by a trigger, a wooden
float. This was thrown overboard. It sank, and when it touched bottom the
shock released the float. From the time that elapsed before the float
reappeared the depth was estimated. This, however, was little better than
guesswork; and accurate soundings exceeding one thousand fathoms were
not obtained until an American naval officer began to use wire instead of
rope. From this hint was developed elaborate machinery, operated by steam,
using steel piano-wire, having automatic registers of the amount reeled out,
and carried down by weights that were released when the bottom was
struck, making it easier to recover the wire. To these weights (or rather to
the wire just above them) were attached devices for clutching and bringing

to the surface specimens of the bottom, self-closing jars to fetch water from
the lowest layer, self-registering thermometers that recorded the
temperatures at the greatest or at various intermediate depths, and other
means of learning the character of the water, bottom-material, and animal
life several miles below the surface, including methods of photographing by
aid of a submerged electric light. Such investigations, carried on in ships
suitably equipped, have been prosecuted by several governments, most
notably by the expedition of the Challenger, a British surveying-ship which
circumnavigated the globe during the years from 1872 to 1876.
This and many other
expeditions have sounded in all
parts of the world, and explored
large tracts where the water
uniformly exceeded three miles
in depth. The United States ship
Enterprise, after passing the
Chatham Islands in her run from
New Zealand to the Strait of
Magellan, found the water
everywhere more than thirteen
thousand feet deep. Throughout
her run from Montevideo to
New York the water varied from
twelve to eighteen thousand feet
deep, and Captain Nares and
Admiral Belknap found like
depths over equally vast
breadths elsewhere.
Yet even in these basins more
profound pits and valleys exist.
Several places are known near
Japan and off Porto Rico
exceeding five miles in depth;
and an English officer sounded
29,400 feet in the southern
SEA-CAVE Pacific Ocean, nineteen hundred
NEAR GIANT’S CAUSEWAY,

NORTH OF IRELAND. miles east of Brisbane, without
finding bottom.
The average depth of all the oceans is estimated at from twelve thousand
to fifteen thousand feet. As, according to Humboldt, the average height of
the lands of the globe is only about one thousand feet, it will be seen that all
the land now above the water, and its foundations, could be shoveled into
the ocean troughs and still leave water more than two miles in depth
covering the whole planet.
The soundings and dredgings of which I have spoken enable us to make a
tolerable map of the ocean beds and to describe their features. All the
continents are bordered by a shelf reaching out under the shallow shore-
water to a greater or less distance, and then dropping, usually with much
abruptness, to the ocean trough. This shelf, perhaps originally a part of the
primeval continent, bears most of the great islands near continents, such as
Newfoundland, the West Indies, Great Britain and Ireland, Madagascar, the
Aleutian, Japanese, and Philippine groups, the Malay Archipelago, and
others. If you will look at a map that has marked upon it the line of one
thousand fathoms’ depth along the shores of the various continents, you will
find it reaching far out from the eastern shores of both Americas, the
western and northern shores of Europe, the eastern shores of South Africa,
prolonging India hundreds of miles, and embracing great spaces among the
East Indies, while even the hundred-fathom line would connect many an
island with the mainland or with some other island, as they actually have
been connected in times gone by. The fact is, there is not a single proper
mountain-peak rising out of deep water at any great distance from the
margins of the continents. All the numerous islands of the wide oceans are
either coral reefs or the summits of volcanic cones.
Upon this shelf, and for the most part within two hundred miles of the
coast, are deposited all of the materials torn from the land by the sea or
brought down by rivers or glaciers, excepting the very finest, which
currents may float somewhat farther out, and also excepting the rocks that
icebergs carry away and drop in mid-ocean; but this is not a great amount,
for most icebergs strand on the shallows off Newfoundland or in Bering
Sea.

Almost nothing from the shores, therefore, reaches the central depths of
the open oceans, whose beds are in substantially the same condition that
they were in at the beginning, except for two things—volcanic upheavals in
some places, and the remains of animal life everywhere. The former
exception is a very important one, since it is now known, according to
Professor Shaler, that volcanoes, by their eruptions, send more dust and
broken materials to the seas than the rivers and shores combined.

THE VOLCANO KRAKATOA (SUNDA STRAIT) IN ERUPTION IN 1883.

“Although the deeper sea-floors probably lack mountains,” says
Professor Shaler, “they are not without striking reliefs, which, if they could
be seen, would present all the dignity which their size gives to the
Himalayas or Andes: the difference is that these elevations are not true
mountains, but volcanic peaks, sometimes isolated, again accumulated in
long, narrow ridges, but all made up of matter poured out from the craters
or through great fissures in the crust. So numerous are these heaped masses
of lava and other ejections from these vents that there is hardly any
considerable area of the oceans where they do not rise above the surface.
There are indeed thousands of these volcanic peaks distributed from pole to

pole.... Thus on the floor of the North Atlantic there is evidently a long,
irregular chain of these elevations extending from the Icelandic group of
islands southward to the Azores. If an explorer could view this part of the
sea-bottom, he would probably find that the line of craters was as
continuous as that exhibited by the volcanoes of the Andes.
“Besides the volcanic peaks,” Professor Shaler continues, “the sea-
bottom in certain parts of the tropics ... is beset with the singular elevations
formed by coral reefs.” But of these I shall have more to say toward the end
of the book, and I allude to them here only as a feature of the invisible
landscape beneath the waves.
Over the vast, gently undulating spaces separating these submerged lines
of volcanoes and the ridges of coral, lies a mat of mud of unknown
thickness, which naturalists term “ooze.” It is principally composed of
volcanic dust and of the microscopic “tests,” or flinty limy skeletons of
minute animals, few of which are large enough to be seen by the unaided
eye. “Dwelling in myriads in the superficial parts of the sea, these
foraminifera, as they are termed, sink at death to the bottom, over which
they accumulate a thick coating of minutely divided limestone powder,
forming a layer of ooze as unsubstantial as the finest snow.”
In regions like the North Atlantic this ooze consists almost wholly of
such animal matter; but in other regions, such as the South Pacific, where
volcanoes prevail, it is constantly and largely increased by an enormous
quantity of mineral matter hurled broadcast by volcanoes, all of which are
on islands or near sea-coasts. A part of this is the merest dust, which slowly
settles from the air, perhaps hundreds of miles from where it was ejected. A
larger part consists of that spongy lava called pumice, which is so full of
holes filled with air and gases that it may float half way around the globe
before it sinks, as happened after the explosion of Krakatoa.
Into the oceanic ooze, too, sinks so much of all dead fishes and other
mid-sea animals as is not dissolved or devoured before reaching it; and it
forms the grave of thousands of men. It is often said that ships and other
things would not sink far, but would float, suspended by dense water or
some miraculous influence, only a few hundred or a few thousand feet
below the surface, for no one knows how long. But this eerie notion has no
foundation in fact. “No other fate,” we are assured by those who know,

“awaits the drowned sailor or his ship than that which comes to the marine
creatures who die on the bottom of the sea. In time their dust all passes into
the great storehouse of the earth, even as those who receive burial on land.”
Wooden wrecks probably last much longer than those of iron.
I have mentioned that a small part of what the sea tears away from the
land, or receives from rivers, winds, and other sources, is dissolved in its
waters, which now contain, no doubt, samples of every ingredient of the
rocks and soils of the dry land, and very likely some elements not yet
detected. This solvent power of the sea explains its saltness, and it must go
on growing more and more bitter as long as its waves grind at the shores
and the rivers run down. The salinity varies in degree, water at great depths
being salter than that near the surface, and excelling in saltness where
evaporation is rapid, as under the trade-winds, while fresher in the regions
of equatorial calms, where an immense amount of rain falls; broadly, the
lightest (freshest) water is found at the equator, and the heaviest in the
temperate regions. Inclosed, or nearly inclosed, areas become very salt.
Thus the Dead Sea is what chemists call a saturated solution, being nearly
one third (28 per cent.) salt, and Great Salt Lake in Utah is not far behind.
The Red Sea contains 4 per cent., and some parts of the Mediterranean
nearly as much. Taking all the open oceans together, about 3½ in every 100
parts (3½ per cent.) is composed of various salts, more than three quarters
of which is common salt (chloride of sodium), and the remainder mainly
forms of magnesium. One of the Challenger authors has estimated that the
oceans contain enough salt to make a layer 170 feet thick over their whole
area, and another writer says that the amount, if heaped up, would be four
times larger than the whole bulk of Europe above the level of high-water
mark, mountains and all.
In early times, indeed, sea-water, which yields about a quarter of a pound
of crystallized salt per gallon, was almost the only source of salt for food.
Even yet it is the principal source of supply for the manufacture of
commercial salt in France, Portugal, Spain, Italy, Austria, the West Indies,
and Central and South America; and it is largely used in Holland, Belgium,
and Great Britain. The early process, still extensively practised in some
parts of Europe, was to admit the sea-water to large partitioned flats floored
with clay, where it evaporated rapidly. The salt-crystals remaining were
then collected, purified to a greater or less degree, and sold off-hand. It was

by similar means that our great-grandfathers in New England and along the
Southern coasts provided themselves with salt, only they used large vats
arranged over fires instead of earthen basins exposed to the sun.
But analysis of sea-water discloses small quantities of many other
recognizable minerals. Silica must be there to supply the needs of many
foraminifers, sponges, and other animals; lime in various forms exists, or
else such sea animals as mollusks could not compose their shells, nor
polyps erect their enormous reefs; bromine is present, and to the iodine and
other mineral dyes in the water we owe the lovely purples, crimsons, and
scarlets painting corallines, seaweeds, echinoderms, and some molluscan
shells, as that of the Sargasso-snail (Janthina).
As for gold and silver, both are present. I have seen it stated that a voyage
of a year or two is sufficient to permit the formation of a film of silver all
over the copper sheathing of a ship’s bottom, so that a frigate returning
from a long cruise is really silver-plated; but I fancy this is more a matter of
imagination than visible reality. Gold, in certain chemical combinations,
certainly exists in sea-water, and may be extracted therefrom. Up to the
present, however, the cost of the extraction has been more than the precious
metal obtained was worth. Gold is often washed from sea-sand.
The ceaseless
restlessness of the
ocean forms another of
the greatest contrasts
between it and the
immovable land—terra
firma, as those like to
call it who have been
tossing too long on the
“rolling deep”. This
characteristic
restlessness involves
some of the most
important and
interesting facts in
physical geography; for
were the waters still,—

that is, were the oceans A FIORD, OR DEEP CREVICE WORN IN SEA-CLIFFS.
simply huge, quiet
ponds,—none of that action could take place along the shores which has
been so important an agent in shaping the world and making it a suitable
place for human habitation and social development.
On a planet with an atmosphere and changing seasons like ours, however,
a stagnant ocean is as impossible as a motionless air; indeed, it is because
the air is always in motion that large bodies of water are never at rest, for it
is the changing density and temperature and movements (winds) of the air
that produce waves and currents.
Waves are caused by the pressure and friction of the wind upon the
surface of the water, as you may readily see at any pond; and the water in
them simply rises and falls, driving forward a little at the very surface so as
to cause a gentle current called wind-drift. When the waves approach the
shallow, sloping border of the land they are checked at the bottom by the
slope of the beach, while the freer upper part goes forward, and the waves
speedily lose their rounded form and become more and more sharply ridged
and steep on the front side as they sweep on until at last they pitch forward
in the crash and thunder of surf.
In the open ocean the waves are usually doing little work except to cause
the surface to rise and fall. The harder the wind blows, the higher the waves
become, and the faster they travel. This speed has been calculated, and has
been found to be proportionate to size.
“Waves 200 feet long from hollow to hollow,” we are told, “travel about
19 knots per hour; those of 400 feet in length make 27 knots; and those of
600 feet rush forward irresistibly at 32 knots.” These, of course, are under
the furious impulse of a gale, and it is marvelous that ships can be made to
ride over them; nor is it any wonder that excited mariners clinging to the
bulwarks of some small and heeling craft, should call them “mountain
high,” and declare in all seriousness that they have seen their crests rising
one hundred feet above their hollows. No such altitude, nor half of it,
probably, is ever reached by a storm-wave in the heaviest cyclone. An
excellent authority, Lieutenant Qualtrough, assures us that the highest
trustworthy measurements are from forty-four to forty-eight feet. The height
of a wave depends upon what mariners call its “fetch”—that is, its distance

from the place where the waves began to form. This has been worked out
mathematically by Thomas Stevenson (father of the late Robert Louis
Stevenson, the novelist), an eminent engineer and designer of lighthouses,
who gives the following formula: “The height of the wave in feet is equal to
1½ multiplied by the square root of the fetch in nautical miles.” If the
waves began 100 miles away from your ship, the waves about you will be
15 feet high, because the square root of 100 is 10, and one and a half times
10 is 15 (feet). The highest waves are not formed in the greatest tempests,
which beat down their crests, but when the gale is both very strong and long
continued. The worst “seas,” as sailors call big waves, are those met with
off the Cape of Good Hope and Cape Horn.
The depth to which wave disturbance extends depends on the violence of
the wind, and near shore upon the slope of the bottom. Prestwich tells us
that pebbles may sometimes be moved at the depth of one hundred feet, and
sand much deeper, as is shown by the fact that the bottom is disturbed in
heavy storms on the Banks of Newfoundland.
The weight and power of such on-rushing masses of water are
tremendous, as appears from the effect on coasts where they strike; but this
opens up a subject which is too large for treatment here, and I must refer
readers to geological treatises, and to such special works as Professor N. S.
Shaler’s excellent “Sea and Land,” where the work of the ocean in tearing
down and building up its coasts is fully and entertainingly explained. I shall
have something more to say on this point, also, when I come to the chapter
“Dangers of the Deep,” and speak of the terrible destruction caused by
earthquakes, and in certain other agitations of the sea not due to the wind,
and often styled “tidal waves.” There is only one kind of “tidal wave,”
properly speaking, however; and this is a theoretical rather than an actual
one, perceptible usually only in that rising and falling of the water along
coasts twice each twenty-four hours that we call the flow and ebb of the
tides; and here we see the effect rather than the thing itself.

LOW TIDE, ST. JOHN’S HARBOR, N. B.

The tide has been an inevitable circumstance of the existence on the earth
of the ocean, or any other great body of water, ever since its origin, yet it
was not until Sir Isaac Newton made us comprehend the law of gravitation
that its mystery was explained. We now know with certainty—if you want
the mathematical formulæ and so forth, consult some good modern
encyclopædia under the word tide—that this periodical rising and falling of
the sea is due to the attraction of the sun and moon,—to the last three times
as much as to the first, because it is so much nearer. This attraction is
exerted toward the globe as a whole; and its visible effect upon the movable
water is to lift it bodily on that side nearest the moon, and at the same time
to pull away the earth from the water on the opposite side, which amounts
to the same thing; and thus high tides are simultaneously produced at these
antipodes, which accounts for the two a day. At the same time, however, the

intermediate spaces have low tides caused by an attraction there toward the
center of the earth. “There are thus always simultaneously and directly
under the moon two high waters opposite each other, and two low waters at
equal distances between them. Owing to the rotation of the earth, this
permanent system of swells and troughs travels from east to west over
every part of the ocean and of its coast, and explains the regular succession
of rising and falling waters, at equal intervals of time, which we call the
tides.”
But the sun also
exerts a similar but
lesser influence,
producing four daily
solar tides, which most
of the time are lost to
view in the greater
lunar tides. When,
however, the moon gets
into line with the earth
and the sun, so that
both the heavenly
bodies pull together
like a tandem team, as
happens twice a month,
—at new moon and full
moon,—their
combined action causes
unusually high water,
which is the sum of the
lunar and solar tides,
THE EARTHQUAKE WAVE PASSING OVER and is called the spring
THE LIGHTHOUSE ON POINT ANJER.
tide. High water is then
highest, and low water lowest. On the other hand, in the midst of these
fortnightly intervals, when the moon is at its first or third quarter, the sun is
a full quarter of the heavens (90°) away from the moon. Its influence,
therefore, acts at right angles to or practically against that of the moon, and
the solar tides go to swell the low waters and diminish the high waters,

forming what sailors call neap tides,—preserving an old English word
meaning low.
Now remember that the globe is not standing still, even while we make
these explanations, but is revolving at a tremendous speed, so that the water
under the moon lifted by lunar attraction is changing place every instant at
the rate of over one thousand miles an hour, and you have the conception of
a low wave on each side of the earth, reaching north and south, highest and
swiftest on the equator and diminishing toward the poles. These are the true
tidal waves. Were the globe covered with an unbroken mantle of water, such
waves, each about twenty inches (or twenty-nine inches at springtide) high
on the average at the equator, would follow one another round and round
the earth at the rate of one complete circuit in every twenty-four hours. That
must have been the case in the primeval ocean before any continents
existed; and something of it still exists in the belt of unobstructed water
surrounding the Antarctic continent of ice. It would then be flood tide or
ebb tide at the same hour along the whole length of any one meridian. But
in the present condition of the globe, where the oceans are separated by
continents and broken by islands, the progress of the tidal waves is
obstructed, deflected, and wholly stopped in a great variety of ways and
places, so that the hours, amount, and behavior of the tides are exceedingly
varied in different regions, and are often very puzzling, forming one of the
most difficult matters with which the practical navigator has to deal.
Interference of tidal currents forms the Maelstrom, off the coast of Norway,
whose revolution is reversed twice daily, the classic Scylla and Charybdis,
in the Straits of Messina, so much dreaded by the navigators of old, and
many other whirlpools of less celebrity. The tidal wave sweeping northward
across the Atlantic has time to round the northern end of Scotland and flood
the German Ocean with southward swelling currents before the rising water
pouring into the southern end of the English Channel has time to push its
way through that narrow and shallow passage; hence the two floods meet in
the Straits of Dover, which accounts for the miserable chop-sea so sadly
prevalent in that unfortunate bit of water.
The natural height of the tide seems to be from two to five feet, as shown
in the midst of the broad Pacific. “But when dashing against the land, and
forced into deep gulfs and estuaries,” to quote Professor Simon Newcomb,
“the accumulating tide-waters sometimes reach a very great height. On the

eastern coast of North America, which is directly in the path of the great
Atlantic wave, the tide rises on an average from 9 to 12 feet. In the Bay of
Fundy, which opens its bosom to receive the full wave, the tide, which at
the entrance is 18 feet, rushes with great fury into that long and narrow
channel, and swells to the enormous height of 60 feet, and even to 70 feet in
the highest spring tides. In the Bristol Channel, on the coast of England, the
spring tides rise to 40 feet, and swell to 50 in the English Channel at St.
Malo on the coast of France.”
To this cause is also due in some degree those great oceanic currents
which form another striking fact in the history of the sea; but they are
mainly due to temperature, wind, and the rotation of the earth.
The drops that make up a body of water are the most restless things in the
world; they are always sliding down the least slope, sinking out of the way
of lighter substances, rising to let a heavier object pass beneath them, or
moving hither and thither in an ever hopeful search of that levelness and
quiet that we call equilibrium. Furthermore, when water is heated it
becomes lighter. Should, therefore, a portion of the sea grow warmer than
the remainder, it must and will rise to the surface; and whenever a portion
becomes cooled, it must and will sink.
Now, under the continuous blazing sun of the torrid zone the sea-water
near the surface gets fairly warm,—having an average temperature of about
85° along the equator,—while in the polar regions the ocean is always
chilled by permanent or floating ice until it is nearly cold enough to freeze;
but these masses of warm and cold water cannot remain separate in the
universal ocean. The hot tropical flood, continually rising, must flow away
somewhere to find its level; and it can flow nowhere except toward the
poles, for there the ever-sinking volume of chilled and therefore heavier
water sucks it in to take its place, while it, in turn, creeps underneath toward
the equator, there to fill the gap which the escaping warm water leaves
behind. So we know there is constantly going on an interchange of water—
a constant flowing away from the equator northward and southward on the
surface, and a flowing in toward the equator along the bottom; an endless
springing up in the torrid zone and a steady settling down in the polar seas.
One out of many proofs of this fact is that the thalassal abysses below the
depth of a mile or so are known to be ice-cold. This could not happen unless
they were constantly filled and refilled with new water from the great

coolers at the poles; for if the water at those depths should remain
unchanged, it would soon become very warm from the heat of the interior
of the earth, whence it does constantly extract some heat.
But while this invisible vertical circulation is going on, another more
visible and interesting set of movements is in progress on the surface,
forming what are known as ocean currents. These are vast rivers in the
ocean flowing across its face in certain directions and to a certain depth, as
rivers make their way along the land. They begin and are kept going mainly
by a union of the two causes already explained—heat and wind.

A STEAMER BORNE ASHORE BY AN EARTHQUAKE-WAVE.

The heat of the sun at the equator, warming, lightening, and evaporating
the water, constantly tends to draw the colder water from the poles, most
copiously from the South Pole; but the Antarctic water, hastening to the
equator, is soon interrupted by the extremities of Australia, Africa, and
South America, and so split into three great branches. That which passes
into the South Atlantic goes on northward along the western coast of Africa,
part of it becoming so warm under the hot sun there that it will not sink, but
constantly comes more and more to the surface, until it strikes against the
great shoulder of Guinea and is turned sharply westward. Now it is squarely
under the trade-wind and headed the same way; constantly urged forward
by this moderate but endless tugging of the wind upon its waves, the current
can never swerve, but flows along the equator, and for half a dozen degrees
each side of it, straight across the Atlantic. South America, however, stands
in its path, and the wedge-like coast of Brazil, pointed with Cape St. Roque,
splits this great river. Part of it now turns southward and swings back across
toward Africa, making an eddy a couple of thousand miles wide in the
South Atlantic, while another arm runs down the Patagonian coast. But by
far the largest part of the divided current is sent northward, past the coast of
upper Brazil into the Caribbean Sea and Gulf of Mexico, where it is well
heated, and thence poured into the North Atlantic, to become widely
celebrated as the Gulf Stream.
Gathered in full force, the Gulf Stream flows northward close along the
coast of our Southern States at the rate of eighty or ninety miles a day until
Cape Hatteras gives it a swerve away, when it strikes out to sea and pushes
straight across to Spain, where a branch leaves it and runs northward
between Iceland and the British Islands, while the main body turns
southward to mingle again with the equatorial current from Africa and
repeat its journey all over again. It is in the heart of this great circle of
currents in the middle of the Atlantic that navigators find that dreaded
region of heat and calms which they call the Doldrums; and here, too, float
round and round the wide, buoyant meadows of the Sargasso Sea.
Meanwhile another most important cold stream is making its way
through the Atlantic, known as the Arctic current. It comes down out of
Baffin’s Bay, joins a similar flood from the outer coast of Greenland, is
thrown up to the surface by the Banks of Newfoundland (where meeting
warm air, it produces those thick and prolonged fogs so common in that

region), fills the Gulf of St. Lawrence and the bight between Nova Scotia
and Cape Cod with chilly water, and finally dips under the Gulf Stream
amid that commotion of winds and waters that makes the track of the
steamships between New York and Europe the most tempestuous of ocean
highways. It is the mingling of these warm and cold waters there which is
chiefly responsible for the stormy condition of the North Atlantic.
The Pacific has a similar arrangement of circulation north and south of
the equator. The Antarctic waters form a cold stream named the Humboldt
current, which pours up the western side of South America, keeping the
climate down to a far more wintry condition than it is entitled to by latitude,
until it reaches the southern trade-winds, which sweep it westward straight
across the Pacific, where much of it is lost among the archipelagoes of
Oceanica, and the southern part flows onward into the Indian Ocean.
North of the Pacific equator a similar westward current moves steadily
over the great waste of waters past the Sandwich Islands to the coast of
China. From the Philippines and Japan northward, however, there is a far
stronger flow, known to the Japanese as the Black Current (Kuroshiwo),
which skirts the coast of Japan and the Kurile Islands, makes these and
Kamchatka habitable, then turns sharply east along the front of the foggy
Aleutian chain of islands, and broadening and cooling as it turns, swings
down the temperate coast of Alaska and gradually disappears. These two
great currents and their inclosed eddies are far broader and less distinct than
those of the North and South Atlantic, but they follow the same laws.
In a similar but lesser way the Indian Ocean has a strong westerly stream
flowing straight across from Australia to South Africa, which is of immense
help to ships returning from the East around the Cape of Good Hope. From
Mozambique the water turns northward to make the return round, but here it
is complicated by the peculiar conditions made by the inflow and outflow
of the Red Sea, Arabian Gulf, and so on, and by the disturbing influences of
the monsoons, until it can hardly be defined.
Of all these currents none is as well marked as the Gulf Stream. Its blue
water is in such contrast to the darker, greenish hue of the remainder of the
ocean that sailors can often tell when they enter the edge of the current, half
their vessel being in and half out of the stream. If you approach from the
west you find that the water at first shows a warmth of only fifty or sixty

degrees near the surface; but as you sail on, this increases until, opposite
Sandy Hook, you may get as high a reading on the thermometer as eighty
degrees, and opposite Florida above one hundred degrees. This difference in
temperature between the eastern and western margins of the Gulf Stream is
owing to the presence of the great river of Arctic water flowing in an
opposite direction between the Gulf Stream and the shore. Off Florida the
Gulf Stream is about sixty miles wide; off New York it is over one hundred
miles in width, but is less sharply defined. Its depth is hard to determine,
but certainly amounts to several hundred feet. It is worth remembering that,
although some guesses had been made at it before, Dr. Benjamin Franklin
was the first man to study the Gulf Stream and to tell us anything of its
origin and course.
The way in which some of these ocean currents affect the weather of the
lands upon which they border shows how great is the influence of the sea
upon land-climates; indeed, it may be truthfully said that only the
continents and such great islands as Australia or Madagascar have any
climate essentially distinct from that of the ocean in their quarter of the
globe. But the equability that would reign over an ocean of quiet water,
determining the amount of cold and heat by regular gradation in latitude
between the equator and the poles, is completely upset by the great current-
movements I have outlined. Scotland, for example, lies as far north as
Labrador, and the latitude of London is above that of Lake Superior, yet
neither have those terrible frosts and heavy snows which prevail in Canada,
and make Labrador a land of ice almost uninhabitable. This difference is
due almost wholly to the fact that the Gulf Stream pours its warm flood
against the coast of Great Britain, and even tempers the Norwegian coast,
keeps Barentz’s Sea largely free from summer ice, and clothes Spitzbergen
with vegetation, although within ten degrees of the pole. Hence in the
forests of northern Scandinavia Laps can dwell in much comfort on a line
with the frozen barren grounds north of Hudson Bay.

A ROUGH NIGHT IN THE GULF STREAM.

On the other hand, the unfortunate coasts of Greenland are bathed in
water chilled by months of captivity near the pole, and loaded with ice that
cools down all the winds that blow ashore. Greenland itself is covered with
an unbroken sheet of ice, hundreds or thousands of feet thick, yet most of it
is no farther north than Sweden. The whole northeastern coast of America,
down to Labrador, is incrusted with ice; and the region south of the St.
Lawrence has a similar climate to Finland; while even farther south,
Boston, within the protecting arm of Cape Cod, is in winter a city of frost
and snow and fog from November till April, when it really is little farther
north than sunny Naples, where one laughs at winter.
Similarly, in the Pacific Ocean, the northward movement of the great
Japanese current makes the coast of China habitable and pleasant clear to
the Sea of Okhotsk, gives the Aleutian archipelago a pretty decent climate,
and causes the islands and coasts of Alaska and British Columbia to nourish
the most magnificent forests in America, and to have a climate resembling
that of Great Britain. Glasgow and Sitka are, in fact, in the same latitude,

and under very similar climatic conditions, except that in Scotland there are
no such lofty and cold mountains to precipitate constant rains as is the case
along the northwestern margin of America.
Similar examples and contrasts might be drawn in other parts of the
world. The weather in the interior of continents is pretty much alike on
similar latitudes the world round, varying with height; but the climate of all
sea-coasts is good or bad as a place to live, in accordance with the
temperature of the water which the currents bring to that part of the ocean.
But the currents of the ocean influence something besides the weather.
Upon them depends to a considerable extent whether a certain part of the
coast shall have one or another kind of animals dwelling in the salt water.
This is not so much true of fishes as it is of the mollusks or “shell-fish,” the
worms that live in the mud of the tide-flats, the anemones, sea-urchins,
starfish and little clinging people of the wet rocks, and of the jellyfishes,
great and small, that swim about in the open sea.
Nothing would injure most of these “small fry” more than a change in the
water making it a few degrees colder or warmer than they were accustomed
to. Since the constant circulation of the currents keeps the ocean water in all
its parts almost precisely of the same density, and food seems about as
likely to abound in one district as another, naturalists have concluded that it
is temperature which decides the extent of coast or of sea-area where any
one kind of invertebrate animal will be found. It thus happens that the life
of Cuban waters is different from that of our Carolina coast; and that, again,
largely separate from what you will see off New York; while Cape Cod
seems to run out as a partition between the shore life south of it and a very
different set of shells, sand-worms, and so forth, characteristic of the colder
waters to the northward.
Out in the ocean, however, the warm current of the Gulf Stream forms a
genial pathway along which southern swimming animals, like the
wondrously beautiful Portuguese-man-o’-war (Physalia), may wander
northward for hundreds of miles beyond where they are found near shore;
yet if by chance they stray outside the limits of the warm Gulf Stream, they
will at once be chilled to death, as happened once to millions of tile-fish.
Ocean currents carry floating burdens long distances. They bring the
icebergs to form those terrible fogs of Alaska and Newfoundland; and they

often bear far away the logs that float out of tropical rivers.

A YOUNG SHIP-RIGGER.

These drifting logs often have plants growing upon them or contain
quantities of seeds which are not injured by their short voyages. When,
therefore, the coral polyps build up one of their reef-islands until it appears
above the waves, thither the currents bring roots and seeds from
neighboring islands, and quickly plant them upon the new barren shores, so
that in a few seasons the little islet becomes green and wooded and ready to
hold its own against the winds and waves. Moreover, the same drifting stuff
will carry land animals as passengers,—insects, snails of many kinds,
reptiles, and even four-footed beasts,—and so not only give the island a
vegetation, but populate it with various of the smaller animals. This seems

to you, perhaps, a very accidental and haphazard way of fitting out a
country so that presently it may support human beings, nor is it the only
means by which barren islands become productive; but it is important as far
as it goes, and when we study into the distribution of plants and animals in
an archipelago, we are pretty sure to find those of the same sort upon
islands that lie in the same current—even to the human inhabitants.

CHAPTER III

THE BUILDING AND RIGGING OF SHIPS
S late as 1861 an exploring ship was visited by natives of
Western Australia, riding simple rough logs. To smooth and
sharpen the log’s end and then to hollow it out has been thought
to be the first step taken by primitive man in his progress toward
a boat; but I think the dugout probably came later, or at any rate no earlier,
than the folding of bark into a trough and tying up the ends, as some
savages are still content to do. In North America, where materials were
favorable, this germ developed into the very highest type of canoe—the
Algonkin birch-bark. It may have been an attempt to imitate the bark canoe
in a more durable form which led to the laborious hollowing of dugouts; but
here again, in regions where suitable trees grew, the art developed so highly
as to produce the great sea-boats of the Papuans and our Northwest Coast
Indians, carved from a single log, yet able to carry sixty or more persons
and their luggage. Such boats as these, when provided with sails, are
practically “ships,” and satisfy every need of their owners.
Another root of naval architecture lies in the raft, which long ago reached
a high degree of usefulness in the sea-going balsa of western South
America. It is probable that the South Sea catamaran is a clever outgrowth
of experience with a raft. In Polynesia it took the form of two great canoes,
exactly equal, fastened close together and covered by a single central deck;
and such are the seaworthiness and speed of these double boats, that the
Polynesians voyage hundreds of miles in them.
Similar in purpose—namely, to insure stability—are the various
outriggers that at once characterize and distinguish among themselves the
native craft of the South Seas. This device consists of a beam of the lightest
obtainable wood, usually about half as long as the canoe, which rests upon
the water parallel to and a few feet away from the side of the boat, and is
connected with its gunwale by elastic rods or planks. Sometimes these are
covered, or partly covered, by a light platform, and there are many

variations in form; but the idea in all cases is to keep the boat from
overturning.
In many parts of the world logs could be obtained large enough only for a
narrow bottom or hollowed keel, and the remainder of the boat was built up
of planks and pieces ingeniously pegged and knit together with treenails,
ratan, and cords made of vegetable fibers that tightened when wet. The
Madras surf-boats are a familiar example in civilized waters of boats made
in this way which have great elasticity, and out of them have developed,
without much change, the swift proas of the Malays, and the junks of
China, Korea, and Japan. One device for stitching these boats firmly
together was the leaving of ridges on the inner side of the planks or pieces,
through holes in which they could be tied to each other and to the inner
framework without making a hole reaching the outside. This system seems
to have been earlier than the use of treenails.
Of similar construction, apparently,
were the boats of the Egyptians and other
peoples about the eastern end of the
Mediterranean and the Red Sea, which, as
far back as three thousand years before
Christ, at least, had reached the size and
capabilities of true ships, making, as we
shall presently see, extensive sea voyages.
Pictures of them remain in the very
ancient tombs, and show that the planking
PROA, WITH OUTRIGGER. consisted of pieces about three feet
square, which were laid on overlapping,
like shingles on a roof, and fastened to the framework by wooden treenails.
The Phenicians, and their pupils the Greeks and Romans, improved on these
methods in various ways, at last substituting iron, copper, and bronze nails
or bolts (which would not rust) for the wooden pegs of their ancestors.
All of these boats and those of all western Europe (of which the best
outside the Mediterranean were the vikings’ ships) differed in one essential
point of construction from Oriental ships: instead of making the shell of the
vessel, and fitting into it a framework of connected braces, as the Malays
and Polynesians did (and yet do), they laid a keel, bending it up or setting
into it stem- and stern-posts at the ends, and inserted along its sides curving

upright timbers, well styled “ribs,” which swelled out amidships, and
narrowed in forward and aft, making a skeleton of the shape the hull was
intended to be. Finally, over and upon this well-braced framework were
securely fastened the planks, which were narrow and ran lengthwise in
every case except that of the ancient Nile boats. The Scandinavian vikings
developed a craft of their own, one of the most interesting of the ancient
ships; and to these northern craftsmen is traceable the principal influence
that has shaped British (and consequently American) ship-building and
seamanship. This early Scandinavian boat was always made of oak, sharp at
both ends, and rather shallow, the general form being much like that of a
modern whaleboat, with a great rounding keel—if, indeed, this wonderful
sea-craft may not be a lineal descendant of the viking ship. The hewn
planks were attached to the keel and to the ribs (usually single, naturally
bent V-shaped prongs of oak) in a most ingenious and serviceable manner,
and they were always overlapping or clinker (i. e., clencher) built. Several
of these and other prehistoric boats have been found buried in peat-moss
and in mounds in Germany, Denmark, and Scandinavia, and have been
described by various writers.
The motive power of all the early boats was found in human arms,
wielding paddles or oars. It is said that the oldest forms of paddles of which
we have any record among the Egyptian or Assyrian hieroglyphs show them
to have been shaped somewhat like the arm and hand, and that similar
paddles were to be seen a few decades ago on the canals in Holland. This is
natural, because undoubtedly the first paddle ever used was the naked hand.
Short paddles were soon found less powerful than long ones; but in order to
work the latter it was necessary to brace them against something in the
middle. Notches were therefore cut in the edge of the boat, or thole-pins
were inserted, the paddle became an oar, and by and by boatmen learned the
art of feathering, and so forth.
Steering could be done of old, as now, with a turn of the rearmost paddle
in a canoe, and as canoes enlarged, the steering-paddle was lengthened. As
the sterns of the ancient boats were usually either sharp, like the prows, or
else built up into an ornamental height, the most convenient place for the
steering-oar was over the right side, where it was balanced in a loop of
cable, or otherwise, as close to the after end of the boat as practicable, and
then a cross-piece extended inboard from the handle, enabling the

steersman to move it more easily by giving him the benefit of leverage.
Such was the arrangement of steering-gear in all the ancient Mediterranean
boats, and it is to a similar arrangement in the sea-going craft of our
northern ancestors that we owe our words stern and starboard, which
originally meant “steering-place” and “steering-side.” The modern rudder is
substantially the same oar, set upright, tiller and all, and hinged to the stern-
post; in fact, the word has descended from the old Teutonic name for “oar,”
and all gradations between steering-oar and true rudder may still be found.
Though some romantic stories are told by the old mythologists as to its
origin, the idea of rigging was as natural and practical in its development as
that of hull or steering-gear. That a strong breeze moves a canoe, and that, if
a man in a canoe holds his robe outstretched or a thick bush upright, the
force will send him along without the labor of paddling, and lengthwise
rather than sidewise, because that is the direction of least resistance, were
facts quickly and gratefully seized upon by the earliest boatmen. To have a
skin ready for the purpose, and to set up a pole and ropes to hold it in
position, were easy matters; yet in this simple arrangement you have the
first sail.
But skins were too heavy and valuable for such a purpose, except in such
limited circumstances as those of the Arctic Eskimos.
Persons who spent much time on the water, therefore, like the most
ancient Egyptians and the islanders of the Chinese and South seas, soon
devised a way of weaving rushes or splints of bamboo into broad mats, and
thus were able, on account of their lightness, to carry much larger and more
effective sails, which were kept outstretched by one or more cross-poles or
spars, and could be taken down quickly. Many such sails are in use to this
day not only among Asiatic and African boatmen, but on the northwest
coast of Canada. A fine example hangs above my desk as I write.
With the discovery of how to make cloth and cordage of woolen, silken,
hempen, and cotton fibers (and in Egypt of papyrus), came a still better
material for ropes and sails, since cloth was so much lighter that a far
greater extent of it could be spread than before; its flexibility enabled it to
be handled, changed, and rolled up snugly, and its cheapness encouraged its
use and the practice of navigation generally. We read of silken sails on the
royal barges of medieval times, but they could hardly have exceeded in

strength or elegance those of the fine Phenician ships that carried the
commerce of the world twenty-five centuries ago. “Fine linen with
broidered work from Egypt was that which thou spreadest forth to be thy
sail,” exclaims the sacred chronicler (Ezekiel xxvii. 7). Hempen cloth,
indeed, was preferred for sails until the present century, as is expressed in
our word canvas, which is derived from the Latin name of flax; but now
cotton has mainly superseded it.
Anciently the sails were often colored, purple or vermilion being the
badge of a monarch or an admiral. Black denoted mourning. “In some cases
the topsail seems to have been colored, while the sail below was plain; and
frequently a patchwork of colors was produced by using different stuffs.”
Various inscriptions and devices were also woven or painted on the sails,
sometimes in gold. The Venetians and Greeks do the same to this day,
adding a gaudy feature to the lovely Levantine sea-scenery; and the sails of
the North Sea fishermen are turned to a rich red and yellow by the tanning
mixture in which they soak their canvas.

REEFING A TOPSAIL IN A STORM.

As for the shape, all rigs seem reducible to two types—the lateen and the
square. The former is characteristic of the eastern half of the world, the
latter of the western half, including primitive America, where, so far as I
know, only plain, rectangular sails were ever made by the Indians.
There must be some good reason for a broad division like this, and it is
found in the different conditions which eastern and western seamen had to
meet. The lateen seems to have originated in the Indian Ocean, is seen
wherever Arabs are, and has been taken eastward by the Malays as far into

the South Sea Islands as their
influence extended. It is a huge,
triangular canvas extended at a
steep angle by a long, flexible yard
balanced across the mast to which it
is loosely hung, and controlled by a
sheet attached to the free corner. It
is thus very lofty, and therefore
suitable to a region of steady and
usually light winds. This is the
A HONG-KONG “PULL-AWAY” BOAT.
Showing method of hoisting and reefing matting sails. characteristic rig of the Arab dhow
—a model that has come down
from remote antiquity and is capable of excellent service on the northern
and eastern coasts of Africa, where it prevails. It was probably in a small
vessel of this kind that the Apostle Paul suffered shipwreck; and an
outgrowth and perfection of it is the dahabiyeh of the Nile, now become
famous as a tourists’ pleasure-boat, whose immensely lofty sail is precisely
adapted to catch every faint breath that comes across the river from the
deserts. Such sails are spread like the great pointed wings of an albatross
over the narrow decks of the Malayan “flying proas” and other swift South
Sea craft, and urge upon their fleet errands the xebecs, saics, feluccas, and
other light craft of the Levant and Barbary coasts, identified with former
piracy and modern smuggling, as well as with fishing and freighting. Some
of these boats have two or three masts, the xebec and felucca being notable
because of the curious forward rake of the foremast; and in that extremely
picturesque Portuguese fishing-boat called the muleta there are, in addition
to the big lateen, a huge free second sail ballooning out to leeward from the
tip of the yard, and a host of little flying jibs forward, which somebody has
well likened to a flock of birds hovering about the prow. Good examples of
lateen-rigged boats may be seen in Louisiana, built and manned by the
Greek, Maltese, and Sicilian fishermen.
The difficulty of handling in rough or squally weather this long yard and
expansive canvas makes it unsuitable for such weather as prevails in the
western Mediterranean or on the Atlantic; and to meet these stormy and
frequently changing conditions, and obtain a rig with which they could beat
to windward, the earliest rough-water seamen devised square sails. What
the rig of the ancient far-voyaging Phenician ships was we have no means

of knowing, but the indications are that they carried lug sails, which appear
to be the simplest and earliest of the “square” forms; that is, sails suspended
from short cross-yards, and controlled by ropes (sheets) attached to their
lower corners. Such at least were the sails of the Roman and Greek
merchant and war vessels of the classical era, and they persist to-day in the
local fishing-smacks of the stormy Adriatic.
The true home of the square-sailed craft, however, was northern Europe,
where the Norwegian, Dutch, and Norman coasters and fishermen of to-day
probably represent fairly well the rigs of the bold viking boats of twelve or
fifteen centuries ago.
Of the slow development of ship-building during the middle ages we
have little information, but in the fourteenth century we begin to hear of a
revival in the art, as, indeed, was needful when the long voyages were to be
undertaken which the discovery of the mariner’s compass had then rendered
possible. In this revival the Venetians and Genoese took the lead, but the
English were not far behind. There was a large variety of vessels in that day,
rude though they were, and called by names we should hardly recognize.
Though the hulls of these vessels were large and tight, their shape was
poorly adapted for speed or for safety in bad weather. Their decks were
built up into immensely high structures at the stern and bows, after the old
galley model, and to form forts for soldiers. Our word “forecastle” reminds
us of this old usage. Their masts were single sticks,—not divided into
topmasts,—and hence, necessarily, were thick and heavy; and they bore
upon their summits large “top-castles” where marines stood in battle to
shoot down upon the enemy’s decks. This weight above, with the height of
surface exposed to the wind and the clumsy rigging, made it impossible for
them to sail safely except with a fair and gentle wind (they never attempted
it otherwise), and they were required to carry an enormous quantity of
ballast. There was so little room for anything except armament, sleeping-
berths, and a cooking-room in the war-ships that every war fleet had to take
with it small vessels carrying provisions; and the case was little better in
respect to merchant vessels.
The ships in which Vasco da Gama, Columbus, the Cabots, and other
explorers did their marvelous work were no better than this. Strangely
inefficient they seem to us, and we wonder that some of the simplest

contrivances in rigging were not adopted centuries before they came into
use until we remember that it was not for long, speedy voyages that vessels
were intended previous to the sixteenth century (with certain exceptions in
northern seas), but simply as a means of carrying slowly from one coast-
port to another a great number of men or huge cargoes.
However, as the known world widened and trade grew, inventions by
private ship-owners continually improved the rigging, though it would be
hard to find a class of men slower to change old ways for new than the
seamen. Columbus’s “caravel” had four short masts, the forward one having
a square lug-sail and the three after masts lateens. It was very gradually,
indeed, that lateens were given up, and most curious combinations of sails
were to be seen in this transition period of the fifteenth and sixteenth
centuries. The old-fashioned Mediterranean barca, for example, had as
foremast the forward-raking “trinchetto” of the felucca, with a huge lateen,
while the mainmast bore three square sails and the mizzen two lugs; and in
addition to this two banks of oars were provided! In fact, it was not until
1800 that English frigates substituted a spanker for the lateen-rigged
mizzen.
Another curiosity of rigging possessed by these solidly built, beautifully
carved vessels (no such exterior decoration has been seen since as adorned
the ships of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries) was the quaint little
spritsail-topmast. By this time the single heavy pole-mast had been
superseded by the three built-up masts and topmasts, braced by stays, made
accessible by rope ladders (shrouds), and carrying several tiers of topsails
instead of only one. A bowsprit had been added, also, and this became
almost a fourth mast, so loaded were it and its stays with various small
sails. Its outer end bore this miniature spritsail-mast, with topmast, shrouds,
and tiny sails all complete, surmounted by a pole-head, or jack-staff, upon
which was hoisted the flag since known as the jack, and always now carried
at the prow of any national boat or ship, even such as the shapeless
monitors.
But gradually, out of the experience of long voyages, the competition of
merchants, and as an effect of improved gunnery and consequent changes in
naval tactics, the lofty deck-structures, great tops, needless outworks, and
odd sails, like this spritsail, were got rid of, and vessels were trimmed down
and equalized until they became, as now, “ship-shape, Bristol-fashion.”

The rigging of modern sailing-vessels is divided into “standing” and
“running”; the former includes the masts, their stays, now generally made
of wire, and such other rope-work as is not adjustable.
The sails, also, may be assigned to two classes: first, those attached to a
mast, with or without boom and gaff, or to a stay, which are called fore-and-
aft sails because they may be ranged lengthwise of the ship; and, second,
those suspended by their upper and lower edges to or between spars or
“yards” swung across the mast, and known as “square” sails, the lowermost
of which are really lugs. All the variations of shape seen in America, except
the rare and local lateens, can be counted in one or the other of these
classes.
The styles of rig visible in American waters are not many, and are easily
learned. Let us begin with the simplest—that having one mast.

ANCIENT CARAVELS.
Copied from old manuscripts and tapestries.

The cat-boat (i. e., cat-rigged boat) is one having a simple pole-mast
stepped very near the bow, and a fore-and-aft sail laced to a gaff and boom
and managed by a sheet. This is the rig of the ordinary American sail-boat,
which is noted for its ability in pointing up into the wind. In England it is
known as a una-boat. Sometimes the peak of the sail is sustained by a little
loose spar called a “sprit,” instead of a gaff. In the chapter on Yachting will
be found further illustrations of these small rigs.
A sloop has one mast (with topmast) set well back from the stem, and a
bowsprit. The sloop-rig consists of a fore-and-aft mainsail, spread by means
of a boom and gaff, a gaff-topsail, a forestaysail, and one or more jibs. A
cutter is now substantially the same thing, though formerly somewhat
distinguished. Both are derived, probably, from the northern lugger, and
old-time pictures show queer intermediate forms, often having a square
topsail instead of a gaff. Thus the earlier of the Hudson River sloops, which
were not only the freight-carriers but the packet-boats between New York
and Albany from the time the Dutch introduced them until steamboats took
their place, had the top of the mainsail supported, lug-fashion, by a short
yard, and carried above that a square topsail; but this rig was steadily
modified toward the modern type to make it faster and safer in the sudden
squalls that beset this hill-girt river.
Of two-masted rigs, the oldest is the brig, which has square sails on both
masts, just like the main and mizzen masts of a full-rigged ship. Then there
is the brigantine, a slight modification of the brig, and the hermaphrodite
brig, or brig-schooner, with fore-and-aft sails on the after mast. This kind
of vessel has been greatly modified (one of its most extraordinary forms
was the ketch), is less common now than formerly, and took its name,
which is derived from the same source as “brigand,” from the fact that it
was the most common rig of the pirates of the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries. Its place was largely taken for small vessels by a purely American
invention, and one of the greatest of Yankee notions—the schooner. The
schooner was originally small, and had two masts; but now is often built of
great size, with as many as five or six masts, each of which has a fore-and-
aft rig—that is, a sloop’s mainsail and gaff-topsail on every mast, with
forestaysail and several jibs in front, and staysails between. Sometimes a
square sail is placed on the foretopmast, which makes the vessel a topsail
schooner. The first one was built by a Gloucester sea-captain about 1817,

and proved so satisfactory that all the fishing-fleet were soon rigged in that
way, whence the idea has spread to all parts of the world.
Until recently, however, vessels large enough to have three masts were
always “square-rigged,” as barks, barkentines, or ships; for, although we
have come to speak of any big vessel as a “ship,” yet in proper nautical
language a ship is a vessel rigged in a particular way, and it is nothing else.
In fact, in olden times they were sometimes very small—too small to be
economical, as we now know. The “Naval Chronicle” for 1807 contained an
account of a full-rigged ship of only thirty-six tons’ burden, which for one
hundred and thirty years previous to that date had been cruising about the
English coast, and may be doing so yet, for aught I know.

A FIJI ISLAND OUT-RIGGED CANOE, APPROACHING A FULL-RIGGED SHIP HOVE-TO.

Masts have their proper names: the tallest is in the middle of the vessel,
and is called the mainmast; the next tallest stands in front of it, and is the
foremast; and the third is in the stern, and is named mizzenmast, because it
carries the mizzen (sail). All the rigging, except that belonging to the

bowsprit, is repeated for each mast, and each piece is named with reference
to the mast or part of the mast or appropriate sail to which it belongs: as, for
example, main shrouds, fore shrouds, mizzen shrouds, mizzen-royal,
maintopsail yard, foretopmast studdingsail downhaul, and so on. In a proper
full-rigged ship all the sails upon the masts, except the spanker, are square,
and are named from the sections of the mast opposite which they hang.
Counting from the deck to the truck, or tiptop of the mast, they are as
follows: on the mainmast, mainsail or maincourse, maintopsail,
maintopgallant-sail, mainroyal, and skysail; on the foremast, foresail or
forecourse, foretopsail, foretopgallant, foreroyal, and skysail; on the
mizzenmast, cross-jack (and behind it the spanker, mizzen, or driver),
mizzentopsail, mizzentopgallant, mizzen-royal, and skysail. The bowsprit
sails are the forestaysail, foretopmast staysail, jib, flying jib, and outer jib,
or jibstaysail. Each of the stays running diagonally from mast to mast bears
a triangular sail known by the name of the particular stay on which it hangs,
as maintopmast staysail, and so on—nine in all. In addition to all this, a
little sail is sometimes set above the skysail, and another under the
bowsprit, while out beyond the ends of the yards are often extended light
additional spars carrying studdingsails. In favorable weather, when the
captain wishes to “crowd all on,” as sometimes can be done for days and
weeks together before the trades, almost forty sails may be spread, and the
ship moves grandly along under a swaying cloud of canvas that reaches far
beyond her rails on each side, and towers more than one hundred feet into
the steady air.
But the cost of building, maintaining, and handling these grand fabrics is
so great that they are steadily diminishing in numbers, and perhaps are
destined before long to disappear altogether from the seas to which they
have lent so much picturesqueness and romance. The supremacy of the
schooner seems likely to prove complete. Unwilling to concede everything
at once, many vessels are now rigged with square sails on the foremast and
mainmast and fore-and-aft sails on the mizzen (a bark), or square sails on
the foremast only, and the others schooner-rigged (a barkentine); but even
these are disappearing in favor of the three-masted or four-masted schooner.
This is due to the fact that the schooner rig will sail closer to the wind and
gives as much force in proportion as the ship style, while it is far less
expensive to build, and more quickly and easily managed, not requiring
nearly as many men, and therefore being cheaper to run as well as to set up.

It is for these reasons that I have called it one of the greatest of Yankee
notions.

A MULETA, OR PORTUGUESE LATEEN-RIGGED FISHING-BOAT.

CHAPTER IV

EARLY VOYAGES AND EXPLORATIONS

PART I—PREVIOUS TO THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA
HEREVER it may have been that man first appeared upon the
earth, the period must certainly have been incalculably long ago,
for he had time to spread to all parts of the habitable globe long
before any sort of record begins. Little, if any, part of the world
has yet been found where the evidences of man’s residence in the long-
forgotten past do not exist. So long ago that all tradition of it is forgotten,
and only the imperishable stone implements they used remain as traces of
their presence, mankind had reached and settled the farthest northern and
eastern coasts of Europe and Asia, and the southern extremities of Africa
and India. These might have been reached by land; but similar traces exist
in many islands which, so far as we can see, could never have been
connected with each other or with any continent by lands now submerged
(as perhaps has been the case in some other islands) since man originated.
Such places, then, could have been reached and colonized only by means of
boats, and that at an exceedingly remote time.
Some hint of what these prehistoric navigators might have been able to
do may be gathered from the performances that we know of in the South
Sea, where almost every island and coral atoll that could support a colony
has apparently been inhabited, since long before even tradition begins,
although some of them, like the Hawaiian group, are separated from all
others by hundreds of miles of open sea.
It is exceedingly interesting and suggestive to read in a work like
Professor Friedrich Ratzel’s “History of Mankind,” of the dispersion of
population over the islands of the South Pacific Ocean, where a mixed
population of black and yellow races possessed themselves of the whole of
Oceanica long before white men had even heard of that part of the world.
This astounding fact gains in significance when we remember that wide

tracts of very deep ocean divide these islands, many of which are so small
that they were found by exploring navigators only with difficulty. Cook and
Beechey and other early voyagers note finding upon certain islands people
who had come thither in their own boats over distances of six or eight
hundred miles; and there are many instances of castaways surviving
voyages of one thousand or fifteen hundred miles, even against the trade-
winds. But these involuntary voyages were no longer than many others
undertaken for war or trade, or because of famine or a mere love of
wandering. Over-population of the limited spaces of most islands and
groups led to the colonization of others; and it must often have been
necessary to go far away to seek unoccupied or thinly peopled refuges. This
could not have been done had men not been good shipwrights, not only, but
careful students of the heavens by whose sun and moon and stars they
steered, aiding themselves with charts made of sticks. The remotest groups,
like the Sandwich Islands and Easter Island, were found and settled too long
ago even for tradition to retain more than a fabulous story about it. “These
Vikings of the Pacific,” says Ratzel, “continued to discover even small and
remote islets. In the whole of the Pacific there is not one island of any size
of which it was left to Europeans to demonstrate the habitability.” It has
even been argued that the continent of America was peopled by Pacific
Islanders, who made their way to it from Polynesia; but of this there is no
direct evidence, and it seems unlikely, because the prevailing winds and
currents flow from South America, rather than toward it, in this part of the
Pacific.
But leaving these dim old times when barbarous men voyaged far and
wide over seas, and races mingled that were born on opposite sides of wide
waters, let us note what traveling our civilized ancestors did.
The evidences of ruined walls, graves, carvings, and stone tools show
that that earliest of civilized races of which we now have any knowledge—
the Hittites—were acquainted not only with the coasts of the Mediterranean
Sea, but had boldly rounded the headlands of Spain, skirted the stormy Bay
of Biscay, and settled colonies in England and France. Who were these
Hittites? They were an Asiatic people, dwelling in the Taurus Mountains of
the eastern part of Asia Minor, who increased into the most powerful nation
of that part of the world about two thousand years before Christ, and carried
on wars with the Egyptians, among others, until at last they were overcome

by the rise of the empire of Assyria, north of them, about eleven hundred
years before Christ. Doubtless they explored the African coast somewhat
south of the Red Sea, and very likely knew the Persian Gulf and the route to
India. My own opinion is that we are likely to give the people of antiquity
too little credit rather than too much in the direction of a knowledge of
geography.
Meanwhile there was rising along the Mediterranean from Palestine
northward the most able commercial race of antiquity, who styled
themselves Canaanites, as in the Bible, but whom the Greeks called
Phenicians, the name by which we know them best. Their capitals were the
cities Tyre and Sidon, the ruins of which are still to be seen on the Syrian
coast a little way south of Beirut, and the wealth and commercial power of
which will give us some interesting paragraphs for a future chapter. Suffice
it here to say that their rulers were foremost among the loosely organized
“nations” between the Nile and the Euphrates, and that they maintained
their power through a long period, not only by their wealth and enterprise as
traders, but mainly through their skill and energy as navigators. As we shall
see when we come to consider their commerce in Chapter VII, they
excelled in the building of ships, in an understanding of how to steer long
courses by the heavenly bodies, and in sea knowledge generally. It is well
known that the Phenicians traded in their ships down the west coast of
Africa to and beyond the Canary Islands, which they also visited; made
repeated voyages to the French coast and the British Islands; and may very
likely have gone around into the Baltic, for they knew of its amber, though
this might have been obtained by the overland trade routes. It is believed
that they ascertained that Africa was, in fact, a huge island; for it was to
prove this supposition that Pharaoh Necho (or Naku or Neku) II, an
enlightened Egyptian monarch who reigned in the sixth century before
Christ, hired a crew of Phenician seamen to man an expedition whose
purpose it was to circumnavigate Africa. These men started down the Red
Sea in 611 B. C., and in 605 B. C. came sailing home through the Strait of
Gibraltar, to the delight of their friends and confusion of a kingdom full of
I-told-you-sos.1 Just twenty centuries elapsed before any one else repeated
that feat, so far as I know;, and no wonder it was forgotten. This same
Necho II did even more for maritime commerce, for he attempted to
complete the canal, begun long before his time, connecting the
Mediterranean with the Red Sea, and seems to have made a passage along

which barges and small boats might be towed, which remained open for
many centuries, and in part followed the line now covered by the Suez
Canal. Earlier than that Darius, the Persian conqueror of Egypt, had dug a
navigable canal from the Nile to the Red Sea; and this shows that there
must have been large traffic in both seas at that time to justify such tasks.
By this time the power and
prosperity of Tyre and Sidon had
declined, and Carthage, originally a
colonial city, had become the most
important center of Phenician
influence; and from this port there
sailed a century later (perhaps about
500 B. C.) an exploring expedition
under a Carthaginian king named
Hanno, intended to study and
AN EARLY ROMAN BIREME. establish trade with the West
African coast. It was a large and
powerful fleet, said to number sixty galleys; and that women were taken as
well as men shows that it was intended to form settlements at suitable
points, as, indeed, was done. The account of it has been preserved in a short
writing called the “Periplus,” by an ancient but unknown Greek; and this
inscription is regarded by most scholars as entirely authentic, since all its
details conform to modern knowledge, even though it is impossible to
identify surely the various points mentioned. It tells us that the terminus of
Hanno’s exploration was an island beyond a gulf called Noti Cornu, in
which he found a company of hairy women, whom the interpreters called
gorillas. It was in memory of this that the manlike apes which a few years
ago were discovered on the west coast of Africa received the same name;
but they are not known anywhere north of the Kamerun Mountains, while
the farthest point any critic is willing to believe reached by Hanno is the
Bight of Benin, some distance north of the Kameruns. It is easy to believe
that the inquiring Carthaginians might have heard of these apes,—or
perhaps of chimpanzees, now found as far north as the Gambia River,—and
reported actually seeing them, in order to add glory to their name. At any
rate, this expedition increased largely the ancient knowledge of the sea in
that direction; and navigators now knew the shores of the Atlantic from the
Gulf of Guinea to the North Sea; but there the knowledge of the world

seems to have rested for more than a dozen centuries, principally, no doubt,
because there seemed nothing beyond, either north or south, to invite the
merchants who then, as ever since, have been the principal promoters of
discovery. It is only within the past century that voyages of discovery have
been undertaken purely for the sake of the increase of knowledge. Previous
to that the object was always either military conquest or the extension of
trade.
Attention was now turned to the
eastern seas, overland routes to
India and even to China having
become well known both to
conquering armies and to
mercantile caravans. The coasts of
Abyssinia, of Arabia, of the Persian
Gulf, and of western India were
settled by a semi-civilized people
for a thousand, perhaps two
thousand, years before the Christian
era; but they were broken into many
independent tribes; and their ships,
if they had any, only crept from one SHIP OF PTOLEMY PHILOPATOR.
(About 240 B. C. Banks of oars and lug-sails.)
harbor to another near by, and
neither knew nor cared what lay beyond the farther headlands. As time went
on, however, and strong kingdoms arose in Egypt, Arabia, Syria, and Persia,
consolidating these scattered tribes into nations, it became necessary to
learn the sea-routes between more distant ports. Thus it came about that
while the Pharaohs still flourished, Arabic commerce extended regularly
along the coast of Abyssinia, and doubtless as far southward as Zanzibar,
while the Malays had probably already reached and colonized Madagascar.
There seems no reason to doubt that those remarkable ruins in stone which
the late Mr. Thomas Bent has studied at and near Zimbabwe, in
Mashonaland, East Africa, are the work of Arabian gold-miners, made
perhaps a thousand or more years ago; and it is pretty certain that Arabic
seamen even at that date regularly traded as far as the island of Madagascar.
The Persian Gulf has been another nursery of a seafaring people since
long before the record of history begins; yet so slow were they to learn of

anything outside their capes, that it was accounted a wonderful thing when,
in the winter of 325-4 B. C., Nearchus, the admiral of the fleet of Alexander
the Great, voyaged from the mouth of the Indus to the head of the Persian
Gulf. Soon afterward, however, under the house of the Ptolemies, rulers of
Egypt, fleets sailed regularly between Red Sea ports and India and Ceylon.
But now for many long centuries the boundaries of the known world
were not to be much enlarged (although methods of navigation were
improved and commerce continued within the limits of Roman and Arabic
dominion), for we know of the discovery of no new coasts until we begin to
hear of the doings of an independent and far northern people, scarcely
known to the civilized world, and certainly not regarded as a part of it.
On the bleak shores of the North Sea, where the fiords and creek-mouths
of Scandinavia gave shelter not only from foreign enemies, but from each
other, there had grown up a seafaring race of men, of Gothic ancestry, who
had settled on the coasts of what are now Norway, Sweden, and Denmark.
They styled themselves Norsemen, or men of the North, and did not object
to the title Vikings, or Fiord-men; but their enemies called them pirates, and
with much reason, for they ravaged and ruled all the coasts both north and
south of the Baltic, voyaging northward to the “land of the midnight sun,”
colonizing northern France in the tenth century, and taking practical
possession of all they pleased of the British Isles—Ireland and northern
Scotland in particular. Here these Norsemen met equally fierce foes, or
found congenial partners, as the case might be, in the Scottish and Irish
seamen of that day, who were themselves bold freebooters and wide
voyagers; and when, in the middle of the ninth century, the Northmen had
discovered, as they supposed, the Faroe Islands and Iceland, a little
exploration soon showed them that the Irish culdees, or priests of the
Christian church planted in Ireland by St. Patrick, had been there before
them—first in 725, according to the Irish chronicles of Dicuilus, who seems
worthy of credence. Indeed, it is believed by some antiquarians that these
Irish sea-wanderers had colonized Iceland at the same early age; had
reached Newfoundland, and regularly resorted to its banks for fishing and
whaling (five hundred years before Cabot); and were even acquainted with
the coast of the North American continent, where traditions assert that their
colonies were planted on what are now the shores of Virginia and the
Carolinas, which they called New Ireland.

These are entertaining old stories, and may have some truth in them, for
it seems certain that the Irish reached Iceland, at least, in the eighth century.
Icelandic history, however, begins with the visits of Norsemen in 850,
followed by others, who, a few years later, took colonies there and set up an
island population which before a century had elapsed numbered more than
fifty thousand people. They had a republican form of government, and were
quite independent of the King of Norway (Harold the Fair-haired, great-
great-grandfather of William the Conqueror), from whom the earlier
colonists had fled because of his oppression; but they kept up acquaintance
with the mother-country, and merchants and adventurers were continually
voyaging between Iceland and all the islands and coasts of that region,
using stanch vessels sometimes one hundred feet in length, and eminently
seaworthy; yet their only guides were the stars and such signs as seafaring
men read in the water and weather about them.

A WAR EXPEDITION OF THE VIKINGS.
Showing build, steering-oar, and rig (colored lug-sail), of Scandinavian exploring ships in the North Atlantic.

It continually happened, however, that they were driven far out of their
courses, in such a region of gales, currents, and fogs as is the North
Atlantic. In one such adventure, in the year 876, a sea-captain named
Gunnbjörn Ulfkragesson was driven far to the west of Iceland, and when he
got back to port told his friends that he had seen land. Probably he also told
them that so far as he could see there was nothing but icy mountains, of
which they already had enough, for no one seems to have investigated the
matter further until more than a century later, when a turbulent viking of the
rebellious house of Erik, called Erik the Red, was banished from Norway
and fled to Iceland with his followers. He was soon convicted there also of
manslaughter in a neighborhood quarrel, and again condemned to
banishment. Iceland wanted to get rid of him and his brawlers, and Europe
would not let him return. Whither should he go?
Then his thoughts turned toward the strange land in the west that
tradition said Gunnbjörn had sighted. It is believed by the most careful
students that Gunnbjörn’s “rocks” were volcanic islets, which have now
disappeared, and are represented only by certain shoals; but it would not be
incredible that he had caught a glimpse of the Greenland coast itself.
At any rate, Erik had little hesitation in starting out to rediscover them.
Why should he? Those rough-riders of the sea were used to voyages of
equal length. It is about 200 miles from the Norwegian coast at Bergen to
the Shetland Islands; 200 miles from the Shetlands, or 225 from the
Hebrides, to the Faroes; and 275 miles thence to the nearest coast of
Iceland,—reckoning all in straight lines, shorter than any ship could
actually follow.
If his viking boat and viking crew could span those stretches of sea
unguided, what hindered his crossing the little further space whose tempests
had no terrors for this wild sea-king? In that unpossessed land, could he
find it, he might be free to riot at his will (but one cannot help thinking
there was more in the man than that!); and if he could open to his people a
new country, what wealth and power might not come with it to him, for the
humbling of his rivals at the court of Norway.
So Red Erik sailed away to the west in 984, and two years later returned
to Iceland and reported that he had met first a far-extending icy coast, along
whose front he had sailed southward until he could turn to the west and then

northward, thus rounding its narrow southern extremity (Cape Farewell);
and there he had found a habitable region, which he called Greenland, in
order, as he said, to attract settlers by a pleasant name. Thus this wicked old
Norseman was the first of American “real-estate boomers.”
Attracted by his story, a band of adventurers went back with him in 986,
and established a settlement near the site of the present Danish town
Julianshaab, just inside the cape, on an inlet that they named Eriksfiord.
Among these emigrants was one named Herjulf, whose son Bjarne2 was a
merchant captain who owned his own ship, and was then absent in Norway.
Returning to Iceland shortly after Erik’s departure, he concluded at once to
follow his father, and, with a willing crew and still loaded ship, set sail for
the west. But incessant bad weather drove them they knew not whither
during many days. At last the wind fell, the sun shone out, and they saw
land; but its appearance did not agree with the description of Greenland,
and knowing they were too far south, Bjarne turned north, and kept on,
occasionally sighting the coast, until finally he reached Eriksfiord in safety.
No one knows what headlands he looked upon; but if the Icelandic versified
chronicles called sagas may be believed,—and the wisest students of history
put faith in them,—he was the first European to see America of whom we
have definite knowledge.
Several years passed by, however, before any one tried to profit by this
accident and seek the lands that had been seen southward. Then Leif, the
eldest son of old Red Erik, resolved to do so. He had talked with Bjarne and
his men until he knew all the details of their story, and then he bought the
same good old ship, and enlisted a crew of thirty-five men. This happened
in Norway, where Leif then was, and it is said by some that the king aided
and authorized the expedition. At any rate, after a public farewell they
sailed away, and seem to have gone straight across the ocean; but whether
they did this, or sailed by way of Iceland and Greenland, they easily found
the unknown coasts Bjarne had described, and landed in Helluland,
Markland, and Vinland, in the last of which they built huts and spent the
winter of the year 1000.
The identification of these places has caused much discussion. That
“Helluland” was Newfoundland and “Markland” Nova Scotia seems
tolerably certain; but historians are not agreed as to where that winter was

spent in “Vinland,” so called (meaning “Wineland”) because a German
member of the crew gathered grapes there, from which wine could be made.
When, in 1602, Gosnold discovered a fruitful island south of Cape Cod, he
named it Martha’s Vineyard, believing that he had found the place.
When Leif reached Greenland again, the next spring, every one was
vastly interested in his discoveries, and emigrants from Greenland, Iceland,
and even from Europe went out to colonize the new lands; but the attempts,
though spasmodically continued for a long time, seem never to have been
really successful, so that no undisputed trace of the presence of these sea-
wanderers on the mainland of North America is known to exist. That they
knew the coast fairly well from Disco Island (70° N. lat.) southward to
Virginia, is generally believed; but where Leif Erikson spent that first
winter, or where the Vinland settlement of subsequent times was, is thus far
a matter of conjecture. Some students of the sagas place it in New York
harbor, others in Narragansett or Buzzard’s bay, near Boston, or in Nova
Scotia. Formerly the general belief was that Newport, R. I., or the shore
above there, was surely the site; but this was based, first, on the supposed
European inscriptions on a rock in the Somerset River, at Dighton, just
above Fall River, which were in reality only Indian markings; and, second,
upon the “old round tower” at Newport, which few persons now believe
was built prior to the coming of the English colonists with Roger Williams.
The late Professor E. H. Horsford believed that he had found the site of the
principal Norse settlement of the tenth century, called Norumbega, at
Watertown, on the Charles River, a few miles west of Boston; and he made
an argument from old maps, etc., to support his assertion that the ancient
river-walls, etc., there were really the remains of a town; but historians
generally do not attach any importance to Professor Horsford’s theory.
Perhaps we shall never know where this “Vinland” was that Leif
discovered, and where the queenly Gudrid dwelt and her son Schnorr—the
first white child in America—was born; nor is it of much consequence that
we should, for the settlements were few and transitory. That they existed,
however, and that the shores of Canada and New England were
occasionally visited from the tenth to the fourteenth centuries by Norsemen,
cannot be gainsaid. That the Greenlanders did not all migrate to the warmer,
well-timbered, and fruitful region in the south was probably due to the fact

that it was so remote from their kindred, and so open to attack by the native
red men, whom they called skrellings.
Over the long but slow history of these American
settlements of the Northmen we need not linger.
Although Vinland seems to have been abandoned
within a few decades, the Greenland settlements were
maintained. A republican government was organized;
Christianity was introduced, and remains of their stone
churches and Augustinian monasteries have been
identified. By the end of the fifteenth century,
however, these colonies had completely disappeared,
worn out in the hopeless struggle against climate and
the savage Eskimos, but exterminated, at last, perhaps,
A VIKING GALLEY. by the Black Death—for the great plague which
almost depopulated Europe in the fourteenth century
seems to have reached even the desolate shores of Greenland, and to have
consumed the last of these remote people, causing them to be utterly
forgotten.
A more definite account of pre-Columbian North America than that of the
sagas and other traditions of the Vinlanders, and one accepted as true by Mr.
Major of the English Hakluyt Society and other competent geographical
critics, is that of the voyages and reports of the brothers Nicolò and Antonio
Zeno. These men belonged to a family distinguished in Venice; and toward
the close of the fourteenth century they separately or together made many
voyages in the North Atlantic, going far beyond any previous navigators of
which they knew. They wrote letters home containing an account of these,
but little publication was given to them, and they were forgotten until the
revival of interest in geography following the early discoveries of
Columbus. The documents possessed by the Zeno family were then made
the basis of a pamphlet by a grand-nephew reciting what his ancestor had
done, long before the time of Columbus. The most interesting thing in it is
an account of how, about 1390, Nicolò Zeno fitted out a ship at the Faroes,
went over to Greenland and there learned of an island which was called
Estotiland, and which we know as Newfoundland. Not very far away to the
southwest of it, he says, was the country of Drogeo, which fishermen whom
he saw had visited. They claimed to have “discovered” none of these places,

but spoke of them as formerly well known, although then little frequented
by Europeans.
As to Drogeo,—which he speaks of as if it were the mainland,—that was
still occasionally resorted to for fishing; and he relates the adventures of a
white man who had been captured by the mainland savages a few years
previously, and adopted by them on account of his knowledge of how to
fish with a net, and to do other useful things. Such a course would be very
characteristic of the aborigines of eastern North America, as we have since
learned to know; and it is also natural that he should have been fought for
by rival chiefs, as Zeno says happened to this man, who, by capture and
exchange, or of his own motion, traveled about and saw much of the people
of this “country” Drogeo. At any rate, the information given by Zeno tallies
remarkably well with the truth about primitive North America and its
inhabitants. “They have no kind of metal,” reported this wandering refugee,
who finally drifted back to the coast, and was able to make his escape to a
fishing-boat. Now the one really remarkable and distinctive fact about the
North Americans was just this,—that with a considerable advance in other
directions, they had never learned to fuse and forge or otherwise utilize iron
or other metals, save a little metallic copper and silver in the Great Lakes
region. But listen to the rest of his brief report:
They live by hunting, and carry lances of wood sharpened at the point. They have bows,
the strings of which are made of beasts’ skins. They are very fierce, and have deadly fights
amongst each other, and eat one another’s flesh [as was true, to a limited ceremonial
extent, after battles]. They have chieftains and certain laws among themselves, but
differing in the different tribes. The farther you go southwestward, however, the more
refinement you meet with, because the climate is more temperate, and, accordingly, there
[i. e., in Mexico] they have cities and temples dedicated to their idols, in which they
sacrifice men and afterwards eat them. In those parts they have some knowledge of gold
and silver.

Now, whether all this was the observation of a single rude sailor, or, as is
more likely, summarizes what Zeno was able to learn from all sources at his
command regarding the new western mainland and its people, it is correct
and forcible. Had young Nicolò the editor, a century afterward, tried to
invent something of the kind, he would surely have made his invention
marvelous, for that was an age of fable and bombast. On the contrary, this is
a simple and accurate statement of what we now know were the facts. Nor
did he have any means of knowing anything more of the case than his
family archives revealed, since he wrote and published this account of his

uncle’s voyages only a few years after the first return of Columbus, and
before any writer had visited the northern American coasts, or had learned
the habits of the natives. I can but believe, therefore, that the report was
made in good faith, and records simply what the Zeni did and saw and
heard; and that these bold Venetian navigators knew more about North
America, at least, before the end of the fourteenth century than Columbus
had learned by the end of the fifteenth.
I have run ahead of my story, but I wanted to show how little impression
these northern investigations and occupation of a new continent had made
upon the Mediterranean “world,” which seems rarely to have heard of them,
much less to have profited by the information, for more than four hundred
years, in spite of the fact that there was constant communication between
the Normans and British, at least, and the Mediterranean peoples.
Let us now go back to those southern countries and see what they had
been doing toward maritime exploration during these thousand years and
more when the Scandinavians were so busy in the north. It was principally
perfecting the knowledge of the world their fathers knew. From the very
first men had tried to make maps, and succeeded fairly well for small
spaces; but to make a map of the whole world was a task that defied human
knowledge for many centuries. After Aristotle’s time all men of education
understood that the world was a sphere; and about 150 B. C. Hipparchus,
borrowing an idea from the Babylonians, taught the Greeks that the way to
place their towns and mountains and rivers and the outlines of the coast
correctly upon a model of the world, was to determine their position by
observations of the heavenly bodies. Thus the ideas of latitude and
longitude originated. He could not apply his method practically very far,
because there were few or no accurate astronomical observations away
from a few cities in Egypt and Greece; but two hundred and fifty years later
Ptolemy, a learned mathematician of Alexandria, gathered all the facts
obtainable, and made an attempt which bore a rude resemblance to the truth
and served as the best and almost the only account of the world for several
hundred years. Ptolemy flourished about 150 A. D. His book describes Asia
as far east as the Malayan peninsula, Africa south to Zanzibar and the Gulf
of Guinea, and shows a knowledge of Europe as far north as the Shetland
Islands (Ultima Thule) and Denmark; the original work seems to have

contained no maps, but these were added to it about 500 A. D. by another
mathematician named Agathodæmon. It is called the Almagest.
Nothing of value was added to this during the long stagnant period of the
world called the middle ages, when the love of learning declined and men
fell back into the old traditions, even to the extent of being taught by their
priests that it was a sin to believe that the world was round. In those times
the Arabs of Bagdad nourished knowledge more than any one else, but even
they did little for geography. Finally the people of Europe began to wake up
and look at things for themselves, instead of tamely accepting whatever the
Pope of Rome or somebody else told them, and going and coming as he
directed, regardless of whether it was for their interest to do so or not. One
of the first and one of the most important influences of this revival in a
desire for learning and the means for larger activity among men was the
sudden extension of navigation; and this could not have come about, nor
amounted to much, had the mariner’s compass not been invented.

“Off, thou Norseland Terror, clouding
Hellas with the jealous wraith
Which, the gods of old enshrouding,
Froze their hearts, the poet saith!”

Nothing is more obscure than the history of this instrument. The Chinese
have certainly known, from a remote antiquity, that a magnetized needle,
permitted to move freely, would turn north and south; but they seem to have
profited as little by it as by so many other useful things that, long afterward,
in the hands of the more energetic men of the West, contributed so largely
to the progress of civilization. They were accustomed to poise a sliver of
magnetized steel upon a bit of cork and set it afloat in a bowl of water. One
end was marked, but this, with characteristic Chinese perversity, was the
one pointing toward the south, not toward the north, as with us. This rude
and simple arrangement is still in use among the Koreans—or was until
recently. With such a contrivance and little, it any, knowledge of the
variation of the needle, the Chinese of a thousand years ago made longer
voyages than they have done in more modern times, trading not only with
India, but sailing regularly as early at least as the ninth century to the Red
Sea and the Persian Gulf.
There is no direct evidence, but it seems incontestable, that it was from
these eastern mariners that the Arabs received the compass, and gradually
brought it into use in their home waters, where it became well known to the
crusaders and other sea-going travelers of the middle ages. Little reliance
could be placed upon it, however, until the sixteenth century, when the need
for something trustworthy for long voyages made men turn their attention to
the study and betterment of it.
Toward the end of the fourteenth century, as I have said, Europe was
beginning to recover from the terrible visitations of the plague, and to wake
from its lethargy and to look abroad; and various influences were at work to
promote exploration by sea and land—and what a grand field for study
there was!
At this time nearly all the commerce of Europe, mainly in Italian hands,
was with India and China. The overland route was long, perilous, and
expensive, and that across the Arabian Gulf hardly less so. At best, such
traffic was slow and limited, and the first need of the reviving world was
the discovery of some straighter and quicker road to the East. In this quest
Portugal came forward under the brilliant leadership of Dom Henrique
(Prince Henry), styled “the Navigator,” who was the younger son of King
João (or John) I, and half an Englishman, since his mother was Philippa of
Lancaster. It was Prince Henry’s ambition to extend geographical discovery

and improve seamanship, and he enlisted the help of the best navigators
obtainable, regardless of nationality. In order to observe the heavens to
better advantage, and also to study the tides and other nautical phenomena,
he established an observatory on the bleak headland of Cape Sagres, where
he willingly spent a large portion of his time for the sake of science.
Navigation was sorely in need of such help. Except that they had rude
compasses, of whose laws of variation, etc., they were ignorant, the seamen
of that day were little, if any, better equipped than were those who sailed
the “ships of Tarshish” a thousand years before that. Astronomers had
supplied them with rough tables of the declination of the sun, pole-star, etc.,
by which, with the help of a cross-staff,—a simple instrument for
ascertaining angles,—they might make a guess at the latitude. Longitude
was found only by observations of eclipses of the moon, and noting the
difference between the time when it was due at home, according to the
almanac, and the local time of its actual coming; but at sea the
“observations” were little better than guessing.
Chart-making was an important branch of study at Sagres. So few and
rare were sea-maps then that one was never seen in England until 1489. To
the collection of information in this direction, and the improvement of
nautical methods, Prince Henry and his aids applied themselves most
diligently; but he died before much had been accomplished. Nautical
studies went on, however, under the next king, John II, for whom Martin of
Bohemia, the foremost astronomer of his time, devised a form of the
astrolabe for use on shipboard, increasing accuracy in finding latitude.
It was with no better instruments than these (and sand-glasses in place of
chronometers) as guides over chartless and unsounded seas that the way
was found to India and to America, and the globe was circumnavigated; and
that the same thing might be done again is shown by the fact that only last
year (1897) a vessel, which had barely escaped destruction in a storm and
lost all her instruments in the mid-Pacific, was brought safely into San
Francisco by observation of the stars and “dead-reckoning” alone.
But Prince Henry (for I have run ahead of my story again) was not
content to study and teach on land alone. He was fired with the ardor of
discovery and conquest likely to augment Portugal’s wealth and influence
in the East. Expedition after expedition was sent southward, and in 1435
Henry’s ships finally passed Cape Bojador. Great was the wonder and

rejoicing thereat, for it had always been taught by the monks that this cape
was the end of the earth; but it was not until 1462 that the Cape Verd Islands
and Sierra Leone were reached. Prince Henry had been dead since 1460, but
the influence of his wise and untiring enthusiasm and work lived on, and
inspired the king and people of Portugal to renewed efforts at solving that
riddle of Africa that perhaps the Egyptian sphinx was meant to typify. By
1469 trade had been opened with the Gold Coast, and a few years later the
mouth of the Congo was found.
These advances showed that there was nothing unnatural or fearful in the
southern latitudes, as sailors had been taught to believe from time
immemorial,—a superstitious dread which the old chart-makers long
sustained by their habit of filling the empty sea-spaces on their maps with
fearsome and wondrous monsters,—and therefore, in 1486, King John II
sent Bartholomew Dias in two sail-boats—pinnaces of fifty tons each—
with orders to go as far as he could; and this bold captain, passing the last
known headland of the Guinea coast, sailed on and on, tracing the West
African coast, and landing here and there to examine the swampy shores, to
get fresh water, and to hoist the castellated banner of Portugal in token of
possession before the wondering eyes of naked negroes. At length he was
blown and buffeted for days and days in heavy storms, and at their close
found himself far to the eastward of his former longitude, whereupon he
fought his way on and sighted land which he rightly determined must be the
southern extremity of Africa. This was in 1487. Returning to Lisbon toward
Christmas of that year, he reported his experiences, and dwelling especially
upon the rough time he had had in the south, proposed to style the point of
the continent Cape of all the Storms; but King John, foreseeing great things
to follow for his country, said, “No; we will call it the Cape of Good Hope”;
and so it remains to this day—but all the storms remain about it, too!

PORTION OF A FIFTEENTH CENTURY SEA-CHART, BY TOSCANELLI.
Copied by permission of Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., from Justin Winsor’s “Narrative and Critical History of America.”

Now for some years previous to this time the monarchs of western
Europe were much exercised over rumors of the existence somewhere in the
Orient of an all-powerful and generally marvelous potentate styled (by
them) Prester John, and reputed to be a conqueror of Asiatic, or perhaps
African, infidels who later had become cut off from Christendom. The
whole affair was a myth, probably arising from an indistinct knowledge of
Abyssinia, whose negus afterward borrowed the title; but before this was
realized popes and various “Catholic majesties” had sent embassies in
search of Prester John’s court, some of which incidentally gained valuable
information. Among the latter was Pedro Covilho, an emissary of Portugal,
who, having failed to find Prester John in western India or Persia, made his
way back to Egypt and Abyssinia, whence he sent home in 1486 or 1487 a
report of progress that told John II some surprising news of the
advancement of the Arabs of that part of the world in the sciences, and
especially in those belonging to geography and navigation.
Covilho’s messenger was a Portuguese Jew, Rabbi Joseph of Lamego,
who carried voluminous letters, one of which showed that Arabic mariners
were then familiar with the whole length of the east coast of Africa,
including Madagascar, and were perfectly well aware where it terminated at
the south, and that there was no obstacle to passing around to the western

side of the continent; and just at this interesting juncture Dias came sailing
back in his pinnace to say that it was all true, for he had seen it.
Thus the sea-road was open to India and Cathay, and Portugal was eager
to take advantage of it. She was then one of the leading powers of Europe,
and the foremost one in colonial and commercial enterprise, striving to
wrest from Genoa and Venice the supremacy in trade that they had so long
enjoyed. Nevertheless almost ten years elapsed before the next expedition
was sent southward to confirm Portugal’s possessions, and establish
commerce with the Orient. John II had died, and Emmanuel the Fortunate
reigned in his stead—a reign that has been called the heroic period of the
nation’s history; and it must not be forgotten that “Little Portugal” was then
so mighty that a year or so previously (May 4, 1493) the Pope (Alexander
VI) had issued a bull in which he had divided, with intended equality, all
undiscovered parts of the earth between Spain and Portugal, the former
being given everything to the west, while to Portugal were reserved all
future rights east of a certain north-and-south line.
The line of separation designated was the meridian of no variation of the
compass-needle. The existence of such a line had been discovered by the
same Christopher Columbus who was to thrill the world a few years later;
but he did not know, what only experience developed, that this meridian
was changeable, swinging many degrees east and then returning west in the
course of two or three centuries. At that time the line seemed fixed some
three hundred miles west of the Azores, and philosophers accounted for it
later by a theory that it lay in the middle of the Atlantic because there it was
subject to an equality of attraction toward both continents which held it
steady. This was not true, but it was better than the less learned but more
popular explanation of the magnetism of the compass—namely, that it was
“an effluvium from the root of the tail of the Little Bear.” A year later,
however (June 7, 1494), the treaty of Tordesillas, between Spain and
Portugal, declared that the line of demarcation should be the meridian 370
leagues west of the Cape Verd Islands, or as nearly as possible in the center
of the Atlantic. The supposition that there might be valuable lands within,
that is, east of, that limit, inspired several of Portugal’s subsequent
searchers.

DRAWN BY HENRY B. SNELL.
“THE SEA-ROAD TO INDIA AND CATHAY.”

In 1497 King Emmanuel’s expedition was ready to sail—the largest and
best equipped, probably, that had ever been sent out by any government,
and its commander was Vasco da Gama, a young naval officer of renown.
His fleet consisted of four vessels,—small caravels, of course, one of which
was commanded by Dias,—and left the Tagus, after ceremonious farewells,
in July. Da Gama stopped at various places, but reached and safely rounded
the stormy cape in November. He had with him the information (and some
say an Arabic map) sent home by Covilho, but his business was not to
verify this, but to reach India and establish new Portuguese possessions.
Why, then, did he not strike straight across from Cape Agulhas, as East
Indiamen have done ever since? For the good reason that he had no guide,
no means of finding his way across the southern ocean, where all the stars
were strange; for sun observations for latitude were then unknown to
European navigators, and rarely used on land. Instead of this, he was
obliged to turn northward and skirt the coast for a thousand miles, stopping
here and there, until he had passed far enough north of the equator to bring
above the horizon the familiar home stars, for which he had “tables.”

At last, from the Arab port of Melindi, near Mombasa, he turned east and
sailed straight away to India, where he anchored before Calicut, then the
most important port of southern India, on May 20. Returning the next year
with ships richly laden, he was received with public rejoicings and given
high honors; and he greatly astonished his friends of the navy by telling
them that the Arabs used the compass, sea-charts, quadrants, and “had
divers maritime mysteries not short of the Portugals.”
Da Gama lived many years, and sailed often to India and China after that;
but chiefly on political expeditions, in which he disgraced his otherwise
great name by inexcusable rapine and cruelty.
Meanwhile some exploration had been done toward the far north, as we
shall see in the next chapter; and so the fifteenth century ended, with
Europe understood as far as Nova Zembla, Africa circumnavigated, and the
coasts of India, Malaya, southern China, and the larger Malayan islands
fairly familiar to geographers. This is much, and yet it leaves unmentioned
the greatest fact of all—the work of that grand, sad character, Christopher
Columbus, upon whose grave near Seville has been written:
HE GAVE A NEW WORLD TO SPAIN.

ENGRAVED BY E. H. DEL’ORME.
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN.
“There, beyond the Cape of Storms,
Where the breaker’s voice of thunder
Roars when ships are rent asunder,
Through a fog of ghostly forms

“Men catch glimpses of the sail,
Ages old, and rent and hoary,
Of that quaint old ship of story,
And cry, ‘Vanderdecken, hail!’”

THE ROCK IN THE SEA.

CHAPTER IV
(Continued)

EARLY VOYAGES AND EXPLORATIONS

PART II—FROM COLUMBUS TO COOK
HY to Spain? It is an “oft-told tale,” and the merest reminder is
all that is needed here. Columbus was a young seafaring man,
born at Genoa about 1434, and ambitious to become a master of
his profession, and especially to acquire great wealth. He
traveled to Venice, Barcelona, and other cities where learning was to be
gained, and became thoroughly acquainted with all the astronomical and
geographical science of the time, and especially proficient in the art of
cartography. Attracted by the naval activity in Portugal under that
indefatigable Prince Henry, Columbus went to Lisbon about 1454, and
endeavored to find a leading place in the sea-work that country was doing.
But Portugal’s eyes were so blinded by the glamour of Africa and the East
Indies that she had no time to follow the gaze of this young and ardent
Genoese captain whose eyes were turned steadily toward the west, where,
more and more insistently, he urged that a sea-track, straight as a line of
latitude marked on a globe, lay open to the Indies and the coasts of Cathay.
To prove this true would be not only a glorious exploit for any man, but an
achievement of untold advantage to the nation under whose flag he sailed.
Just how this conviction arose in the mind of Columbus we do not know.
It was probably first a purely scientific conclusion from the facts of
astronomy and geography that he had learned, encouraged by romantic
traditions of western “Isles of the Blest.” A few scientific men agreed with
him, but the great influence of the Church of Rome condemned such
notions as opposed to the Bible and revealed religion; and the mass of the
people, ignorant and superstitious, looked upon them as foolish, and
laughed at Columbus as a dreamer or worse. Between his danger of arrest
and death as a heretic on the one hand, and imprisonment as a lunatic on the
other, the man of science in those days had a hard time. Columbus therefore
sought far and wide for evidence to support his theories and render them
acceptable. How much he learned—what, in the way of facts, he actually

knew—it is hard to say. Having
fallen in love with a Portuguese
lady of good family, he married
and apparently settled in
Portugal as his home, but
continued his voyaging. He
knew the Mediterranean from
end to end. He made several
voyages to the Guinea coast,
and dwelt for a time at El Mina,
then newly founded, satisfying
himself of the foolishness of the
common assertion that men
could not live “under the
equinoctial”—that is, near the
equator. He went north to and
beyond Iceland, and acquainted
himself with those waters, and
thus convinced himself that the
ocean was everywhere
navigable, and subject to
uniform laws of tides, weather,
etc. His mind was cleared more
and more of the mists of fable
and superstition, and all he
learned brought into clearer
view the truth of science as a
PORTRAIT-STATUE OF COLUMBUS IN MADRID.
guide. He devoted more and
more attention to improving the means of finding the true position of a
vessel at sea, and of keeping a true course by the compass, which he
continually studied; and it was he who first discovered that some leagues
west of the Azores lay the meridian of no variation—a meridian that has
now moved eastward until it lies near London. Everywhere he interrogated
explorers, discussed navigation with experienced captains, and sought the
aid of new maps, improved instruments, and advancing knowledge; and yet
mixed with all seem to have been a childlike vanity, credulity, and
superstition, hard to reconcile with his courage and acumen.

How much actual evidence he had of the existence of lands below the
Atlantic horizon unknown to his countrymen can never probably be
satisfactorily answered. The latest critical biographer of Columbus, the
great Spanish liberal statesman Emilio Castelar, considers that he was led to
his discoveries by little, if anything, outside of pure reasoning upon the
rotundity of the earth and other scientific data, and dismisses as fables or
things unknown to Columbus all the Scandinavian discoveries of Greenland
and the rest, and other stories of men who, it is said, had already seen the
transatlantic world he sought. We are told that he learned of woods and
canes like none that grew in Africa, of strange carvings, and even of the
dead bodies of men, resembling those of the far East, being cast upon the
shores of Africa and the islands near it, especially the Azores. It seems
impossible that when he was in Iceland and the other northern regions, a
man of his inquiring mind should not have learned something of Greenland
and the continental shores beyond, especially when one remembers that for
centuries previous Catholic missionaries had been reporting progress to
Rome from that distant but real field of labor. It is quite likely that some
knowledge of these facts, which must have been known to the professors of
the universities of Pavia and Barcelona, where Columbus studied, and to
other intelligent men of Italy and Spain with whom he came in contact, had
caused Columbus to go to the north, for we know of no other errand.
Perhaps he had heard of the Zeni.
Especially to be noted is the allegation
that Columbus possessed information as
to the experience of a Frenchman named
Jean Cousin,—a Dieppe sea-captain, who,
it is asserted, discovered South America
and the Amazon River in 1488. This claim
has been lately reviewed (“Fortnightly
Review,” January, 1894) by Captain
Gambier of the British navy, and he
decides that it is good; and that it was
because Cousin’s first mate was one of the Pinçons that that firm was
willing to assist Columbus, as a good investment.
Whatever he knew or did not know, and whatever may have been the
difficulties in his way, Columbus spent many weary years in fruitless efforts

to interest some government in his schemes. How finally he won Spain to
his support, secured the aid of the Pinçons, merchant princes of Palos, and
sailed from that port on August 3, 1492,—and it was Friday!—are details
that need not be repeated. Equally well remembered are the story of his
daring onward voyage, and of the glorious outcome when, on October 12,
land was seen,—a new world found.
Expedition after expedition followed one another from Spain to the
newly found possessions, some conducted by the earlier companions of
Columbus, and all filled with adventurers who cared for nothing but
plunder. One of these, led by an officer named Ojeda, reached the coast of
Guiana in 1499, and coasted along the north shore of South America as far,
probably, as Maracaibo. This was the first of the Spanish expeditions
actually to set foot upon the mainland; and it would not have been
mentioned out of its place (since Cabot, as we shall presently see, had
landed on the continent nearly two years before) but for the fact that one of
its members was that Amerigo Vespucci whose fortune it was to have his
name attached to the continent.
Amerigo Vespucci (or Vespusze, as Columbus spells it) was a Florentine
engaged in the shipping business who was attracted to Spain by the
maritime activity there, and became interested in equipping the second
flotilla of Columbus and in other similar enterprises for the government.
The wealth and influence thus gained and his general abilities led him to
join that expedition of Ojeda in 1499, and during the next four years he
made three other voyages to Brazil, in which the bay of Rio Janeiro was
entered (New Year’s day, 1501), and an exploration southward extended
probably as far as South Georgia (Islands). Upon his return from this last
voyage, in 1505, he publicly asserted that he had visited, in 1497, the coast
of what is now the southern United States. It has lately been shown by
Spanish records, however, that at that date he was busy in the government
dockyards in Spain; therefore his assertion was false. It served, however, to
deceive a forgetful public, and to procure for its author the coveted glory of
being the first “discoverer” of the “New World,” as he first called it (though
there is no evidence that he understood it to be a continent), and hence the
one entitled to give it his name.
This bold claim achieved its purpose. The oldest known map of the
whole world, dated A. D. 1500, said to have been drawn by the great artist

Leonardo da Vinci, from data furnished by Juan de la Cosa, and hence
known to historians as the “De la Cosa Mappimundi” (it is preserved in
Madrid), bears the name “America” across the new countries for the first
known time; but Juan de la Cosa was with Ojeda and Vespucci on the
expedition of 1499, and doubtless Vespucci managed the naming. In 1507,
only a year after the death of Columbus, there appeared in France the
“Cosmographie Introductio” of Waldseemüller (also called Hylacomylus),
which was regarded as the most complete and authentic geography of its
time; and here the name of America was boldly written across “a fourth part
of the world, since Amerigo found it.” The name (a Latin derivative) was
novel, easy to pronounce, no one knew or cared as to the right of it, and so
it stood.

THE “SANTA MARIA”—THE FLAGSHIP OF COLUMBUS’ FLEET.

A few lines more as to the Spanish and Portuguese navigators in these
waters, and then we shall have done with them for the present. In 1499 one
of the Pinçons sailed from Spain straight to the Amazon, as has been
mentioned, avoiding the West Indies, as if he knew precisely whither he
was bound, and reached there in January of 1500. A few months later a
large Portuguese expedition under Pedro Cabral, starting for India around
the cape, was blown so far to the west that it ran against Brazil. Everybody
was hitting upon untrodden shores in those inspiring days, and Cabral
promptly took possession for his king. As this shore was outside (east of)
the hemisphere assigned by the Pope to the Spanish, the Portuguese kept it
for 389 years, in spite of Pinçon’s priority. In 1508 Ojeda obtained the
government of the northern coast of South America, and Nicuesa of the
region north of the Gulf of Darien; and with the arrival of these adventurers
in New Spain began that era of rapine and horror which will forever
disgrace the Spanish name. The rapacious governors and their wild crews
quarreled and fought with each other as well as with the downtrodden
natives, and exploration was carried on by piracy. A learned man, Martin
Enciso, went out to take command in 1510, but he was deposed by his
soldiers the next year and sent back to Europe, where he made the first book
printed in Spanish (1519) describing America. His place was taken by
Vasco Nuñez Balboa, who entered upon a career of exploration and
peaceful conquest, generally conciliating the Indians, who told him of
another sea not far to the west, and on September 25, 1513, guided him to
the summit of a hill near Panama, whence he, first of Europeans, gazed
upon the Pacific. Who can imagine the emotions of such a sight!—for it
told the Spaniards that this land was not the eastern margin of Asia, but a
new continent. Balboa made his way through the forests as rapidly as he
could, and on the 29th, wading into the surf, banner in hand, took
possession of the waters in the name of the King of Castile.
Balboa at once began preparations to utilize his discovery, for the Indians
had also excited him and his men by tales of a country to the south
abounding in gold. He cut and shaped timbers for small ships, and had with
enormous trouble and labor transported these across the isthmus, intending
there to build a fleet and sail southward, when he was superseded in
command by a new governor, Pedrarias. This man, a jealous and brutal
adventurer, on a false pretext of disloyalty arrested and beheaded Balboa
before he could get away—an act that “was one of the greatest calamities

that could have happened to South America at that time; for ... a humane
and judicious man would have been the conqueror of Peru, instead of the
cruel and ignorant Pizarro.” The frightful destruction of the country of the
Incas soon followed, while Cortés overran Mexico and De Soto invaded
Florida.
It has doubtless by this time been in the mind of more than one reader to
ask whether, while the men of the Mediterranean region were making these
notable searchings for new shores, the men of northern Europe were
standing idle. What were the mariners of France and the Netherlands,
Scandinavia and Great Britain, doing? Well, all were doing something, and
some of them produced results of novel seafaring that were well worth the
getting, but these were principally in far northern waters, as we shall read in
the next chapter. It was not until the opening of the sixteenth century that in
England, at least, that era of far voyaging began which signalized the
Elizabethan age on the sea as much as the poets and dramatists and
statesmen-writers of her court distinguished it on land.

A PEACEFUL DAY ON THE SPANISH MAIN.

It was, however, earlier than that—in the reign of Henry VII—that
England’s story of discovery begins, and the first names are those of two
Italians known in English as John and Sebastian Cabot, father and son, who
were then residents of Bristol. The Bristol folk were at that time the
foremost mariners of England, who often went to Iceland and all the nearer
isles; and they firmly believed in certain traditional islands and coasts far
away to the west, which seem to have been composed of no better material
than the airy structures of the sunset clouds and the romantic tales of
Phenician sailors and other travelers in the dawn of history. As long ago as
when Strabo wrote, a century before the birth of Christ, these things were of
old belief, and he recounts the delights then told of the “Isles of the Blest,”
west of the farthest verge of Africa. When the Canary Islands became
known as facts, the myth moved farther west; and when acquaintance with
the Azores proved them to be only natural earth with a fair share of its ills,
as well as of its good, people insisted that still other islands must lie farther
away, where the Elysian Fields basked in perpetual summer and men were
eternally happy. The old idea charms us even yet when we sing “Sweet
fields beyond the swelling flood stand dressed in living green.”

VOYAGING TO THE ISLES OF THE BLEST.

But no such higher rendering occurred to the men of the earlier time.
They believed firmly in the actual existence of these ever-fortunate islands
under the sunset horizon of the Atlantic, and (in the north) called them the
Isles of St. Brandon, the “green isle of Brazil” (the root of which word
seems to express the idea of redness, such as appears in low sunset clouds),
the Isle of the Seven Cities or Antillia, and by other names. Ferdinand
Columbus, a son of Christopher, says in his “History” that his father fully
expected to meet, “before he came to India, a very convenient island or
continent from which he might pursue with more advantage his main
design.” This does not prove that Columbus put any faith in the reality of
these old notions, nor does he seem to be responsible for the fact that the
name Antilles was immediately attached to the archipelago he actually did
meet with, and The Brazils to a part of the mainland next found. These
names had been appearing on conjectural maps of the Atlantic side of the
earth for many years before his time; and that they represented realities to
many hard-headed merchants and sailors of his time is shown conclusively
by the fact that between 1480 and 1487 at least two carefully planned naval
expeditions had gone from Bristol, England, in search of them. How much
vague memories of early Norse and Irish findings in the west may have

given weight in Bristol to these old myths is hard to say; but at any rate it
was there the search for this pot of gold at the end of the rainbow bore
unexpected and momentous results, but all were surprised at the distance
involved.
About 1496 John Cabot, then a resident of Bristol, proposed to the king
an expedition in search of a new route to the Indies by sailing due west
from Ireland. Henry VII was excited by the news of Columbus’ southerly
findings, and was eager to secure something of the kind for England.
Nevertheless, although the king granted privileges that might prove
profitable in case of success, he seems to have furnished no money. Cabot,
therefore, sailed away, privately equipped, in a small caravel named
Matthew, carrying only eighteen persons.
Never was a voyage of discovery, the consequences of which were so far-
reaching, entered upon with less pomp or flourish of trumpets. So little note
of it was made at the time that the very name of John Cabot narrowly
escaped being lost altogether, and the record of his work came very near
being replaced by a confused account of the doings of his son Sebastian; for
it was not until certain letters had been found—and that within a very few
years—in the contemporary archives of Spain and other European
countries, that we were able to give any sure account of the matter.
It is now plain that John Cabot, in the Matthew, leaving Bristol early in
May, 1497, and having passed Ireland, shaped his course toward the north,
then turned to the west and proceeded for many days until he came to land,
where he disembarked on June 24, and planted an English flag.
There seems to be no doubt that this was the mainland of North America,
and the general opinion has prevailed that his landfall was the extremity of
Cape Breton. Cabot stayed some days, but how far he traced the coast, and
whether he learned of Newfoundland or Prince Edward Island, are matters
of conjecture. At any rate, he soon turned homeward, and arrived in Bristol
probably on August 6.
We can imagine with what eagerness his story was listened to, as he told
of the fair, temperate, well-wooded land, its people and animals and
fruitfulness, that he had seen. But the thing that impressed the Bristol men
most was the report of the enormous abundance of codfish there. This was
something these canny men could see without any illusions, and possess

themselves of regardless of papal bulls; and they at once abandoned their
northern fishing-grounds and began to resort to the Banks of
Newfoundland, whither they were quickly followed by large annual fleets
of Norman, Breton, Spanish, and Portuguese fishermen. John Cabot
intended to go again the next year and make his way onward to Japan, as he
believed he could do, for, like the others, he thought what he had found was
only a remote eastern part of Asia; and in 1498 he actually did sail
westward from Bristol with five ships, victualed for a year. None of these
ships ever returned, and no evidence exists that they ever reached their goal;
and with them John Cabot, to whom England owed her early supremacy in
North America, disappears from view.
Sebastian Cabot was a son of John Cabot, and a skilful map-maker.
Whether he went with his father on the first voyage is disputed; there seems
no direct evidence that he did so. That he did not go on the second voyage
is plain, for he had a long subsequent career, of which accurate knowledge
is a late acquisition; here it is only necessary to add that by his statements to
Peter Martyr and others he allowed the erroneous impression to pass into
history, if he did not directly authorize the lie, that it was he, and not his
father, who discovered America and the fishing-grounds.
Now that the way across the Atlantic was learned, chivalrous sailors
hurried to add what they could to the map. Corte-Real, a Portuguese of
rank, struck northwest, and hit upon and named Labrador as early as 1500.
The next voyage of prominence introduces the French as competitors,
Francis I sending the Florentine Verrazano, a typical sea-rover of the period,
who had already been to Brazil and the East Indies and was finally hanged
as a pirate, to find out what he could about northern America. He steered
west from the Madeira Islands in January, 1524, found land near Cape Fear
(North Carolina), and claimed to have traced the coast as far north as Nova
Scotia, besides entering a large bay (either New York or Narragansett). His
whole story, however, rests on certain letters and maps the authenticity of
which has been hotly disputed; and at any rate little, if anything, came of
this voyage.
It was far different with the next one, however,—that one sent from
France in 1534, under the command of Jacques Cartier, who sailed from St.
Malo in two tiny vessels to Newfoundland, and learned of the mouth of the
St. Lawrence River. Then, like all the other captains, none of whom could

stay over winter in America, because their vessels were too small to store
provisions, and because they were beset by fears, not only of visible
savages, but of invisible hobgoblins, he returned to France. The next year
found him back again, however, this time steering his vessels up the St.
Lawrence to “Hochelaga” (Montreal), and later carrying home an account
that led to so immediate a movement on the part of France that Canada was
the scene of the earliest colonization of the New World, properly speaking,
for the Spanish settlements in the south were thus far nothing but military
stations. France, indeed, dreamed of obtaining the whole of North America
for herself, and attempted soon after to colonize Florida and the Carolinas;
but these attempts failed, and she was able to hold only the valley of the St.
Lawrence and the shore of its gulf. These things happened later, however,
and for many years the Atlantic coast of North America was left unclaimed
by any one, while the English and Dutch were busy in the far north, the
Spanish were rioting in the tropics, and the Portuguese turned their attention
to the southern and eastern quarters of the globe. It is one of the most
striking curiosities of the history of the development of civilization on the
globe, following the stagnation of the middle ages and the desolation of the
plague-ridden thirteenth century, that the most remote, unprofitable,
unhealthy regions were so fiercely struggled for, while the best parts of the
New World were left until the last.
Having found Brazil, both Spaniards and Portuguese proceeded to trace
the continent southward, hoping to find a practicable way to Peru around it.
Several experienced navigators worked southward, the best known of
whom is Juan Diaz de Solis, who entered the La Plata River and was killed
there by the Indians in 1516. Columbus had not been a moment too soon to
be first. Nevertheless it was left to a stranger in those waters, the
indomitable Magellan (Fernão de Magalhães), to reap the reward of
success. The Pope and all the bishops still declared that the earth was flat;
but so little was this now believed, even by themselves, that Magellan, who
had just quitted the service of Portugal, dared to propose to “his most
Catholic majesty” the King of Spain to sail west instead of east to the
Moluccas, just as though the earth were globular and might be
circumnavigated; and the king not only dared to listen, but approved of the
proposition, which seemed entirely practicable if South America could be
passed. That was the problem Magellan set himself to solve. Should he
succeed, could the Moluccas be reached by sailing westward, then they

would fall into that half of the earth given by the Pope to Spain, and
Portugal’s present claim to them would be overthrown. Thus the experiment
was well worth making in behalf of politics as well as knowledge, and
Magellan was furnished with five ships, carrying two hundred and thirty-
seven men. The Trinidad was the admiral’s ship; but the San Vittoria was
destined for immortality.
He struck boldly for the Southwest, not crossing the trough of the Atlantic as Columbus
had done, but passing down the length of it, his aim being to find some cleft or passage in
the American continent through which he might sail into the Great South Sea. For seventy
days he was becalmed under the line. He then lost sight of the North Star, but courageously
held on toward the “pole antarktike.” He nearly foundered in a storm, “which did not abate
till the three fires called St. Helen, St. Nicholas, and St. Clare appeared playing in the
rigging of the ships. In a new land, to which he gave the name Patagoni, he found giants of
“good corporature”.... His perseverance and resolution were at last rewarded by the
discovery of the Strait named by him San Vittoria, in affectionate honor of his ship; but
which, with a worthy sentiment, other sailors soon changed to the Straits of Magellan. On
November 25, 1520, after a year and a quarter of struggling, he issued forth from its
western portals, and entered the Great South Sea, shedding tears of joy, as Pigafetta, an
eye-witness, relates, when he recognized its infinite expanse.... Admiring its illimitable but
placid surface, and exulting in the meditation of its secret perils soon to be tried, he
courteously imposed upon it the name it is forever to bear—the Pacific Ocean....
And now the great sailor, having burst through the barrier of the American continent,
steered for the northwest, attempting to regain the equator. For three months and twenty
days he sailed on the Pacific, and never saw inhabited land. He was compelled by famine
to strip off the pieces of skin and leather wherewith his rigging was here and there bound,
to soak them in the sea, and then soften them with warm water, so as to make a wretched
food; to eat the sweepings of the ship and other loathsome matter; to drink water that had
become putrid by keeping; and yet he resolutely held on his course, though his men were
dying daily. As is quaintly observed, “their gums grew over their teeth, and so they could
not eat.” [This was scurvy, the dread of all mariners in those times and long afterward.] He
estimated that he sailed over this unfathomable sea not less than 12,000 miles.
In the whole history of human undertakings [declares Dr. John W. Draper, from whose
striking sketch of this achievement in his “Intellectual Development of Europe” I am
quoting]—in the whole history of human undertakings there is nothing that exceeds, if,
indeed, there is anything that equals, this voyage of Magellan’s. That of Columbus
dwindles away in comparison. It is a display of superhuman courage, superhuman
perseverance—a display of resolution not to be diverted from its purpose by any motive or
any suffering....
This unparalleled resolution met its reward at last. Magellan reached a group of islands
north of the equator—the Ladrones. In a few days more he became aware that his labors
had been successful. He met with adventurers from Sumatra. But, though he had thus
grandly accomplished his object, it was not given to him to complete the circumnavigation
of the globe. At an island called Zebu, or Mutan, he was killed, either, as has been
variously related, in a mutiny of his men, or, as they declared, in a conflict with the
savages, or insidiously by poison.... Hardly was he gone when his crew learned that they

were actually in the vicinity of the Moluccas [having previously wandered too far north,
and discovered the Philippines], and that the object of their voyage was accomplished....
And now they prepared to bring the news of their success back to Spain. Magellan’s
lieutenant, Sebastian d’Elanco, directed his course for the Cape of Good Hope, again
encountering the most fearful hardships. Out of his slender crew he lost 21 men. He
doubled the Cape at last; and on September 7, 1522, in the port of St. Lucar, near Seville,
under his orders, the good ship Vittoria came safely to an anchor. She had accomplished
the greatest achievement in the history of the human race. She had circumnavigated the
earth.

The immediate result of this voyage was to impress Spain’s sovereignty
upon the East Indies; but a vaster and more far-reaching consequence was
the influence it exerted, by its proof that the world was really a globe, to
free men’s minds from blind belief in and guidance by a tradition, which
had taught that the earth was a flat plain surrounded by water,—an error
sanctioned by St. Augustine and other influential teachers. Magellan
impressed a name upon the greatest of the oceans, and has his own name
gloriously emblazoned upon both the map of the earth and the map of the
sky in the southern hemisphere; but his greatest title to honor, after all, is
that he struck dogma the hardest blow it ever received.

SEA-SURF AT SANTO DOMINGO.

The sixteenth century seems to have been, outside of the Arctic regions,
an era of surveying rather than of exploration by sea, yet some notable work
was done in the East, where all nations now entered as competitors in the
trade, seizing upon every island or mainland shore that they could, and
holding their possessions as long as possible. Even the English entered
heartily into this rivalry, the great East India Company having been founded
in 1599. With its trading we have nothing to do, but must note that it
extended knowledge of Oceanica considerably, and added greatly to
Europe’s information as to India, the Malayan peninsula and larger islands,
China, and Japan. The Spanish and Portuguese found themselves so busy in
defending that to which they already laid claim that they had little time to
search for new lands; and this sort of enterprise fell mainly to the Dutch,
who, now that the Netherlands were at last free from the long and cruel

tyranny of Spain, were energetically making up for lost time. Their captain,
Van Noort, went out by way of the Straits of Magellan to the Philippines,
and got back to Rotterdam between 1598 and 1601. Another fleet made the
same voyage fifteen years later; and in 1616 Cape Horn was rounded by
Willem Cornelis Schouten, who gave the name of his home village, Hoorn,
to that desolate terminus of South America.
For many years geographers had held belief in a vast “southern
continent,”—Terra Australis,—and most of the islands found in the South
Pacific were accidental results of some attempt to reach it. New Guinea had
been sighted a century before, and perhaps Australia also, of which several
navigators got glimpses here and there early in the sixteenth century,
satisfying them that it also was a great island. It was not until this century
was half gone, however, that the map of that quarter of the “South Sea” was
filled out with any accuracy; and this was due to the skill and labor of an
eminent Dutch voyager, Abel Janszen Tasman, who was despatched
southward with two ships by the colonial government at Batavia, where the
Dutch had already gained political ascendancy.
“This voyage,” we are told, “proved to be the most important to
geography that had been undertaken since the first circumnavigation of the
globe.” Tasman sailed from Batavia in the yacht Heemskirk, on the 14th of
August, 1642, and from Mauritius on the 8th of October. On November 24
high land was sighted in 42° 30´ S., which was named Van Diemen’s Land
(now Tasmania), and, after landing there, sail was again made, and New
Zealand (at first called Staatenland) was discovered on the 13th of
December. Tasman communicated with the natives and anchored in what he
called Murderers’ Bay, because several men were massacred there by the
natives. Thence he took an irregular course east and north, until he arrived
at the Friendly Isles of Cook. In April, 1643, he was off the north coast of
New Guinea, having meanwhile sailed around New Britain and New
Ireland (now New Mecklenburg), and on June 15 he returned to Batavia.
The contribution to sea-knowledge of the remaining voyages in this
century were mainly in the direction of a better understanding of winds,
currents, ice movements, tides, and an improvement in the methods of
building, rigging, and navigating vessels intended for long voyages. Map-
making received a great impetus and was especially cultivated by the
Dutch, among whom Mercator became famous by inventing the useful

projection that bears his name and is still most commonly used.
Nevertheless, the improvement, especially in instruments of navigation, was
slow. The astrolabe generally gave place to the cross-staff; and this to a
better device called the back-staff, of which an improved form, invented by
John Davis, remained long in use. This was called the Davis quadrant; and
with it “the observer stood with his back to the sun, and, looking through
the sights, brought the shadow of a pin into coincidence with the horizon.”
Many variations of this instrument were made, until, in the middle of the
next century, it was superseded by the sextant. Thus before the close of the
seventeenth century, astronomers and navigators had learned how to
determine latitude fairly accurately, and the sailor had prepared for him a
variety of tables of stars, almanacs, and other mathematical guides. The
determination of longitude was yet difficult, however, owing largely to the
imperfection of timepieces; and it was not until the last year of the century,
signalized by the first recorded sea-voyage made purely for scientific
purposes, that much advance was made. This voyage, lasting two years
(1699-1700), was undertaken by the eminent English astronomer Edmund
Halley for the express purpose of obtaining information necessary to the
improvement of the compass and methods of ascertaining the position of a
ship at sea, was productive of results of the greatest service, and placed the
science of navigation upon a sure footing. It was followed early in the next
century by the establishment in England of the Longitude Board, a
scientific commission charged with the duty of determining longitudes and
studying navigation. From this board came the “Nautical Almanac,” which
first appeared in 1767, but similar almanacs are now published annually by
the governments of almost all maritime powers, and the editorship is
esteemed in the United States one of the most honored positions in the
naval service. These books contain ephemerides, or tables of positions for
each day of that year of all the heavenly bodies, “predictions of
astronomical phenomena, and the angular distances of the moon from the
sun, planets, and fixed stars,” all referred to some stated meridian.
With such an almanac, an improved compass, and one of Newton’s new
sextants as a means of quick and accurate observation of sun and moon and
stars, the navigator had little need to doubt as to where he was; and maps
began to show a corresponding improvement in accuracy.

“BUCCANEERS AND MANY WILD SEA-ROVERS.”

The early part of this century, as we shall see later, was the era of the
buccaneers and of many wild sea-rovers whose far-wandering barks, in
search of adventure, picked up much information at the expense of human
lives and hard-earned property. The foremost of these was Dampier, who
seems to have gone almost everywhere a ship could go, and who found out
many new things, which he had the power of telling well, as to Australasia;
and the strait between New Guinea and New Britain, which he discovered,
is named after him. Many a commander was now cruising in those waters,

however, under English and Dutch flags mainly, finding new lands and
pillaging old ones—such as Roggewein, Anson, Byron, Wallis, Carteret,
Bougainville, and others; and such important islands as Easter, Tahiti,
Charlotte, and Gloucester groups, Pitcairn, and others, were found during
the first half of this century. But now the English were to redeem their good
name by sending out a government expedition, or series of expeditions,
whose object was scientific discovery and the humane study of the men and
resources on the other side of the world, instead of forced trade or bloody
rapine. These were the three expeditions commanded by Captain James
Cook, one of the most capable officers in the British navy.
The first voyage was made in 1767 for the purpose of carrying a party of
astronomers and naturalists to Tahiti to observe there a transit of Venus,
after which a survey was made of the then almost unknown coasts of New
Zealand and Eastern Australia. The second voyage was to explore the
Antarctic regions, whither the French had preceded him, as we shall see in
the next chapter; and we need only say here that Cook finally disposed of
the tradition of a vast terra australis—at any rate a habitable one. It is to his
third voyage, then, that he principally owes his fame.
This was undertaken in pursuance of the ruling idea of his day, that a sea-
route might be discovered north of the American continent, which would
vastly shorten the trip from Europe to China and the Spice Islands. Others
were seeking it directly by way of Baffin’s Bay, and Cook was sent to
attack the problem from the Pacific side. He was given command of his old
ship Resolution and a new one, Discovery, outfitted in the best possible
manner, and especially guarded, in the matter of provisions, against scurvy
—that dread of the old-fashioned seamen, in respect to which Cook himself
had introduced such new and valuable preventives as would alone have
entitled his name to grateful remembrance. He was commanded to revisit,
on his way out, the South Pacific Islands; and departed from England in
June, 1776, steering by way of the Cape of Good Hope, and reaching the
archipelagoes in the spring of 1777, where he cruised for nearly a year. In
January, 1778, he sailed north from the Friendly Islands, and a few days
later hit upon a large, inhabited, unknown group of islands, whose principal
one was called Hawaii by the people, but which he named Sandwich
Islands, in honor of an English earl who had taken great interest in his
plans. Here he spent some delightful days, and then bore away to the west

coast of America, which the English still claimed under Drake’s name of
New Albion, and which he struck near Puget Sound. Thence he went slowly
along the coast northward until he found and penetrated the deep bay since
called Cook’s Inlet. His hope that this might prove a sort of northern Straits
of Magellan was quickly disappointed, and he went on into and through
Bering Sea and Strait until he was stopped by the ice on the north shore of
Alaska, at a point still called Icy Cape. Then he turned back, surveying both
shores of the strait, and again made his way to the Sandwich Islands, where,
in an unfortunate quarrel with the natives, he was killed. The Hawaiians
have always said that this was the act of a ruffian among them, and that the
chiefs and the best of the people never wished nor intended any harm to
their visitors; and this is probably true. His executive officer took the ships
back to England in October, 1780.
The voyages of this able and intelligent commander bore fruit in many
ways. One was the colonization of Australia, Tasmania, and New Zealand
by the English, which began in 1788. Another was the voyage of Vancouver
to the west coast of America in 1792, which intercepted the surveys of the
Spaniards there, under Quadra and others, and enforced English possession
of all the country between the Californian settlements of the Spaniards and
the Russian posts in Alaska, though he curiously failed to find either Puget
Sound or the Columbia River. A third direct result, and from some points of
view the most important one, was the opening of a great number of the
South Sea Islands to Christian missionaries.
By this time there had arisen in the New World which these voyagers had
first stumbled upon, and then searched for, and afterward scrutinized so
carefully, a new, composite nation, which somehow forgot that all their
broad and fertile land had been given away centuries before by an old
gentleman in Rome to his friends the Spaniards, and acted as though they
thought it belonged to themselves; and by and by this thriving nation
hoisted a starry flag of its own, and proclaimed itself the United States of
America. Then, not to be behind European powers, whose navigators were
enriching libraries with magnificent chronicles of scientific studies in sea-
science, such as those of the French “Voyage of the Astrolabe,” the Russian
narratives of Krusenstern and Kotzebue, and the English explorations of
Beechey (who was accompanied by Charles Darwin), the United States sent
to the Pacific a well-equipped expedition under Lieutenant (afterward

Admiral) Charles Wilkes. This was gone from 1838 to 1845, surveyed the
west coast of South America, wandered about Oceanica, and did its best to
penetrate the icy limits of the Antarctic zone. The results were six
magnificent folio volumes, containing not only the narrative of the cruise,
but contributions to science by James D. Dana, Horatio Hale, John Cassin,
and other men of the last generation great in American science.

CHAPTER V

SECRETS WON FROM THE FROZEN NORTH
S soon as the sea-routes between Europe and the far East were
learned, and the American coasts had been mapped, the region
within the Arctic circle became the most attractive field for
nautical discovery. All this earlier Arctic exploration, however,
was not, as it has lately become, a system of scientific research, but was
simply a series of attempts to open new roads for commerce to follow. It
occurred to every navigator that as a sea-way had been gained past the
southern end of America, so one around its northern border might be
disclosed; and perhaps, also, a ship-route along the northern coast of
Siberia. Either of these would be far shorter than to go to “Cathay” around
either Cape Horn or Cape of Good Hope, and would enable the English and
other northerners to avoid their enemies, the Spanish and Portuguese, who
commanded the southern waters.
The first Arctic voyage of exploration, properly speaking, was that of
Willoughby and Chancellor, who in 1553 penetrated the seas north of
Scandinavia, where they became separated. Willoughby and his men tried
to winter on the coast of Russian Lapland, but all died of scurvy.
Chancellor, however, pushed on into the White Sea, reached a monastery
on the coast, and thence made his way to Moscow, where he was well
received, and thus opened a trade route of incalculable advantage to both
England and Russia. It led at once to the organization of the Muscovy
Company, and began a commerce now regularly carried on in steam vessels
to Archangel, which in 1897 was connected with Moscow by railroad.
By 1580 several other commanders had tried to improve on this
performance, but none got past the Kara Sea, and the next important effort
was headed toward that “Northwest Passage,” which for more than three
centuries was the lodestone of Arctic students and voyagers. It was in
charge of Martin Frobisher, later one of England’s most conspicuous
admirals, who afterward made a larger expedition in which he learned many

facts about the Labrador coast and Hudson Strait. Another English seaman,
and a more scientific one, John Davis, made three remarkable voyages,
between 1585 and 1589, and increased the map by a careful delineation of
both coasts of the strait still called after him.
Shortly afterward Dutch merchants had sent three expeditions northward
under command of William Barentz to search for a northeast passage, the
third and most important of which sailed in 1596 and found it impossible to
penetrate the ice east of Nova Zembla (which had been seen first by
Burrough in 1556, who had been shown the way by Russian fishermen), but
discovered Bear Island and Spitzbergen. The crew of Barentz’s vessel spent
the winter of 1596-97 at Ice Haven, Nova Zembla—the first successfully to
face a winter in the Arctic zone. When the next spring came they made their
way to Lapland and homeward in boats, but Barentz died on the road. This
voyage was highly important in opening to the Netherlands the whale and
seal fisheries of that region which has ever since been known as Barentz’s
Sea, but it discouraged the hopes of a “northeast passage.” In 1871
Barentz’s winter quarters at Ice Haven were found undisturbed, after a lapse
of 274 years, and in 1875 part of the journal kept by this brave mariner was
recovered. Almost every year about this time saw English, Dutch, and
Danish ships going north, each adding some new fact to geography and the
knowledge of polar waters and ice. One of them, in 1607, was commanded
by Henry Hudson, who searched the North Atlantic, found Jan Mayen, and
pointed the way to the Spitzbergen whale fisheries; yet he had hardly more
than a sail-boat, and a crew of only eleven men.
The following year this intrepid man tried to go to China north of Asia,
but failed as Barentz had done, and returned “void of hope of a northeast
passage.” Nevertheless, he tried it again a year later in the service of
Amsterdam merchants, but his men were obstreperous, and, yielding to his
own inclination as well as to theirs, he turned west to find that “Northwest
Passage” in which everybody then believed because they hoped, and
because of the difficulty of getting so great a fact as the real North
American continent proved to be accepted by the popular imagination,
which was used to small things in geography. Very willingly, then,
Hudson’s little ship, the Half Moon, was turned toward the southwest; and it
found something better than it sought, for the Hudson River and the site of
the future metropolis of the New World were added to the map.

Hudson’s success in this voyage led to his immediate engagement by a
company of English merchants and speculators, who were willing to risk
additional money in searching for a northwest passage if he would lead.
In 1610, therefore, Hudson took command of a new ship, the Discoverie,
and sailing in her to Baffin’s Bay, found the great opening of Hudson Strait,
and with high hope that his goal was now in view followed it westward into
Hudson Bay. Here he coasted south to what we term James Bay, and, after a
comfortable winter, resumed his examination of the west coast, whereupon
the majority of his men mutinied, set Hudson and several sick men adrift in
a rowboat, and turned back. Most of the mutineers died, but the vessel was
finally taken back to London, where the murderers were promptly
questioned and nearly as promptly hanged.
The story of another remarkable voyage closes the story of this early
attempt at the problem which, two hundred and fifty years afterward, was to
be solved only by proof of its uselessness. In 1616 another Discovery—a
caravel of only fifty-five tons—went north from England in charge of
William Baffin. “On the 30th of May he had reached Davis’ farthest point,
Sanderson’s Hope, in 72° 41´ N., ... and reached, 1st July, an open sea, the
‘North Water’ of the whalers of to-day. Passing Capes York, Atholl and
Parry, he yet pushed northward, and on 5th July attained his farthest point
within sight of Cape Alexander.
His latitude, about 77° 45´ N., remained unequaled in that sea for two
hundred and thirty-six years.” Arctic success depends on good luck.

FANTASTIC ICEBERGS IN HUDSON STRAIT.

The next century (1700 to 1800) was a period of active polar research in
the Old World. The Russians completed their knowledge of their Arctic
coasts, Popoff reaching East Cape in 1711, and bringing back an account
not only of various islands, but also of a continental shore eastward. It was
this report that caused Peter the Great to set on foot a costly scheme of
research upon the northeastern coasts of Siberia, which was placed in the
hands of Vitus Bering, a Dane, in his navy, but accomplished nothing of any
value; and it was not until 1740 that Bering finally crossed over in a
blundering sort of way and made a brief examination of the coast of Alaska,
where his ship was finally wrecked, and he died of discouragement and
chagrin. He saw neither the sea nor the strait that bears his name, was not
the first to reach the American continent, and never learned whether or not
it was connected with Siberia. Nevertheless his voyage had fruitful results,

for it led to vast fisheries and fur-gatherings, and the writings of his
naturalist, Steller, had and still have great scientific importance.

A WALRUS BREEDING-GROUND, BERING STRAIT.

By this time the whaling and allied marine industries, and the work of
such excellent explorers as the Dutchman Martens, had made mariners
thoroughly acquainted with the North Atlantic from Nova Zembla to
Greenland, and a vast advance had been effected in the knowledge of
navigation amid the ice, and in the building and equipment of ships and the
proper methods of provisioning and clothing and treating crews in order to
maintain health and comfort as well as mere safety. These well-fitted and
daringly managed whalers had at the beginning of the nineteenth century
begun to penetrate far into the waters west of Greenland, in spite of a very
curious fact, which would make anybody but a British whaleman pause—
namely, that there were no such waters. So their best maps and treatises
said!
Two hundred years had now passed since Baffin’s return from his
wonderful voyage of 1616, and during all that time not a white man’s keel
had plowed the chilling solitudes he had left, except lately these
venturesome whalers, who did not frequent libraries. Consequently Baffin’s
work had first been forgotten and then disbelieved; so that at last first-class
maps were published which omitted Baffin’s Bay altogether, and books
were written, such as Barrows’ “Arctic Voyages” (London, 1818), that

denied the authenticity of his narrative. As the nineteenth century opened,
however, England began to turn her attention to the renewal of polar
studies. The Hudson’s Bay Company’s men were reaching the coast of their
Territories here and there; but otherwise the whole Arctic Ocean north of
British America was unknown.
To relieve herself of the shame of this Great Britain soon sent into that
field a rapid succession of explorers, many of whom soon became famous.
The very first of these, John Ross, despatched in 1818, confirmed fully the
geography laid down by Baffin as far as Cape York, in spite of the learned
book-makers, and reported a great number and variety of interesting facts;
whereupon a much larger expedition was at once arranged and placed in
command of a naval officer named William Edward Parry, who went out in
1819 with orders to find the northwest passage, and who had in his staff
such men as Sabine, Liddon, James Ross, Reid, Crozier, and similar
material, all stimulated not only by naval and scientific pride, but by the
offer by Parliament of a reward of $100,000 to him who should first
discover the desired thoroughfare.
This first voyage was a grand success. Forcing his way into Lancaster
Sound in midsummer, Parry found that Ross’s report that it was a
landlocked bay was erroneous. As Greely tells it:
The mirage-mountains of the previous year had vanished, and as Parry crowded sail
westward, he opened a series of magnificent waterways hitherto unknown. The way lay
through an archipelago (Parry), with North Devon, Cornwallis, Bathurst and Melville
islands to the north, and Cockburn, Prince of Wales, and Banks islands to the south.
Lancaster Sound, broken at its western end by Prince Regent Inlet, gave way to Barrow
Strait, which broadened into Melville Sound, while yet farther to the west the encroaching
land formed Banks Strait wherethrough these channels open into polar ocean.

If you will look at the map you will see that this list comprehends pretty
nearly everything south of Smith Sound. Many details of course were
lacking, and these Parry was sent a second time to work out, but he added
really little to geography by two seasons of hard work; and a third voyage,
begun in May, 1824, was still more unfortunate. These voyages, however,
enabled Parry, who was one of the greatest of all Arctic students and
navigators, to state that the western sides of all northerly and southerly
bodies of water are always more encumbered with ice than the eastern
sides; and to make many most valuable improvements in ice navigation and
equipment. His illustrated narratives remain among the most readable books

of Arctic experience, and little has been added to their accounts of eastern
Eskimo life and customs.
Meanwhile (1819) another navy officer, who was ardent in the scientific
branches of his profession, as well as distinguished in seamanship and naval
warfare, and who had acquired Arctic experience under Buchan in the ill-
starred expedition of 1818, was sent overland to coöperate with others in
defining the mainland coast of America. This was Lieutenant John Franklin
—a name destined to become the most famous of all among the explorers of
the frozen North. For several years he and his parties lived and traveled
among the Eskimos, tracing the coast-line from a considerable distance east
of the mouth of the Coppermine River westward almost to Point Barrow,
Alaska, where they came within one hundred and forty-six miles of meeting
Beechey’s coöperative examination by sea from Bering’s Strait; and it was
out of these trips that we got the valuable treatises upon the natural history
of British America, published by his assistants, Hearne and Richardson.
This ended in 1826.
The next prominent expedition was that of Captain John Ross and his
nephew James, afterward celebrated in Antarctic exploration; and it turned
out an exceedingly productive one. Meeting fortunate conditions in
Lancaster Sound he easily reached where the Fury had gone ashore, and
refilled his ship with a portion of the stores Parry had thoughtfully landed
and made safe there—a provision which later kept this expedition from
destruction. Then he pressed on beyond where Parry had gone, and added
largely to the details of his map, but curiously failed to recognize Bellot
Strait as a thoroughfare, and so unaccountably missed the thing he was in
search of. Ross discovered Boothia Felix; and during the three winters spent
on its eastern shore, the younger Ross, by sledging, discovered Franklin
Passage, Victoria Strait, and King William’s Land, and largely explored
their coasts; but his most important work, “giving imperishable renown to
his name,” as Greely declares, was the determination of the position of the
north magnetic pole on the west coast of Boothia Felix.
“The experiences, duration, and results of this voyage,” writes General A.
W. Greely, “are among the most extraordinary on record. The party passed
five years in the Arctic regions without fatality, save three (two from non-
Arctic causes), discovered a new land, the northern extremity of the
continent of America, and made other extensive geographical discoveries.

Its observations are probably the most valuable single set ever made within
the Arctic circle.”

ESKIMOS IN SUMMER TENTS.

During the third winter (1833) a rescuing party under Captain C. Back
had gone from England overland in search of Ross; and recruited by
Hudson’s Bay Company men of experience had descended Fish (or Back’s)
River to its mouth, thus noting a new point on the map; but it failed to reach
Ross. By similar overland journeys from their trading-posts on Great Slave
Lake and elsewhere, the Hudson’s Bay Company’s men, especially
Simpson, Dease, and Rae, connected various points of the coast, so that
before 1850 it was known with substantial accuracy from Melville
Peninsula to Bering Strait. In much the same way Russian sledge-travelers
had traced the northern Asiatic coast by descending to the mouths of rivers;
but no ship had yet succeeded in passing Gape Chelyuskin, the
northernmost point of Asia or any continental land.
Then came a period of the keenest rivalry and richest results in the
history of polar conquest, but also one of the greatest catastrophes. The
expeditions of Lieutenant John Franklin in 1818 and 1819 were spoken of a
moment ago. His services then and subsequently had been recognized by
the British king, who, among other honors, had made Franklin a knight, and
sent him to be governor of Van Diemen’s Land (Tasmania), where he
remained from 1836 to 1843, founded a prosperous colony, and was

regarded as one of the wisest, kindest, and most upright men of his day.
Upon his return to England Franklin was made commander of the most
important expedition that had ever yet been fitted out to search for the
Northwest Passage, and his reputation brought the best men as volunteers to
his standard. Having selected 134 officers and men, and made the best
equipment possible, Captain Sir John Franklin sailed on May 19, 1845, in
the Erebus and Terror, Parry’s old ships. On the 26th of July they were seen
proceeding prosperously up Baffin’s Bay by a whaler, who reported them in
due course, but neither ships or crews were heard of again for many years.
Anxiety over the long silence at length aroused the people of England
and the United States to begin a search for them which lasted through many
years. It was fruitless as to its first object,—the rescue of Franklin or any
survivors,—but it gradually cleared up the sad mystery, and it was the
means of learning all, and more than all, that Franklin sought to ascertain.
The search began by the despatch, early in 1848, of Sir James Ross in
two ships, Investigator and Enterprise, which wintered near the northeast
point of North Devon, and returned the following year with no tidings,
although they afforded the second officer, Lieutenant F. R. M’Clintock, an
opportunity to acquire a knowledge of sledging, which he afterward used to
advantage. This failure only aroused England to renewed efforts.
Many ships were started out at once, and also parties overland, of which
mention will be made later. The Herald and Plover, during 1848 and 1849,
scanned the whole coast from Bering Sea to the mouth of the Mackenzie,
and discovered Herald Island. Following them, in March, 1850, went the
Enterprise, under Collinson, and the Investigator, under M’Clure, via
Bering Strait, while the Assistance and Resolute, with two steam tenders,
under Captain Austin, went to renew the search by Barrow Strait, and two
brigs, the Lady Franklin and Sophia, under a whaling captain named Penny,
followed them. The eastern expeditions discovered Franklin’s winter
quarters of 1845-46 at Beechey Island, but no record of any kind indicating
the direction taken by his ships. Admirable arrangements were made for
passing the winter, and their combined sailing and sledging work added
much to the map of that district, and to our knowledge of life in polar
latitudes, but it learned nothing whatever of Franklin’s fate.

A FLOATING ICE-CASTLE OF THE FROZEN NORTH.
“Out from the dark, mysterious North,
With all its glamour, every night
Tingling with unforgotten dreams,
And every day flood-full of light.”

Meanwhile the expedition via Bering Sea had become separated in the
Pacific, and M’Clure, in the Investigator, got so far ahead that he was able
to pass through Bering Strait and work his way eastward north of British
America, and through the narrow Prince of Wales Strait until he reached

Princess Royal Islands, where he wintered. Here he was only thirty miles
from Barrow Strait; and when he had climbed a high hill and saw its ice
gleaming in the distance, he had in reality discovered the Northwest
Passage. Yet he was not the first, as we now know, for when the survivors
of Franklin’s ships, in their attempt to escape, had reached Cape Herschel,
they, too, saw this same passage they had been sent to find, but then, as
now, it was closed by perpetual ice, so that although we now know the way,
we can no more avail ourselves of it than could they, except by going south
of King William’s Land, through a strait of which they had not yet learned.
The next summer was spent in a fruitless struggle to get north along the
western side of Banks (or Baring) Land, in which he succeeded only far
enough to get frozen in so firmly on the north shore of that great island that
even the summer warmth did not release his ship. He would have perished
had it not been that musk-oxen were plentiful; and by the spring of 1853, it
was plain that the Investigator must be abandoned.
The Enterprise meanwhile had followed M’Clure in the spring of 1851,
and passed two years in searching every shore and passage she could find,
while her men made sledge-journeys far and near, as M’Clure’s men were
doing, and once came within a few miles of Point Victory, where Franklin’s
remains would have been found. At last, in the spring of 1854, she
succeeded in making her way back along the American coast, and returned
to England, completing one of the most remarkable of Arctic voyages.
During their absence the friends of Franklin had not been idle. The
apparent sacrifice of this fine character aroused almost or quite as much
interest in America as in England, and Yankee shipmasters knew the north
as well as did the men of England and Scandinavia. Henry Grinnell, a
prominent merchant in New York, furnished the money to fit out two ships,
the Advance and Rescue, commanded by Lieutenants De Haven and
Griffiths, of the United States navy. They assisted in the search about
Beechey Island, then struck north and discovered Grinnell Land, after
which they returned before the winter had closed in. With them was a
young physician and traveler, Dr. Elisha Kent Kane, who persuaded Mr.
Grinnell to send him again to the north, less to search for Franklin, whom
he had despaired of, than to prosecute explorations in higher latitudes. In
1853, in command of the little brig Advance, manned principally by
whaling men, he left New London, Conn., and made his way straight up to

the head of Baffin’s Bay, which narrows northward into Smith Sound,
where, on the eastern, or Greenland, shore of its expansion, since called
Kane Basin, he was stopped by ice and remained a prisoner until rescued in
1855.
Dr. Kane wrote the histories of these expeditions, and especially of the
latter one, in books so charmingly expressed, and abounding in such novel
information, that they were read like romances in every home in the land,
and did more to fire the ardor for Arctic discovery which has ever since
glowed in this country, than anything else that had been said or done. The
most immediate result was that Dr. I. I. Hayes, who had been with Kane,
took a ship to Smith Sound and spent the winter of 1860-61 there, but with
little result. More came from the expeditions led by an enthusiastic
journalist of Cincinnati, Charles F. Hall, but before speaking of these, let us
return to the English search for Franklin.
Undeterred by the failure of Austin and Penny, or the silence of Collinson
and M’Clure, the British government in 1852 despatched again the four
vessels used by Austin, and added a fifth, the Assistance, and a store-ship,
the North Star, to form a depôt of supplies at Beechey Island. The old
haphazard ways had given place to very systematic methods of advance and
rescue; but steam was little employed as yet, because of the trouble and cost
of supplying coal, although two small steam vessels, as tenders,
accompanied this, the largest and most bountifully equipped expedition that
had yet started out. The fleet, under command of Sir Edward Belcher,
proceeded through Lancaster Sound, beyond which they scattered
somewhat, and spent the first winter in extensive sledge-journeys, during
which they discovered (by a message that M’Clure had left on Melville
Island) where the Investigator was imprisoned, and rescued all its people in
June, 1853.
This great expedition learned nothing of Franklin, although it did learn
much of other Arctic matters, and left the map substantially complete south
and west of Jones Sound; but its honors rested upon M’Clure, who, first of
all recorded men, had really made the Northwest Passage by sailing and
sledging around the northern end of America. The settlement of this long-
discussed matter had proved it of no practical value; but the British
Parliament kept its word, and gave £10,000 (half of the promised reward) to
the officers and crew of the Investigator, besides raising M’Clure to

knighthood. An incident of this expedition is the fact that Kellett’s
abandoned ship Resolute survived crushing long enough to drift out through
Barrow Strait and Lancaster Sound and down into Davis Strait, where in
September, 1855, she was found and towed home by an American whaler.
As she was little injured, she was presented to the British government with
the compliments of the United States, and a few years later, when she came
to be broken up, a fine table was made from her oaken timbers, and
returned as a present to Uncle Sam; and it now stands in the private office
of the President of the United States in the Executive Mansion at
Washington.
Two great facts had now been ascertained. One was that none of
Franklin’s men or ships survived. The other fact was, that although there
was plenty of water north of the American continent, it was so obstructed
by permanent ice that probably no vessel could ever make its way through
from the Atlantic to the Pacific; none has done so yet, despite the
determined effort of the steam yacht Pandora in 1875, but ships from the
east have reached points also reached by ships from the west. The
everlasting ice sheet of the polar ocean, ever crowding down upon this
northern coast and into the channels between the islands north of it, forms a
barrier that will very rarely, if ever, pause or open long enough to let a
vessel through, even south of King William and Victoria lands. The
outflowing warm waters of the rivers or other influences may sometimes
produce a narrow space comparatively free from ice in summer along the
shore of the continent and greater islands; but everywhere off shore, and
never at a great distance, begins a thick mass of perpetual ice, which, it is
believed, extends across the pole like a cap, and reaches on the other side
nearly to Petermannland. To this has been given the name of the
Paleocrystic Sea, or sea of ancient ice, and nothing is known of it beyond
the blue cliffs of its margin that confronts the explorer as he gazes abroad
from the hills of the Parry Islands or Banks Land, or vainly seeks in some
lone vessel north of Alaska or Siberia to penetrate its glassy front.
So thoroughly were the islands of this archipelago explored, and so
unpromising seems further study, that Arctic voyagers have long ceased to
risk their ships there, and the story of Franklin’s fate was finally learned by
land travelers. As early as 1854 Dr. Rae and a party of Hudson’s Bay
Company’s men had traveled over land and ice to King William’s Land,

proved it an island, and heard stories of the death by famine and cold of
white men who could be no other than the Franklin crew, as was further
shown by various relics which Dr. Rae obtained from the Eskimos. Dr. Rae
claimed and received £10,000 of the reward offered by the British
government. The next year another party, going down the Great Fish River,
recovered many other articles from Eskimos at the mouth of the river and
on Montreal Island. It was evident even then that every one had perished in
an attempt, nearly successful, to reach the mainland at the mouth of this
river. Lady Franklin, however, despatched an expedition in the Fox, under
the command of the experienced M’Clintock, which at last brought back,
not her husband, but the satisfaction of knowing fully his fate.
All along the west and south coast remains of articles belonging to the
ships were found, and skeletons—two of them in a broken boat; and finally
in a stone cairn a written record that briefly told the tale of disaster.

WORKING THROUGH AN ICE-FLOE, IN TOW OF A BERG.

In 1845-46 Franklin quartered at Beechey Island, on the southeast coast
of North Devon, after having ascended Wellington Channel to latitude 77°,
and returned west of Cornwallis Island, which was an exceedingly
successful season’s work. In the autumn of 1846 he had turned toward the
south, but had been stopped by and frozen into the masses of ice that come
ceaselessly down M’Clintock Channel and press upon King William’s
Land. Had he known King William’s Land to be really an island he need not
have exposed himself to this. During all the summer of 1847 the ships
remained firm in their icy bonds. Sir John Franklin died, and Captain
Crozier took command. The spring of 1848 brought no hope, and in April
the ships were abandoned. The crews started southward along the shore,
dragging two boats (one of which was soon abandoned) and many sledges.
The Eskimos said the men dropped down one at a time, from weakness and
hunger; but it is believed that many of them were killed by the savages for
the sake of what few things they had with them—precious articles to those
natives. It appears that one of the vessels must have been crushed in the ice,
and the other stranded on the shore of King William’s Land, where it lay for
years, forming a mine of wealth for the neighboring Eskimos. Some years
later Lieutenant Schwatka and W. H. Gilder, traveling with Eskimo parties
in the region near the mouth of the Great Fish River, found the graves of the
last remnant of the party, and recovered still other relics of this dreadful
calamity. Let me copy for you here the postscript, written by Crozier and
Fitzjames, to the short record of their work. It is startlingly brief and
impressive:
April 25, 1848. H. M. ships Terror and Erebus were deserted on 22nd April, five leagues
N. N. W. of this [Point Victory], having been beset since 12th September, 1846. The
officers and crews, consisting of 105 souls under the command of Captain F. R. M. Crozier,
landed here in lat. 69° 37´ 42´´ N., long. 98° 41´ W. Sir John Franklin died on the 11th
June, 1847; and the total loss by deaths in the expedition has been to this date 9 officers
and 15 men. We start on to-morrow, 26th April, 1848, for Back’s Fish River.

It would be tedious to attempt to chronicle the almost yearly excursions
into the north, but a few ought to be spoken of. One such has been alluded
to—that of Charles Hall, a Cincinnati journalist,—who enlisted the aid of
the American Geographical Society, and then prepared himself by going
upon a whaler and spending the winters of 1860-61 and 1861-1862 among
the Eskimos near Cumberland Sound, where he found the remains of a
stone house built by Frobisher in 1578. Again, from 1864 to 1869 he was
living with the wandering Eskimo north of Hudson’s Bay, preparing himself

to undertake an expedition which may be said to be the first whose avowed
object was to try to reach the North Pole. The United States government
furnished him the steamer Polaris, and a small but efficient body of
scientific assistants, one of whom was Emil Bessels. The Polaris passed
through Smith Sound, and after completing the exploration of Kennedy
Channel, and discovering that beyond its expansion into Hall Sound it
continued straight northeastward, forming Robeson Channel, Hall stopped
his ship and by sledge-journeys reached Cape Brevoort, above 82° N.,
whence he could see the open polar sea. This was not only far beyond any
previous northing, but his work added immensely to our knowledge of both
Grinnell Land and northwestern Greenland, and prepared the way for
further successes.
This sledge-journey was, however, too great a strain, for he had hardly
returned to his ship when he sickened and died. The next season (1872) Dr.
Bessels and Sergeant Mayer reached on foot 82° 09´ N., a few miles farther
than Hall. This accomplished, an attempt was made to return, but the
steamer was soon inclosed in the pack, and drifted helplessly southward for
two months, until off Northumberland Island, when a violent gale loosened
the pack and nearly destroyed her.
At length the danger became so great that on October 15th boats and provisions were put
on the ice, on which nineteen of the crew had disembarked. Suddenly the ship broke away,
and the party on the ice drifted slowly 195 days, and were picked up off the coast of
Labrador, in 53° 35´ N., by a whaling steamer 1,300 miles from where they had parted with
the Polaris. The party in the ship reached Littleton’s Island, where they passed the winter,
building two boats from the boards of the vessel, in which they set sail southwards in June,
1873. On the 23d of that month they were picked up by a Dundee whaler, and ultimately
reached home.

Only three years before that a very similar experience had happened to
the smaller ship of a German expedition under Captain Koldewey, of which
the larger went up the east coast of Greenland to 75½° N., where a grim
headland was named Cape Bismarck. It is just south of the land sighted by
Lambert in 1670. The little Hansa, however, was crushed in the ice near
Scoresby Sound. The crew escaped to the floe, where they built a house of
blocks of patent fuel, filled it with provisions, and trusted themselves to the
great Arctic current which carried them south, at the rate of about sixty-five
miles a day at first, until finally, in June, 1870, it took them to the Moravian
missions near Cape Farewell, more than twelve hundred miles from where
they were wrecked.

The seas and archipelagoes north of Europe were being questioned, all
this time, as well as those north of America. The Norwegian fishermen had
been familiar with Spitzbergen waters from long ago, but it was not until
1863 that the group was circumnavigated. The next year Captain Tobieson
sailed around Northeast Land, and in 1870 Nova Zembla was
circumnavigated, and the mouth of the Obi reached.
The men who did these feats were sealers or shark-fishers in small stanch
Norwegian schooners, which flocked in Barentz Sea at this period, and they
furnished invaluable material, as did the whalers and sealers of American
and Scotch ports, for the ice-pilots and crews of the scientific expeditions
which now began to go to the north: moreover many of the commanders
were trained by amateur service in such vessels. It was thus Nordenskjöld
began his experiences in 1864. Among these earlier expeditions was an
Austrian naval lieutenant, Julius von Payer, who became notable, not only
because he interested a new nation in Arctic research, but because of his
discoveries. His first experience was with the German expedition to
Greenland in 1869, and in 1871 he and another Austrian navy officer named
Weyprecht spent the summer in examining the edge of the ice between
Spitzbergen and Nova Zembla.
Their observations led them to project an expedition to try again at that
place to penetrate eastward, and effect the Northeast Passage, which had
been regarded as hopeless for the past hundred years. The idea of making an
Austro-Hungarian expedition of it aroused great enthusiasm in that empire,
and Payer and Weyprecht were furnished with the large steamer Tegethoff,
equipped as well as possible, with Weyprecht in command, while von Payer
was to lead all sledge-parties. She reached the northern end of Nova Zembla
in time to get into comfortable winter quarters, but instead of escaping in
the spring was kept imprisoned in the ice, drifting steadily northward before
the prevailing wind until, in October, land was approached, near which the
ship again became a fixture for the winter of 1873-74. In March Payer
began to make exploratory journeys, and found that they had discovered a
group of mountainous islands, separated by broad and deep channels, which
he named Francis Joseph Land, in honor of the Emperor of Austria-
Hungary.

A SUMMER SCENE OFF NOVA ZEMBLA

By this time summer was approaching, when it was plain that the
Tegethoff must be abandoned, and an attempt made to get home afoot. On
the 24th of May three boats were placed on sledges, other sledges were
loaded with provisions, and the ship’s company started on another one of
those Arctic marches that often end at so sad a goal. Until the 14th of
August they were plodding over the ice before they reached the edge of the
pack and launched their boats, in which they sailed for three weeks before
being picked up by a Russian vessel.

This has always been regarded as one of the greatest achievements in
polar work of this century, not only because of the heroism and skill shown,
and the new lands discovered, but because it promised so much for the
future—a promise that has been largely fulfilled.
The next important expedition was another attack upon the Northeast
Passage, the hope of which would not “down”; and it was under the
leadership of Professor Adolf Erik Nordenskjöld, a Swedish geologist and
naturalist of Stockholm, although born in Finland, who had made several
previous journeys to Greenland, Spitzbergen, etc., which were fruitful of
scientific results. Then he turned his attention to Siberia; and in 1875 and
again in 1876 he sailed to the mouth of the Yenisei, as also Captain Wiggins
of Sunderland, England, was then doing, in a profitable trade with the
Siberians, which has been kept up more or less regularly ever since. These
experiences convinced him that it was worth while to try once more to work
one’s way through the Siberian ocean to Bering Strait.
He obtained and outfitted the steamer Vega, and arranged that a smaller
supply-steamer, the Lena, should accompany him as far as the mouth of the
river Lena—a bold proposition in itself, for that was a thousand miles
beyond the Yenisei. Nevertheless, this program was carried out; for leaving
Gothenberg on July 4, 1878, a month later they were traversing the Kara
Sea, and on August 19 passed Cape Chelyuskin, which, up to that time, had
defied all attempts and has since closed the gate to all but the daring
Nansen. A week later the mouth of the Lena was reached, and the little
tender, unloading her coal and other stores into the depleted hold of the
Vega, turned west, and actually sailed back to civilization uninjured.
The Vega then hastened on eastward, and came near getting right through
to Bering Strait in that one season; but this was more than the indulgent
Arctic gods could grant, and at the end of September the men found
themselves frozen into the ice off North Cape (where Cook turned back in
1778), only one hundred and twenty miles from Bering Strait. Here they
were near shore, the country was inhabited by Tchuktches—a nomadic
people, with herds of reindeer, who take the place in Siberia of the Eskimos
of Arctic America; and the time was well spent in gathering a knowledge of
these people and their country, and in making very valuable collections in
zoology and anthropology.

It was not until July 18, 1879, however, that their prison-gates opened,
and the Vega steamed on. These waters were familiar enough to navigators;
and Nordenskjöld proceeded straight east, passed down through Bering
Strait on the next day but one (so near was he), and thus easily
accomplished that which had baffled men since first it had been tried by the
unfortunate Willoughby three hundred and twenty-six years before.
But though the Northeast Passage had thus been found, it was of no more
practical value to commerce than the solving of the Northwest Passage had
been, and the value received from the cruise was in the scientific
information gained, the more accurate delineation of the coast, and the
increased knowledge of winds, currents, magnetic phenomena, and the
behavior of the floating ice-fields on that side of the polar area. When at
last, however, the Vega had circumnavigated the globe by this extraordinary
course, returning home through the Suez Canal, as no Arctic expedition had
ever been expected to do, its commander was made a baron, and all his men
were loaded with praises and honors, while his book, “The Voyage of the
Vega,” printed in four or five languages, spread their fame throughout the
world.
Now while the Vega was drifting slowly about northeast of Siberia during
that early summer of 1879, not only were Schwatka hunting for Franklin
relics with the Eskimos of King William’s Land, the Danish Captain Jansen
tracing the northeast coast of Greenland, and Dutch and English explorers
investigating the neighborhood of Francis Joseph Land, but within a few
leagues of Nordenskjöld and his men there was beginning one of the most
dreadful of those tragedies that have seared with suffering the track of
Arctic exploration since men began to pry into the secrets of the frozen
North: I mean the story of the Jeannette.
Many readers of this book will easily remember the intense interest
which the starting of this expedition created in the United States, for it was
organized at the suggestion and expense of James Gordon Bennett, the
proprietor of the New York Herald. The government coöperated, however,
lending from its navy the officers and men needful, and otherwise aiding
the project. The vessel itself was the steam yacht Pandora, which had been
proved a worthy craft by Sir Allen Young in his search for the magnetic
pole in 1875, and which Mr. Bennett had bought and rechristened.

Supplied with everything science and experience could suggest, the
Jeannette sailed from San Francisco on July 8, 1879, and missing the
incoming Vega among the fogs of Bering Sea, passed through into the
Siberian ocean, bound poleward. The last report of her was that she had
been seen September 3d steaming toward Wrangell Land, which had been
sighted by American whalers in 1867, and was generally regarded as of
continental extent northward. It is now known that De Long intended to
reach it and winter there; but to his dismay he could not escape from the
ice-pack, and to his astonishment found himself drifting past the northern
margin of Wrangell Land, thus proving it an island about seventy miles
long.
When two years had passed and no tidings had been received, the United
States government equipped a search expedition in the steamer Rodgers,
commanded by Lieutenant Berry, which in 1881 reached and examined
Wrangell Land, and then went north farther even than Collinson, reaching
73° 44´, the highest point yet attained immediately north of Bering Strait,
where the paleocrystic ice spreads much farther from the pole than on the
American side. But he found no trace of the Jeannette, and himself had a
hard time getting home, for the Rodgers was burned in her winter quarters.
What then had befallen the lost vessel? She had become beset in the ice
and drifted with the pack around the north end of Wrangell Island, and then
west, until at the end of twenty-two months she had been crushed, and sunk
on June 12, 1881, in latitude 77° 15´ N., and longitude 155 E. Two small
islands, named Jeannette and Henrietta, had been visited some distance east
of the scene of the catastrophe; but when the crews, saving themselves and
what little they could on the ice, started to drag their boats and sledges
homeward, they headed directly south, and soon found a new island, named
Bennett, which is the northernmost of the New Siberia group.
It would be a sad task, were it possible, to relate here the frightful
hardships of that journey through the fast-gathering Arctic night toward the
bleak coast of Siberia. Having passed the islands, open water was found,
and the starving men embarked in their three boats for the mouth of the
Lena; but soon they were separated in a storm, and each one proceeded as
best he could. One boat foundered in the first gale. Another, in charge of
Melville (now engineer-in-chief, U. S. N.), reached an eastern mouth of the
river and ascended it to a Russian village. A third boat, with De Long and

others, also reached the Lena delta, but only two seamen were able to
proceed afoot to Bulun, a far-away Russian settlement. Melville heard of
this, and made haste to start out searching parties, but they were too late. De
Long and his crew had died of exhaustion, and it was not until the next
season that their bodies and records were fully recovered.
Nevertheless, as we are assured by experts, the results of this unfortunate
expedition were important, physically and geographically. “They covered
some 50,000 square miles of polar ocean, and clearly indicate the
conditions of an equal area between their line of drift and the Asiatic coast.”
De Long believed the Siberian ocean to be a shallow sea, dotted with
islands; and his conclusions have been confirmed by the admirable
scientific work since of Toll, Bunge, and other Europeans who have
explored the Liachoff Islands and other places in that part of the Arctic
realm.
The desire for scientific study of the polar world had now become the
motive for northern research, though men were still ambitious to reach the
pole; and when Sir George Nares returned from the great British expedition
of 1875, to tell how the men of the Alert had reached a wintering-point
beyond Robeson Channel, on the west coast of Greenland, in latitude 82°
27´ N., and that Markham and a sledge-party had gone about one degree
farther (to 83° 20´ 26´´ N.), greater pride was felt in this fact, perhaps, than
in the careful observations and collections that the ships had made. This
remained the advance record until the memorable feat of Lieutenant
Lockwood of the American Greely expedition eight years later.
This expedition was one of several acting in concert, according to a
scheme suggested by Weyprecht, and perfected at international congresses
of interested men meeting at Hamburg in 1879 and at St. Petersburg in
1882. This plan was for the establishment by various governments of a ring
of stations as far within the Arctic circle as practicable, where simultaneous
daily observations of the weather, magnetic conditions, tides, currents, etc.,
might be made. The arrangement was begun in the summer of 1883, and
observing stations were established by Austria on Jan Mayen Island; by
Denmark at Godthaab, Greenland; by Germany on Cumberland Bay, west
of Davis Straits; by Great Britain at Great Slave Lake, Canada; by Holland
at the mouth of the Yenisei; by Norway at Alten Fjiord, Norway; by Russia
at the mouth of the Lena, and on Nova Zembla; by Sweden on Spitzbergen;

and by the United States at Point Barrow, Alaska, and, farthest north of all,
Lady Franklin Bay, Greenland. Nothing need be said about most of these
stations—all were successful except the Dutch; but to the last-named
belongs a story that Americans will not forget.
The command of the Lady Franklin Bay Station was assigned to
Lieutenant A. W. Greely—not a naval lieutenant, but, like Schwatka, a
cavalry officer, then assigned to duty in the Signal Service, to which
(because it then supervised the Weather Bureau) the government had
intrusted this matter. A steamer easily conveyed Greely and his party to
Lady Franklin Bay, and left them there with a good house ready to be set
up, and supplies of all sorts for two years. The prescribed series of
observations with barometers and thermometers, wind-gages, tide-gages,
magnetic instruments and all the rest, were at once begun, and two winters
passed comfortably enough. Dogs and Eskimo drivers had been obtained,
and several journeys were made, of which the most important was
Lockwood’s advance toward the pole, of which an account has been
succinctly supplied by General Greely himself in his admirable “Handbook
of Arctic Discoveries.”

SCENERY OF GRINNELL LAND AND THE ARCTIC SEA.

Lieutenant J. B. Lockwood, one of the principal assistants, who had
already displayed great skill and energy in sledging, even in prolonged
temperature as low as 81° F. below freezing, undertook a long exploring trip
up the Greenland coast, to or beyond Cape Britannia. A large party went
with him at first, but gradually men were sent back, after establishing
supply-depots. “The journey onward was marked by severe storms, rough
ice, broken sledges, snow-blindness, minor injuries, and—worst of all for
loaded sledges—soft, deep snow.” At last, some distance north of Cape
Bryant, all turned back except Lockwood, Sergeant Brainard, and an
Eskimo, Christiansen, who, with twenty-five days’ rations, pushed on. In
five and one half days they had reached Cape Britannia—the farthest north
of the Nares expedition—82° 20´ N. Halting here only long enough to study
the landscape from its summit, and make sure of the remarkable fact that

this northern end of Greenland is free from the ice-cap, whose northern
limit is about lat. 82° N., they rounded a cape, and crossing channel after
channel filled with ice, which showed that all this district is an archipelago,
reached on May 10th Mary Murray Island, 83° 19´ N. “A violent gale
delayed them sixty-three hours, the cold exhausting them physically and the
delay mentally. If weather forbade travel, life must be sustained; but they
tasted insufficient food only at intervals of fifteen, twenty-four, and
nineteen hours—the last as clearing weather made progress possible. Floes
so high that the sledge was lowered by dog-traces, ice so broken that the ax
cleared the way, and widening water-cracks in increasing numbers impeded
progress. But, despite all obstacles, they reached, May 13, 1882, Lockwood
Island, 83° 24´ N., 42°, 45´ W., the farthest of their journey, and the highest
north [by land], then or now.”
They could see land several miles northeast, which they named Cape
Washington, the highest known land, and toward the north could overlook a
polar sea to within three hundred and fifty miles of the pole. Even here
plants were numerous, and foxes, hares, lemmings, and ptarmigans existed.
The three heroic travelers returned safely, reaching headquarters on June 3d.
Another expedition by Lockwood and his two companions explored and
located the west coast of mountainous and glacier-girt Grinnell Land, where
the musk-ox and Eskimo hunters range to the northern border.
The summer of 1883 brought no relief-ship, and the plan of escape must
be put into execution at once. A ship had, in fact, tried to reach Greely in
1882, but, failing, had left supplies of provisions at Cape Sabine and
elsewhere. In 1883 another relief expedition sent north was dreadfully mis-
managed, and finally the ship itself was lost, and, instead of leaving
supplies, took away all that had been stored at Cape Sabine—the precise
point where they were to be needed.
Leaving Lady Franklin Bay in August in open boats, the party managed,
after desperate exertions, to get near Cape Sabine, and safely landed on
Bedford Pim Island, on the northwestern shore of Smith Sound, October 15,
1883. Of the misery that followed, let Greely himself tell us:
Winter had begun, the polar night was imminent, clothing in rags, fuel wanting, and
forty days’ rations must tide over 250 days, till help could come. The main party put up a
hut of rocks, canvas, boat- and snow-slabs, while selected men scoured the coasts for
caches, sought land-game, and watched seal-holes, until utter darkness drove all to the hut.
Scientific observations were unremittingly made, amusements devised, a spring campaign

planned, and the returning sun found only one dead. Efforts to cross Smith Sound failed,
and a hunting trip to the west found a new (Schley) land, but no game. Finally game came
so inadequately that food failed, and one by one men died—Jens seal-hunting, and Rice
striving to bring in a cache. Courage and solidarity continued; and if Greely gave to the
maimed Ellison double food while it lasted, he did not hesitate to order in writing the
execution of a man serving under an assumed name of Henry, who repeatedly stole
sealskin thongs, the only remaining food. Flowers, plants, seaweed, and lichens eked out
life for the six, till June 22, 1884, when the relief-ships, Thetis and Bear, under Captain W.
S. Schley and Commander W. H. Emory, rescued them. Records, instruments, and
collections were saved to tell the story of an expedition that failed not in aught intrusted to
it, and whose members perished through others.

To another piece of brilliant work, that of Lieutenant R. E. Peary, U. S.
N., I can give only a few words, because, like so much else that might be
said of Arctic researches, it was by land rather than by sea. By extraordinary
courage, skill, and endurance, he twice crossed northern Greenland, showed
that it is an island having a northern shore free from inland ice in about 82°
north latitude, and made stronger Greely’s conclusion that the lands visited
and seen by Lockwood, north of Cape Britannia, are detached islands.
Peary’s work may be said to have completed the map of the continental
boundary of the Arctic Ocean, but he is still busy there.
Of Nansen, on the contrary, I ought to say as much as I can, because his
extraordinary voyage in the Fram was perhaps more purely an examination
of the Arctic Sea than any other ever made. Dr. Fridtjoff Nansen was a
young Norwegian who had already made his mark in Greenland, where,
soon after 1880, articles began to be found that had belonged to the
Jeannette, and apparently must have drifted thence from where she was lost
off Siberia. This was only a part of the indications that convinced Dr.
Nansen that a current flowed across the unknown polar space from the
neighborhood of Alaska to the northeast coast of Greenland, and thence
became the great Arctic current that we recognize south of Iceland. He
argued that if a vessel could find this current north of eastern Siberia, she
would be moved with it until she emerged into the Atlantic. Incidentally she
might drift directly over the pole.
With this in view, he raised funds to build and equip a small wooden
vessel, furnished with both steam and sails, which was so shaped by the
roundness of her bottom, and so amazingly braced and strengthened within,
that before any “nips” of the ice would crush her, the pressure would lift her
out of water—as, in fact, happened many times in the course of her

wonderful excursion. Nansen chose twelve companions,3 and though some
of them were educated men of science, others skilful sea-captains, and
others common sailors, all lived and worked together in one cabin as
brothers—the happiest and healthiest lot of men that ever ventured into the
hyperborean kingdom of desolation.
Leaving Norway in July, 1893, he struggled through the Kara Sea, and it
was not until late in September, 1894, that he found himself permanently
frozen into the great polar pack, north of the New Siberian Islands; but even
then he was neither so far north nor so far west as he hoped to get, and
feared that he was south of his supposed current. For the story of the strange
life led by those thirteen men on that drifting ship, safe, abundantly
provisioned, dry, warm, lighted by electricity (power for the dynamos being
gained by a windmill), I can only refer you to Dr. Nansen’s book, “Farthest
North,” one of the most interesting Arctic volumes ever penned. Turning,
zigzagging, now advancing and again retreating as the constantly moving
ice swayed here and there under the pressure of wind or the dragging of
currents, they nevertheless made a gradual progress westward.
By March they had reached a point near the crossing of the 70th meridian
and 85th parallel, and were still fixed in the ice. Then Nansen, taking with
him Lieutenant Johansen, started north by dog-sledges, in an attempt to
reach the pole. They could take very few supplies of any sort, and how far
north they would be able to travel must depend upon their ability to return,
not to the Fram, which would drift on, but to the islands of Francis Joseph
Land, far away south. The ice, bad at first, grew worse as they proceeded,
being one long stretch of hummocks and jagged ditches, with now and then
a lane of open water around which they would toil in misery only to find a
worse one ahead. On April 7th it became certain that they must turn back.
This was “farthest north,” indeed—just above the 86th degree, hardly 275
miles from the North Pole. Then it was a race against death by cold, or
drowning, or starvation. One by one the dogs were killed to furnish food for
the remainder. At last, after almost superhuman labors and thrilling escapes
from freezing and drowning and the attacks of famished bears, they reached
Francis Joseph Land, and spent a winter in a hut made out of stones, earth,
and raw walrus hides. The next spring they plodded on, and by good chance
found the camp of the Jackson Harmsworth surveying party (which a few

days later would have gone away in its steamer), by whom Nansen and
Johansen were carried to Norway in August, 1896.
A week later the Fram came in, with every one well and hearty, having
emerged from the ice just northwest of Spitzbergen.
Since Nansen’s return another Scandinavian, S. A. Andrée, with two
companions, has disappeared into this same desert of ice and silence, in a
balloon carrying a boat, sledge, tent, and various supplies. It was his
intention to reach the pole if possible, and to do whatever else
circumstances permitted. Since his departure, on July 10, 1897, from
Spitzbergen, he has not been heard from, except by a pigeon-message two
days later.
THE SOUTH POLE
We have followed up to date the history of adventurous and scientific
exploration of the hardly yielding, yet steadily narrowed, circles of
unknown coasts and waters about the North Pole. Let us now see what, thus
far, has been done to wrest from the ocean and ice of its Antarctic antipodes
the secrets of the South Pole.

A PENGUIN-ROOST ON THE BEACHES OF VICTORIA LAND.
Drawn by the Antarctic explorer Borchgrevink.

Almost three hundred years ago the existence of islands far to the
southward of any continents became known to navigators, who were driven
thither by bad weather, and little by little was added to the map of this
desolate region; but it was not until 1772 that any one went into that terrible
Antarctic sea for the express purpose of a survey. This man was the intrepid
Captain Cook, and though he sailed a third of the way around the globe in
his efforts to find an entrance through the icy barrier, he could never
penetrate beyond 71° south latitude, which is equal to North Cape, or the
town of Upernavik, in the Arctic region. Later captains did little better, until
1841, when Sir James Ross, in his ships Erebus and Terror,—the same
vessels which afterward met their destruction with the ill-fated Franklin
expedition,—skirted the edge of the thick ice that everywhere clothed the
land, though it was midsummer, and finally reached the base of the
southernmost land yet known on the globe—a magnificent mountain-chain
stretching away to the south from latitude 78° 10´.
The most conspicuous point of all this range of polar mountains, which
rises from an unexplored continent or great island called Victoria Land, is
the volcano Mt. Erebus. It was in eruption at the time of Ross’s visit, and
the explorer tries to tell us of the splendor of its display when the wide
glistening waste of snow and the deep blue of the ocean and the starry sky
are lit up by the column of fire hurled thousands of feet heavenward from
its crater: but who can picture the grandeur of such a scene! This volcano is
about 12,400 feet high, and an extinct neighbor, Mt. Terror, is still higher;
while a third peak, Mt. Melbourne, exceeds 15,000 feet in altitude, and like
all the rest is covered with everlasting snow and glaciers from the
tempestuous water’s edge to its lonely crest.
Meager as this information is, it is about all we know of the surface of
the globe within the Antarctic circle; and it will be extremely difficult to
learn much more. In a latitude much farther from the pole than that where in
the north vegetation is abundant, and men and animals live all the year
round, the severity of the Antarctic climate cuts off all life, and constantly
seals the water under a cap of ice. The coasts and outlying islands thus far
examined appear to be wholly volcanic, often composed of nothing but

alternate layers of ashes and ice; but the Challenger staff dredged up from
the edge of the ice south of the middle of the Indian Ocean pieces of
granite-like and other rocks, such as belong to land regularly formed; so
that probably the whole uplift does not consist of volcanic materials; and,
furthermore, rocks containing fossil plants have been found on some of the
southernmost islands which show that in past ages—the period of the coal
deposits—the climate of that end of the world was mild enough to support
forests of trees and, doubtless, a large variety of herbage and animals. Now
most of the coast is unapproachable on account of a border of sea-ice, or
else cliffs of moving land-ice (glaciers) that give off the flat, table-topped
icebergs characteristic of the south polar waters. No trace of any land
animal—except visiting sea-fowl—has been found, and only a little of the
simplest plants (lichens); nor is this surprising when we learn that the
highest noonday heat of summer is only a little above the freezing-point.
Why this intense cold and dreadful desolation exists so much farther
from the pole in the southern than in the northern hemisphere, I need hardly
explain to you; for you will recall that in the north the continents are so
broad as to form almost an unbroken wall about the narrow polar sea,
confining its cold waters, warming the air by wide radiation, and guiding
the heated flood of the Gulf Stream straight into the northern sea. In the
southern hemisphere, on the other hand, an immense breadth of ocean south
of latitude 40° is broken by no land of any account, and the southward
flowing warm water from the equator becomes spread out so thin upon the
vast surface that it is rapidly chilled. It is now generally believed, as has
been hinted, that the south polar region is a continental mass, deeply buried
in an ice-sheet that is ever fed in the center as fast as it wastes away at the
circumference; for the prevailing winds there tend toward the pole from all
sides, and carry loads of moisture to be condensed and fall in ceaseless
snows.

ICE-CLIFFS AND TABLE-TOPPED BERGS, CHARACTERISTIC OF THE ANTARCTIC
REGION.

The Antarctic seas, however, are by no means lifeless, but abound not
only in fishes,—cod are said to throng in these waters in prodigious
numbers,—but several varieties of whales, dolphins, and their kin (which
will be described in one of the later chapters), and many kinds of seals,
notably the huge sea-elephant, now becoming rare elsewhere. Then, too, the
Antarctic islands and headlands are the resort of enormous flocks of certain
sea-birds, all different from the Arctic species of their families, which
subsist upon the fishes and less creatures in the water, and go to the lonely
shores outside the ice-cap only for rest and to make their nests. Of all these
the penguins are most numerous and most hardy, and a whole chapter might
easily be given to their quaint appearance and quainter ways. It also appears
probable that certain migratory birds—especially beach-feeding kinds—
regularly visit the Antarctic continent in summer from Patagonia, and breed
there.

Now what has been gained by all the expense, exertion, and hardship of
polar exploration? What has been the charm that has led wise and brave
men to overcome terrific obstacles, and turn again with deeper and deeper
longings toward the mystic icy regions? Lieutenant Maury has given one
answer: “There icebergs are framed and glaciers launched. There the tides
have their cradle: the whales their nursery. There the winds complete their
circuits, and the currents of the sea their round in the wonderful system of
interoceanic circulation. There the Aurora Borealis is lighted up, and the
trembling needle brought to rest; and there, too, in the mazes of that mystic
circle, terrestrial forces of occult power and vast influence upon the well-
being of man are continually at play.... Noble daring has made Arctic ice
and waters classic ground. It is no feverish excitement nor vain ambition
that leads man there. It is a higher feeling, a holier motive, a desire to look
into the works of creation, to comprehend the economy of our planet, and to
grow wiser and better by the knowledge.”
To polar explorers we owe not only the discovery of the waters, coasts,
and archipelagoes that now are accurately outlined upon our maps within
the Arctic and Antarctic circles, but vast and valuable products—whale-
fisheries, seal-fisheries, cod-fisheries, and many other additions to the
wealth of the world from the sea, while the Arctic lands have yielded furs
and other valuable things in great quantity. The study of the people living
under those adverse northern conditions has been highly instructive,
assisting us to reconstruct the life in the primitive world; and what we have
learned from the records of the Arctic rocks has thrown a bright and
unexpected light upon the antiquity of the globe.
To studies of the ocean and atmosphere in very high latitudes science is
largely indebted for new facts in magnetism, in the movements of the air
and causes of climate, in the formation and behavior of ice and icebergs, in
the action of tides and ocean-currents, and in many other departments of
knowledge, all of which have been made of use especially to the navigator.
Nor has this cost over much. Attention has been called to every casualty,
and the romantic light of adventure has brought into high relief all the
hardships and sometimes horrors of Arctic experience; but the records show
that the average of loss and suffering in Arctic work is not greater than that
of ordinary seafaring and naval careers. Sir Leopold M’Clintock has stated

publicly that during the thirty-six years when Great Britain was most active
in polar research, she lost only one expedition and 128 persons out of forty-
two successive expeditions sent out, and never lost a sledge-party out of a
hundred that made overland journeys.
After all, no doubt, the best result has been the human heroism displayed,
and the human sympathy developed. “There are,” exclaims Professor
Nourse, “and ever will be, fair fruits born out of such acts of high
aspiration, energy, and fortitude, in those who have gone out, and in their
liberal supporters; exemplars for the lifting up of the discouraged, the
education of the young. Certainly volunteers for the paths of discovery will
offer themselves until the fullest additions to the domain of science have
had their ingathering.”

EAGER TO BE FIRST ASHORE IN A NEW LAND.

DRAWN BY HOWARD PYLE. ENGRAVED BY M. HAIDER.
THE “CONSTITUTION’S” LAST FIGHT.

CHAPTER VI

WAR-SHIPS AND NAVAL BATTLES

PART I—WOODEN WALLS, FROM SALAMIS TO
TRAFALGAR
AVAL warfare, properly speaking, begins with the battle of
Salamis, 480 B. C., when the Greek fleet, under the guidance of
Themistocles, destroyed or put to flight a horde of twelve
hundred Persian vessels, and saved Athens, to become the
foundation of a strong nation.
Of these ships at Salamis we know very little, except that they were
large, open, or partly open, rowboats, having platforms at the stern and
prow, and perhaps amidships in some cases, where soldiers might stand and
discharge their arrows out of the way of the rowers beneath them, or leap
aboard the enemy’s boats whenever they could be reached. They were, in
short, early types of the galleys which subsequently became vessels of war
as powerful and serviceable, under the conditions they were intended to
meet, as are our battle-ships to-day, and probably safer as a fighting-place
for their crews.
That from rowboats rather than from sail-boats should have been
developed the highest type of Mediterranean war-vessel of ancient times is
not surprising when one remembers the light and variable winds of that
region, the usually smooth seas, the abundance of harbors, and, above all,
the need of having the vessels under complete control when all fighting had
to be done at short range—chiefly by ramming and boarding, in fact. It
must be remembered, too, that labor was cheap; and it was considered that
the most proper and economical—not to say humane—use to which
prisoners of war could be put was to make them rowers in public ships,
while enough remained to be sold as slaves to the owners of private yachts
and privateering galleys. One may imagine a worse fate than this.

The earliest war-vessels of the eastern Mediterranean—those of Homer’s
time, for instance—seem to have been long and rather narrow rowboats, the
best of which had two tiers of oars, one above the other, the lower, shorter
tier working through oval holes in the side, and the upper in notches or
thole-pins on the gunwale. This left the upper rowers exposed, and hence
such vessels were called aphract, or “unfenced”; and it was not until the
Greeks began to become prominent that the bulwarks were raised high
enough to protect all the rowers, and war-vessels generally became
cataphract, or “fenced.”
It appears that in very early times war-ships (biremes) with not only two
tiers or banks of oars, but even those (triremes) with three banks, were
used; and the trireme became the type of the most numerous and effective
vessels of the Greek and Roman navies in their prime. And as weight and
power gradually increased, the crushing power of collision began to be
utilized, and ramming came in as a more and more important feature in
naval tactics. As the Greeks seem to have first applied these new ideas, it is
quite likely that their success at Salamis was due to these improvements.
The arrangement was this:
From the side of the vessel (inside) projected three rows of benches, a
yard apart, horizontally supported at their inner ends by timbers that slanted
toward the stern at such an angle that the top seat of each row was exactly
above the bottom seat of the row behind it. The oars of the top tier
(thranite) were about fourteen feet long, those of the middle tier (zygite)
about ten and one half feet, and the lowermost one (thalamite) seven and
one half feet. Each oar was so nearly balanced in its oar-port as to work in
the easiest manner, tied there by a thong and surrounded by a loose sleeve
of leather which kept out the water. Each one of the lowermost oars was
worked by a single man, the middle ones by two, and those of the third tier
by three or four, as they were of great length.
In later times larger vessels were invented for special purposes—four-
banked (quadriremes), five-banked (quinquiremes), and so on, even up to
one of forty banks; but as we are unable to understand how it was possible
for more than five or six tiers of oars to be operated, we may leave these
extraordinary galleys to special students.4

The structure of these vessels gave them the greatest strength combined
with lightness. They had very strong keels and stems, the latter peculiarly
braced; and along their sides ran waling-pieces, or fore-and-aft bracing
timbers, the lowermost curving inward forward, until they met in front of
the stem at the water-line, where they were braced by massive timbers, and
prolonged into a sharp three-toothed spur, of which the middle tooth was
the longest, reaching out perhaps ten feet. This was covered with metal,
usually bronze, and formed the beak.
“Above it, but projecting less beyond the stem-post, was the
procmbolion, or second beak, in which the prolongation of the upper set of
waling-pieces met. This was generally fashioned into the figure of a ram’s
head, also covered with metal.... These bosses, when a vessel was rammed,
completed the work of destruction begun by the sharp beak at the water-
level, giving a racking blow which caused it to heel over and so eased it off
the beak, releasing the latter before the weight of the sinking vessel could
come upon it.”
The stem was
often carried up into
a curving ornament
called the
acrostolion, beneath
which was a stout-
walled deck-space
for sailors or the
fighting-men to do
their work; and the
stern-post similarly
supported a lofty,
richly ornamented
structure
(aplustron), arching HAMILCAR’S “STAIRWAY OF THE GALLEYS,” AT CARTHAGE.
over the officers’ quarters.
Platforms extended up and down the center of the ship between the
rowers; and over their heads was a deck having walls or bulwarks where the
fighting-men and their various “engines” stood. In addition to this an
external defended gallery for soldiers and boarders usually ran along the

outside of the bulwarks above the oars; and awnings of rawhide were
stretched over all to ward off grappling-irons.
It must not be forgotten, however, that these galleys also had three pole-
masts, and certain sails—probably a huge split lug, with possibly a square
topsail on the mainmast, while the fore- and mizzenmasts carried lateens. At
the top of each stick was a round, protected cage filled with archers and
slingers—the prototype of our “military mast.”
Nor are the size and force of these Greek and Roman men-of-war to be
despised. The ordinary trireme had a crew of 200 to 225 men in all, 174 of
whom were rowers. The space for cabins and stowage must have been little,
but this was of small account, since the war-galleys rarely undertook long
cruises, their tactics being a rush and a sharp fight, and then a quick return
to harbor, where it was the practice to draw the lighter galleys up on shore
each night. The transportation of the ships across the isthmus of Corinth
was not, then, so astonishing a feat as it is sometimes called.
Rome’s experience, however, gained in war and in suppressing the
Levantine pirates, taught her to abandon the heavy, many-banked, unwieldy
vessels she had at first developed from Greek and Carthaginian models, and
to trust to a much lighter, swifter, and more manageable style, with far less
upper structure and rigging, and having only two banks of oars. These were
called Liburnian galleys. With this change came naturally one of tactics,
capture by chase and boarding taking the place of the earlier attempt to
crush by ramming and overriding the antagonist.
The armament comprised not only as many soldiers with bows and
javelins as could find room in action, but various machines of offense and
defense, such as catapults hurling huge stones or marble grape-shot,
spearheaded rams or huge knives that could be run out against an enemy’s
hull or rigging, arrangements for smashing the enemy’s decks, caldrons
swung at yard-arms, holding burning pitch or oil to be poured upon the foe,
and often cranes (corvi), provided with grapples that, if one could be made
fast, would lift an adversary out of water, and turn him upside down. No
more vivid picture of the life in cruise and battle of a Roman man-of-war’s
man is known to me than that penned by General Lew Wallace in “Ben
Hur,” but I cannot, of course, transfer all of it to my pages, as I should like

to do, and an extract here and there would only spoil the pleasure in store
for you in re-reading it all.
Of medieval naval warfare in the Mediterranean, the struggles between
the weak “principalities and powers” that followed the decay of Rome and
lasted for a dozen centuries, we know very little. There is more obscurity
here than even elsewhere in the dim history of the dark ages. It is evident,
however, that not much change took place in naval architecture. The
Byzantine empire succeeded to Rome as mistress of the seas, and we know
that in the ninth century the Byzantine emperors were still building biremes
(then called dromones) armed with tubes for spouting Greek fire. It should
be noted that boats having only a single bank of oars came now to be called
galleys; and this is the first and proper use of the word, though popularly it
is now (or until recently was) applied to any large many-oared boat.

A COMBAT OF ROMAN GALLEYS (BIREMES).

With the introduction of gunpowder and cannon into naval vessels, the
ornamental top-works—a picturesque relic of which remains in the
Venetian gondola of to-day—disappeared, as we see when the clear light of

history begins to shine on the fleets of Venice and Genoa, when these cities
were leaders of the world in navigation. Turkey—the successor of the old
Byzantine empire and of the Greek power—was then, as now, the great
enemy of the west, but in those days it was aggressive. Its fleets were strong
and well manned, and they threatened to cross the Adriatic and fasten the
baneful grasp of the Moslem upon Italy in revenge for the persecution of
the Moors in Spain. Perhaps they would have done so had not John of
Austria, admiral of the allied navies of Spain, Venice, and Rome, won that
great victory in the harbor of Lepanto, near the isthmus of Corinth, which
destroyed nearly the whole Turkish fleet, and released fifteen thousand
Christian galley-slaves. This was in October, 1571, and it saved the West
from being overrun by the barbarous East, as exactly fifteen and a half
centuries before it had been saved near Actium, a famous promontory on
the northwestern coast of Greece, where Octavius defeated the forces of
Antony and Cleopatra.
It is doubtful whether the ships that fought in the later battle were much
different in either build or rig from those of the earlier conflict, but their
decks no more gleamed with men in armor, and in place of catapult, crane,
and caldron were cannonades and falconets, arquebuses and hand-grenades.
Perhaps, however, they had already taken on more of that long, low shape
characterizing later the French and Italian galleys, common enough in
Mediterranean ports up to about one hundred years ago, which differed
mainly from the ancient ones in their use of much longer oars or sweeps,
balanced upon a sort of extended outrigger or shelf projecting from the
vessel’s side. The galleass of which we hear in the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries was a large war-ship of this style, which foreshadowed the
Atlantic ships, to be spoken of presently, in having castellated structures
fore and aft, in which were mounted sometimes twenty guns; besides its
two or three lateen-rigged masts, it often had thirty-two sweeps on each
side, each about forty-five feet long, and handled with a long, slow stroke
by five or six men—in France mainly convicts “condemned to the
galleys.”5
Such vessels continued to be used by the Spaniards, Maltese, Italians,
and Turks long after they had been abandoned by the French navy, but
latterly, after the suppression of piracy, in which they were of especial
service, for the conveyance of important personages and occasions of

ceremony rather than for practical service; and in the state barge of the
Doge of Venice, brought out annually to this day at the ceremony of re-
wedding Venice to the Adriatic, we have a magnificent relic of these stately
craft.
But such boats were adapted only
to the comparatively calm and
simple navigation of the
Mediterranean; and although
imitated in the similar waters of the
eastern Baltic, they never flourished
north of Spain. When they
gradually disappeared, their
successor inside the gates of
Gibraltar was the xebec, which
began to appear under Arab or
Spanish control in the seventeenth
TYPE OF VENETIAN GALLEY.
century; this was supposed to be
able to withstand any weather, and carried from fourteen to twenty-two
guns on deck, with small ports for oars between the guns. A picturesque
relative was the Portuguese muleta.
The English liked this kind of vessel on account of its strong sailing
qualities, but when they took it into their own stormy waters they found it
necessary to raise its sides to fit them for breasting the high seas that roll in
the open Atlantic or are tossed by the contending tides of the English
Channel, and developed out of it a style of swift and handy vessel called a
frigate.
During all these “middle” ages the northern nations had been sailing and
fighting on the sea as well as the southerners. Stories of sturdy battles have
come down in tradition and in such chronicles as those of Froissart; but
those old conflicts seem to have produced little change in ship-building or
armament until the experience and wisdom brought back by the Crusaders
began to spread abroad even in the half-savage North, and to produce that
revival of learning which by and by was to make such striking changes in
western Europe; and here the leaders are Englishmen.

In those days no national navies,
properly speaking, existed in England,
France, or northward. When a monarch
wished to transport troops by water to
some other land, or make a naval
expedition or campaign, he fitted out
the ships that belonged to the crown as
the king’s personal property, and
compelled his subjects to furnish the
rest, just as his feudal provinces and FORECASTLE OF THE “GREAT HARRY”
(“GRÂCE DE DIEU”).
cities and lords were expected to equip
and bring to his standard any land forces required. It was to systematize this
method somewhat in England that William the Conqueror “established the
Cinque Ports, and gave them certain privileges on condition of their
furnishing 52 ships, with 24 men in each, for 15 days, in cases of
emergency.” Now and then, at first, Englishmen were disposed to resist the
“arrest” of ships, which might easily mean the ruin of their business; and
special laws had to be made to quell this reluctance. Another quaint and
significant feature of that practice was this: In every fleet one or more ships
were set apart as “royal,” and either the king or his representatives occupied
them with court ceremony to carry out the fiction of royal dominion over
the sea as well as upon the land. It naturally followed in England that after
her navy had shown its power, and signalized it especially by a brilliant
victory over Spain in 1380, Edward III should have assumed as an
additional title “King of the Seas”—an act which had far-reaching
consequences.
During the fifteenth century something like an established navy was
foreshadowed; but it was not until the reign of Henry VII, when, at the end
of the fifteenth century, the whole world was exploring the oceans and
awakening to the importance of sea power, that the first vessel, properly
called a national war-ship, was built, equipped, manned, and sustained at
government expense by England. This was the Great Harry—a floating
fortress rather than a ship; for, with her towering, overweighted “castles”
fore and aft, she was unseaworthy, and came near being sunk by a slight
rolling which poured the water into her lower ports.

But a better known “Great Harry” was the Henri Grâce de Dieu, built by
Henry VIII. This king was the real founder of the British navy, providing
for it many good ships, dock-yards, trained officers, and regularly enlisted
crews. The advantage of this organization and the superiority of English
seamanship were demonstrated in the next reign by the defeat of the
Spanish Armada.
England was then at war with Spain, and Philip II thought to end the
matter by means of the greatest expedition ever heard of. It began to be
prepared in 1587 under the title of the Most Fortunate Armada,6 but an
English squadron under Drake attacked the rendezvous at Cadiz, destroyed
over one hundred vessels and huge quantities of stores, and then so ravaged
the neighboring coasts as to delay Spain’s project for a whole season.
In midsummer of 1588, however, after an unlucky start, in which it was
driven back by storms, the dreaded Armada appeared in the English
Channel, like a close flock of huge birds drifting along the British coast. It
consisted of about 130 ships, seven of which exceeded 1000 tons burden,
and numerous small craft, and was armed with nearly 3000 cannon. Its
commander was the Duke of Medina Sidonia, who was a most incompetent
man for the post, and it bore, besides nearly 10,000 sailors and galley-
slaves, over 10,000 soldiers; but this naval force was not intended to attack
England until after it had ferried over from Belgium the Spanish army of
the Duke of Parma.
To such a force as this England opposed a miserably small fleet—only 34
vessels that could be called ships; but she hastily armed as many more
smaller ones as she could, amid great fright and excitement, until finally
Admiral Howard commanded 80 or 90 ships and boats. There was no
deficiency in his men, however,—the pick of English “sea-dogs” was at his
call; and among the leaders of the pack were men we have already met
elsewhere—Francis Drake, John Hawkins, Martin Frobisher, and others.
What a sight it must have been on that August day as these ships, flying
the huge banners of Castile, standing high out of the water, with lofty
“castles” forward and aft, gaudy with carving and color, the light rippling
here from silken pennants and flashing there from shining cannon or huge
poop-lanterns, moved past the southern headlands of England, watched by
half-raging, half-fearful crowds! And how mystified and indignant must

these watching country people have been when Admiral Howard, their only
defender, calmly let the Armada sail by Plymouth, where the English fleet
lay hid in the Solent, and Captain Drake coolly insisted upon finishing a
game of bowls before he would go down to his waiting frigate.

STYLE OF SHIPS IN THE TIME OF THE ARMADA.

But these captains knew what they were about. In those days, as now, in
fighting with sailing-vessels the advantage is usually with the one who
attacks from the windward side; for then he can manœuver his vessel,
whereas his enemy, heading toward the wind, can do so only with difficulty
if at all, and hence cannot easily take a good position or escape from a bad
one. Howard, therefore, waited until the closely crowded squadrons of

Spain had passed beyond him up the Channel, when he issued from
Plymouth harbor, bore down upon their rear from the windward, and
proceeded, as one of the reports expressed it, to “pluck their feathers.”
Then began some wonderful days of sea history and naval schooling. The
Spanish vessels were floating castles armed with heavy guns and crowded
with soldiers armed with muskets and “harquebuses of crock,”—that is,
great blunderbusses supported upon a portable rest. They kept in a close
crowd, like a phalanx of old Swiss infantry, and supposed that the English
would move against them in another dense raft, and that they would fight
from deck to deck of grappled ships as if they were on land.
But the English knew better. They had few ships as large—the Triumph,
1100 tons, was the biggest—or guns as heavy as the Spaniards’. Instead of
attacking in a solid mass, therefore, they spread out, hovered on the flanks,
darted a ship here and there, fired as they saw opportunity, and kept their
own vessels out of danger as much as possible. In the light and variable
winds that prevailed, the great galleons of the Armada were almost
immovable, while the English for the most part had smaller, lighter vessels,
whose nimbleness and ready obedience to the helm astonished the Spanish.
Standing low in the water, these would drive their shot right through the
enemy’s hulls, and make off before the Spaniard could depress his guns
enough to do any damage in return; while the army of musketeers upon
whom he had relied so strongly had little chance to do anything at all.
Thus for a week the English frigates and armed fishing-boats harassed
the Armada on its way up the Channel, capturing and sinking many of the
ships, while losing some of its own, of course, until at last the worried and
baffled squadron managed to gain the roadstead of Calais, where the army
of the Duke of Parma lay. To carry this army across and begin a campaign
against London seemed now not only out of the question, but the safety of
the fleet itself was a question; for a few days later, when a favorable wind
arose, several fire-ships came sailing down upon them from the blockading
Englishmen outside. These fire-ships—an important part of every fleet for
two or three centuries—were old vessels intended to set fire to an enemy’s
ships. Their yard-arms were set with great iron hooks, their hulls and
riggings were saturated with oil, their decks loaded with tar-barrels, and
their old guns overloaded, so as to spread destruction in every direction by
bursting. Then bold crews sailed these grappling monsters as near the

enemy as they dared,—and it must have been a service dear to the heart of
the daring,—set fire to them, lashed their helms, and got away in their boats
as best they could.
To escape these dreadful things the Spaniards were obliged to up-anchor
and put to sea, losing many ships and lives by fire or the wildly flying
cannon-balls, or by going ashore in the effort; and then the Englishmen
followed them again, like wolves after a herd of buffalo in winter. The
Spaniards dared not go back down the Channel, and nothing remained to
them but the hazardous voyage around the north of Scotland—a venture for
which the towering, unwieldy galleons were ill-fitted. Storms overtook
them in the North Sea and on the Atlantic, and so many were cast away on
the Irish coast, where those who reached the shore were slain, that hardly
half of the proud Armada crept back to Lisbon and Cadiz.

A SEA-FIGHT OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.

This incident was one of the most notable in European history for two
reasons: First, historically, it no doubt saved England and her colonies from
the Inquisition, and all the other depressing and horrible burdens that long
afterward weighted the papal countries of southern Europe and their
American possessions; and, second, it reformed naval warfare not only by
confirming the value of a regularly organized national navy, but by showing
that the old-fashioned, dense fleet formation, carrying soldiers to fight as
they would do on land, was wrong and ineffective.

But though Spain had been humbled she was by no means crushed, and
sea-fighting went on a long time before either she, the French, or the Dutch
—and the last were the hardest foes—would fully admit England’s claim to
be sovereign of all the seas around Britain, and strike their flags whenever
they met one of her “king’s ships” in acknowledgment of it. England
asserted that the domain of her crown covered not only the lands of England
(and much of France), but also “the narrow seas”; and she defined this
domain to include all the Channel waters north of Cape Finisterre and
thence in a square area westward to the middle of the Atlantic. This was not
an assertion: “I can beat the world in sea-fighting,” but was a legal claim to
rule—a declaration that her laws extended over that much sea in the same
manner that it is now agreed that the laws of all nations extend to a distance
of three miles from their coasts.
The whole idea of naval warfare in those days was defense of your own
commerce and attack upon your enemy’s; and at that time any one you met
under another flag was likely to be your “enemy” if either party promised
spoils worth a fight. Hence not only did privateering flourish,—often
degenerating into piracy,—not only did all merchant vessels go heavily
armed, but the royal ships were intended principally for convoying or
guarding merchantmen. This theory, which was only a part of the generally
unsettled condition of that formative period, kept up a continual state of
fighting on the sea, even between peoples nominally at peace, and of course
led again and again to open wars. These were almost always popular,
especially among the bold sailors but poor traders of England, on account of
the chances for prizes and plunder that often more than repaid the expenses
and losses of the conflict; thus the war with the Dutch in 1652-54, in which
William Penn was a captain, brought in more than £6,000,000 worth of
captures—more than the financial cost of the war.
At this time—the first half of the sixteenth century—Holland was the
leading commercial nation of the world. Not only had her merchants large
interests of their own in both the East and West Indies, very extensive
fisheries in northern waters, and trading stations in the African and
American coasts, but a large part of the commerce of other nations was
conducted in Dutch ships, including much of England itself. It was the
unrighteous but determined effort to break this up by any and every means
that brought on the second war with Holland, one incident of which was the

capture of New Amsterdam (New York); for fleets no longer stayed close at
home, acting mainly as defenders of coasts, as in the previous century, but
now cruised and fought on the high seas, as the Spanish had learned in
many a hard struggle to protect their trading and treasure-ships homeward
bound.

ATTACKING SPANISH GALLEONS OFF THE AZORES.

DRAWN BY WARREN SHEPPARD.
SPANISH AND FRENCH SHIPS OF THE LINE TAKING POSITION FOR THE BATTLE OF
TRAFALGAR.

This new practice, however, had required a change in ships and their
equipment. The English learned this quicker than any one else. They cut
down the lofty cabins, increased the height, while reducing the weight, of
masts by inventing jointed topmasts, and replaced the unwieldy lateens by
an arrangement of lofty, quickly handled square sails. By the middle of the
seventeenth century ocean-going ships had much the same appearance as at
present,—although far more elaborately ornamented and bulging aft with
stern-galleries,—the massive, high-pooped Spanish galleon surviving
longest as a relic of the old type. These changes allowed the armament to be
taken from the front and rear of the ship, where it had formerly been mainly
placed, there being no room in the waist, and allowed it to be distributed
equally up and down the ship, which now began to deliver the “broadsides”
that formed such a feature in sea-gunnery before the days of turreted
ironclads, and this, with the constant improvement in the range and power
of the artillery, soon brought about ideas of battle formation. The early plan

was to provide a large number of ships,—eighty or one hundred on each
side in a single action were not uncommon,—because each was weak, and
also because a great number of fighting-men was thought necessary, and
then to advance from the windward in a compact mass, and endeavor to
close with the enemy and capture or destroy him by hand-to-hand
promiscuous fighting. Our word squadron means a square, and, as applied
to ships, is a survival from those antiquated methods.
But when the practice of using fire-ships became common and effective,
and trimmer, more active ships superseded the cumbrous galleasses, it was
seen that this close formation only exposed a fleet to destruction, and an
open order had to be adopted, with a consequent change of tactics. Another
lesson was, that a sea-fight was a sailor’s battle, where soldiers were out of
place, and that to take a great number of weak ships into action, crowded
with men, was only to risk life unnecessarily. Hence, larger and more
heavily armed ships, but fewer of them, appear in later engagements; and in
place of a bunch of vessels, “huddled together like a flock of sheep,” at
which to shoot, the open order gave the gunners small and single targets.
All these changes combined to enforce the wisdom of meeting an enemy
in a widely spaced line, where the strongest fighting-ships were put
forward, and smaller vessels came up in the rear. Those ahead met the
battle-ships at the head of the enemy’s column, and the lesser ones, as they
came up, were paired off against those of their own size, so that the battle
became a series of equalized duels. Such was the theory of naval tactics in
the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; and so arose the term line-of-
battle ship, descriptive of such national craft as are shown on the opposite
page.
These fine old line-of-battle ships were large and powerful before the
seventeenth century ended. Thus in the British navy when 1700 came in
there were eight which had from ninety-six to one hundred and ten guns
each—fifty-three others carrying more than seventy guns, and twenty-three
more with more than fifty guns—all at that time regarded as fit for the line
of battle, though a hundred years later nothing less than a “seventy-four”
was so considered. Such were the grandly picturesque old vessels that won
the day at Gibraltar, Copenhagen, and Trafalgar, and at many another spot
where the whole horizon echoed to their thunderous broadsides; but of them

all there now remain only a few honored hulks in harbors, or a few grand
figureheads preserved in docks and museums.
Each navy, however, had a greater number of smaller, more active
vessels, known as frigates, corvettes, sloops-of-war, gun-brigs, etc., which
carried from twenty to forty-four guns, and were the “eyes of the fleet,” as
one old strategist styled them. They answered to what we should now call
cruisers, and often went on duty in distant parts of the world, or in war were
scouting about and supporting the main fleet. This class was especially
cultivated by the United States, as soon as it began to make a regular navy,
at the close of the Revolutionary War, and six frigates were built at our six
navy-yards during the last years of the last century, which were intended
and proved to be separately “superior to any single European frigate of the
usual dimensions” in speed, manœuvering, and fighting power, in
proportion to their weight of ordnance. Three of them (Constellation,
Congress, and Chesapeake) mounted thirty-six guns, and three (United
States, President, and Constitution) forty-four guns each—mainly 24-
pounders; and all gave so good an account of themselves, as ships, that the
high compliment was paid us of their being carefully imitated by foreign
naval constructors.
This is not a naval history, so that I am not concerned to tell of all the
glorious or inglorious work of the navies of Europe in obtaining and
holding, or failing to get and keep, trade routes open and territorial
possessions intact in various parts of the world. During the seventeenth and
eighteenth and far into the nineteenth century, there was no time when some
nations were not fighting on the sea if not on land; and much of the time all
the maritime nations were hard at it, turning their guns to-day on the allies
of yesterday, and fighting shoulder to shoulder with them the next season
against some friend of the year before.
A few of the most famous battles ought to be spoken of, however, as
illustrating the methods and development of naval warfare, and because we
now recognize that their consequences were far-reaching.
In the wars which broke out toward the close of the eighteenth century
due to Napoleon’s ambition to rule the world, Great Britain found herself
engaged in a struggle not only with France, but really with the whole world,
for the command of the seas that washed the western coast of Europe. The

only sign of friendship to England from the Baltic to Gibraltar was in the
doubtful neutrality of Portugal. England had to abandon the Mediterranean,
and devote herself to facing the allied powers against her outside the Gates
of Hercules as best she could. In 1797 she made a beginning by crushing a
fleet of Dutch ships off Camperdown (Holland), and a Spanish fleet off
Cape St. Vincent; but, though both were great battles, neither had any
lasting effect; and in spite of them Napoleon planned his celebrated
invasion of England for the following year, supposing that by his expedition
to Egypt, threatening England’s East Indian possessions, he would draw
away so much of the British navy that he and his allies could put an army
across the English Channel unhindered. I need not say that his invasion of
England never was even attempted; but for a time his fleet did hold
command of the Mediterranean—a state of things to which an end was put
by England’s most famous naval hero, Horatio Nelson.
A long series of brilliant exploits had given Nelson fame, and the
vigorous accounts of them he used to send home helped his great
popularity. A large part of his service had been in American waters.
In 1798 Nelson was a rear-admiral, and was sent to the Mediterranean
after the French fleet, which, having convoyed Napoleon’s army to its
landing at Alexandria, was ready for new operations. It is characteristic of
the slow and almost useless methods of gaining intelligence in those days,
that from early June to the end of July Nelson searched for this flotilla, and
was unable to get more news of it than an occasional rumor that it had been
at some place or other days or weeks before. The French knew no more as
to the movements of their pursuers, yet the fleets were twice within a few
miles of each other. This was Nelson’s first independent command, and his
patience and nerves were nearly worn out by anxiety.

WHEN DECATUR WAS A MIDSHIPMAN.

At last, on the first day of August, the English almost stumbled on the
French at anchor in the Bay of Aboukir, among the mouths of the Nile,
between Alexandria and Rosetta—a shallow roadstead full of shoals and
rocks, for which Nelson had neither chart nor pilot.
In the interior of this bay lay the Napoleonic squadron, under Admiral
Brueys, in such fancied security that a large part of the crews was ashore,
and some of the ships unprepared for a battle when the British appeared. It
was anchored in line of battle, however, and consisted of thirteen ships of
the line, the central one being the flagship Orient, having 120 guns, and
probably the largest and most complete war-ship then afloat. On each side
of her were the Franklin and the Tonnant, of 80 guns each, and none of the
others were greatly inferior.

The British had also thirteen ships, but none was the equal of the best
French, and one of them did not engage in the attack at all. Knowing
nothing of the harbor, and aware that all his ships drew much water,—
perhaps thirty feet,—Nelson had to make a long and very cautious detour,
throwing the lead every moment and feeling his way in. It was then late in
the afternoon, and half-past six before the Goliath, leading the column, got
near enough to attract the French fire. Replying, but not halting, the
Goliath, followed closely by the Zealous and Orion, made for the head of
the line, and then with a daring unrivaled, for there was barely enough
water to float their keels, these ships slowly turned around the foremost
French vessel and dropped their anchors in the rear of the enemy’s line. The
other ships, as they came up, ranged alongside the front of the French, and
the deepening twilight resounded with such a roar of broadsides as never
will be heard again.
In the darkness and smoke an English seventy-four, the Bellerophon, had
engaged the monstrous Orient, and in a short time had been crushed; all her
masts were swept out of her, two hundred of her people were killed and
wounded, and she drifted out of action. But nearly the same fate had by that
time overtaken the French Guerrière, for the Theseus had coolly placed
herself where she could rake the anchored ship and tear her to pieces. The
moment the Bellerophon drifted off, however, her place was taken by two
newly arrived frigates, and the Orient presently found herself the target of
three ships which slowly but surely were cutting her to pieces in spite of her
tremendous resistance. Her admiral had been killed on her deck, where half
her officers and men lay dead or wounded, when it was suddenly seen that
she was on fire, and the whole battle was instinctively suspended to watch
the magnificent spectacle, save where some still poured in shot and shell to
prevent the French crew from extinguishing the flames.
Powerless either to save their ship or launch their boats, the remnant of
the Orient’s crew could only fling themselves into the water and trust to the
mingled boats of friends and foes to pick them up. The ships nearest slipped
their cables, and tried to edge away out of danger as the flames enveloped
the towering masts, burning with amazing fierceness in the tarred rigging
and lighting up the desert for miles inland, while the hull became a furnace.
Suddenly, at a quarter before ten, a volcano-like explosion tore the glowing
old battle-ship asunder, a torrent of burning fragments was hurled aloft,—

with how many dead heroes, no one knows,—and double darkness closed
over the appalling scene. Then the black waves were lighted anew by the
flash of cannon and musketry, and the battle went on until daylight before
the last of the French vessels had been conquered, while two of them had
managed to steal away. Of the other eleven one had been burned and sunk,
three had gone ashore, where one burned, and the remainder had been
crushed into surrendering. The English did not lose a single vessel, for even
the dismantled Bellerophon could float, and their loss in men was far less
than that of the French.

DRAWN BY WARREN SHEPPARD.
THE “THESEUS” ATTACKING THE “GUERRIÈRE.”

Historians tell us that this victory was the grandest naval success on
record. Nelson himself said that victory was too weak a term—it was a
catastrophe. It put an end at once to Napoleon’s campaign in Egypt, and to
all his designs against India. It gave the command of the Mediterranean to
England, emboldened Turkey and Russia to recover the Ionian Islands, gave
Naples a chance to assert herself, and aroused Austria and Russia to resist

by armies Napoleon’s aggressions, so that from this battle dates his
downfall. Its influence soon reached the United States, and caused it to
break through its neutrality and begin upon the sea that naval war with
France of which we hear very little nowadays, but which gave to our own
naval record such glorious incidents as Truxton’s battles in the
Constellation with L’Insurgente and La Vengeance, and Captain Little’s
capture, in the corvette Boston, of the French sloop-of-war Le Berceau.
Nelson remained in the Mediterranean for some years, by no means idle,
and then did service of extraordinary value elsewhere, as at the battle of
Copenhagen, which in a single remarkable conflict put an end to a northern
conspiracy against England, and saved her a vast deal of trouble; but his
final service was the most momentous of all, at any rate for the fortunes of
Great Britain alone, and this was the winning of the battle of Trafalgar.
In 1805 Napoleon had prepared for another grand invasion of England,
and with great skill had gathered a fleet of allied French and Spanish
vessels, which was to protect and coöperate with the strong army he
proposed to land along the Kentish shores. This fleet was commanded by
Admiral Villeneuve, and assembled at Cadiz, where, in October, 1805, it
was being watched by an English fleet, commanded by Nelson and
Collingwood, consisting of thirty-three ships of the line; twenty-seven of
these were present when, on the morning of the 21st, the allies, twenty-nine
battle-ships strong, came sailing out, hoping to avoid battle if possible.
This, Nelson was resolved, should not happen; and dividing his forces into
two columns, he made at them in such a way as to strike their line (then off
Cape Trafalgar) in the middle of its crescent. The wind was very light, and
an hour or more elapsed before even the heads of the line struck the enemy,
so that there was plenty of time to make every preparation, and there was
constant instruction by signaling from Nelson’s flagship Victory. Then at
the last moment, when the first gun was ready to be fired, there rose upon
the signal halyards of the Victory the message that, received with ringing
cheers, has been an inspiration to patriots the world around ever since since
—
England expects every man will do his duty.
A few moments later Collingwood in the Royal Sovereign, and Nelson in
the Victory, were in the thick of the foreign fleet, which awaited them in

disorderly array, but closed about these two, bent upon destroying them if
possible before any others could come up. The fury of the duels that ensued,
where ships were mixed in disorder, and sometimes three or four against
one, passes adequate description. None, perhaps, fared worse than the Belle
Isle, a large English two-decker that was the first to reach the scene after the
Royal Sovereign, and to draw off some of the fire that threatened to
pulverize Collingwood’s ship.

DRAWN FROM THE MODEL IN THE GREENWICH MUSEUM.
NELSON’S SIGNAL.

The wreckage and suffering on other ships were almost as great. The
very first broadside of the Royal Sovereign, taking the Santa Ana, struck
down 400 out of the 1000 persons aboard; and the Sovereign herself soon
lost every mast. The Santissima Trinidada, a Spanish four-decker, and the
largest ship then afloat, was reduced to a wreck, and a dozen others lost a
part or all of their masts. As for the Victory, she was always in the thick of
it, receiving at one time the concentrated fire of seven hostile battle-ships,
yet was not too much disabled to be manœuvered. Her captain’s aim was to
engage directly with the French flagship Bucentaure, but she was closely
attended by three other large ships, and difficult to reach. Nevertheless, the
Victory finally got across her stern, and from a few yards distance poured in
a broadside which, sweeping the whole length of her interior, dismounted
twenty guns, and killed and wounded 400 men. As she passed on, returning
the fire of the other vessels near by, she was closely followed by the
Temeraire, the second English ship, which had already become almost

unmanageable; and a lifting of the smoke showed her smashing a little
French frigate, the Redoubtable, which, by and by, was captured after
almost every man had been killed, and she was in a sinking condition. The
astonishing resistance of this little vessel, and the damage she did by
soldiers with muskets crowded in her tops and firing down upon the decks
of the English ships, form one of the most noteworthy incidents of naval
history; and it is not too much to say that she inflicted upon Great Britain as
great harm as all the rest of the allies put together, for it was a musket-ball
from the mizzentop of the Redoubtable that struck down, early in the
action, the great Nelson himself. He seemed to have had a feeling, even
before leaving England, that he would not survive this campaign, and knew
his wound was mortal the instant it was received. He was carried below, and
remained alive and conscious about three hours, eagerly listening to reports
of the progress of the fight, and rejoicing at last in a knowledge of victory.
His last words, murmured again and again, with his failing breath, seemed
an answer to his signaled injunction, for they were: “Thank God I have
done my duty.”
Other men [writes Captain Mahan] have died in the hour of victory, but to no other has
victory so singular and so signal stamped the fulfilment and completion of a great life’s
work. “Finis coronat opus” has of no man been more true than of Nelson. Results
momentous and stupendous were to flow from the annihilation of all sea power except that
of Great Britain, which was Nelson’s great achievement; but his part was done when
Trafalgar was fought, and his death in the moment of completed success has obtained for
that superb victory an immortality of fame which even its own grandeur could scarcely
have insured.

No such fleet actions as this ever occurred in North American waters in
the time of the “old navy,” though there was plenty of cruising and fighting
up and down the coast and in the West Indies. The United States had made
its new flag respected before the end of the eighteenth century, but it was
done mainly in European waters, where that marvelous captain, Paul Jones,
had been defying enemies to the point of rashness.
Paul Jones was the first man to hoist our national ensign (the rattlesnake
flag) on an American ship, and again the first to hoist the stars and stripes,
and was the ranking officer of the continental navy. He records that “in the
Revolution he had twenty-three battles and solemn rencounters by sea;
made seven descents in Britain and her colonies; took of her navy two ships
of equal and two of far superior force,” and so on. It is true that he alone of
his day steadfastly refused to acknowledge England’s supremacy of the

seas; that the flag of the United States alone was never struck to Great
Britain except under force of honorable combat; and that on the ships
commanded by Paul Jones it was never struck at all!
Every Yankee school-boy knows of the terrible fight of the crazy old
sloop-of-war Bon Homme Richard against the Serapis, a new English 50-
gun frigate in the North Sea, in which a sinking and burning and shot-
riddled vessel, able after the first broadside to bring only three or four small
guns into practice, conquered and captured her twice-greater antagonist. It
is not a story one can tell in a few words, but it was a deed that is regarded
in naval annals as among the most extraordinary in the history of the world,
and it won for the new republic a credit in Europe that was of vast benefit to
it and all its wandering citizens.
Great Britain, though humiliated, had not been seriously hurt by the loss
of two or three ships out of her six hundred, and she still tried to enforce
against the rising naval power on the west side of the Atlantic the
subservience which she received along its eastern shores. It took the form of
asserting her right to stop and board any American vessel, governmental or
private, and seize and impress into her own service any British subject
found serving in the crew. This always met with protest and resistance, and
at last became so galling that in 1812 the United States declared war against
Great Britain’s might rather than continue to submit to it.
This might gradually overcame
us, and British fleets sailed up and
down our coasts unhindered, but
not until the enemy had been
surprised by many harder knocks
than they anticipated, and had
learned one thing for certain,—that
while man for man the Yankees
were equally good seamen and
fighters, they were better ship-
builders, and could teach lessons in
that art which their enemies were
not above learning: and finally we
won by sheer force of victories at
sea.

I have already spoken of the six Drawn from Life by S. DeKoster Decʳ.8 1800,
frigates which were used in that Engraved by Jd. Stow.
war, as admittedly the best of their BARON NELSON OF THE NILE.
kind in the world. Except the
unlucky Chesapeake, which was rashly carried unprepared into the fatal
action against the Shannon, where Lawrence lost his life, but won undying
fame in the memory of his countrymen by his “Don’t give up the ship,” all
did glorious work. Thus, the United States under Decatur reduced to a
wreck off Madeira, and brought as a prize to New York, the British 44-gun
frigate Macedonian in October, 1812, itself remaining almost uninjured,—a
victory due to superior seamanship and gunnery.
The same skill, using a ship of superior sailing power, accounted largely
for the splendid victory of the United States sloop-of-war Wasp (18 guns), a
week earlier, near Bermuda, in an encounter with the British sloop Frolic
(19 guns), where in three quarters of an hour the Frolic was totally
dismasted and reduced to a rolling wreck, with ninety killed or wounded out
of a crew of one hundred and ten, while the Wasp’s loss was only ten. A
British seventy-four then came up and captured both the victor and her
prize; but eighteen months later a second Wasp, by reason of her better
gunnery, cut to pieces at different times two other ships with comparatively
small injury to herself. Nor could the President have given so good an
account of herself in her unfortunate encounter with the Belvidera, and
again when chased and finally captured by the squadron led by the
Endymion, had not her sailing qualities and gunnery been of so high an
order—qualities which also distinguished the American fleets on Lake Erie
and Lake Champlain.

THE “FROLIC” REDUCED TO A WRECK BY THE FIRST “WASP” (1812).

But the honors of that brilliant naval war belonged chiefly, after all, to the
Constitution—“Old Ironsides,” as the people loved to call her,—which is
enshrined in the history and hearts of the United States as Nelson’s Victory
is in those of Great Britain.
The Constitution was the finest, perhaps, of the United States frigates,
and a favorite ship with commanders, yet her fame began with her success
in running away, Broke’s British squadron chasing her three nights and two
days, only to lose her after all. The winds were so light that she sent out her
boats to help the sails urge her forward. It was only a few days after that
(August 19, 1812) that Commodore Isaac Hull, cruising in search of the
British vessel Guerrière (the same that had been captured from the French
in the battle of the Nile, and again dismasted at Trafalgar), overhauled her
off the coast of Newfoundland. The London newspapers had not only been
sneering at the Constitution as “a bundle of pine boards sailing under a bit
of striped bunting,” but Captain Dacres had sent a boastful challenge to
Hull to meet him and see what would happen. The vessels, though
nominally of different rate, were actually in close equality, and both crews

were eager for a fair fight. It was already well along in the afternoon, and
the sea was rough, but Hull would not reply to the enemy’s fire until he was
within pistol-shot, then his broadside opened.
“Fifteen minutes after the contest began,” to quote Lossing’s lively account, “the
mizzenmast of the Guerrière was shot away, her mainyard was in slings, and her hull,
spars, sails, and rigging were torn to pieces. By a skilful movement, the Constitution now
fell foul of her foe, her bowsprit running into the larboard quarter of her antagonist. The
cabin of the Constitution was set on fire by the explosion of the forward guns of the
Guerrière, but the flames were soon extinguished. Both parties attempted to board, while
the roar of the great guns was terrific. The sea was rolling heavily, and would not permit a
safe passage from one vessel to the other. At length the Constitution became disentangled,
and shot ahead of the Guerrière, when the mainmast of the latter, shattered into weakness,
fell into the sea. The Guerrière, shivered and shorn, rolled like a log in the trough of the
billows. Hull sent his compliments to Captain Dacres, and inquired whether he had struck
his flag. Dacres, who was a ‘jolly tar,’ looking up and down at the stumps of his masts,
coolly and dryly replied: ‘Well, I don’t know. Our mizzenmast is gone, our mainmast is
gone,—upon the whole you may say we have struck our flag.’”

Too completely wrecked to be of any further use, the historic old ship
was set on fire and blown up, and so ended her pride and her story. Hull lost
only fourteen men killed and wounded, while the British lost seventy, dead,
and all the survivors prisoners. This calamity, on the heels of similar
successes elsewhere for the “bit of striped bunting,” spread consternation
throughout Great Britain not only, but in the other European monarchies,
for it presaged the rise of a new power to be reckoned with, where novel
and superior instruments and methods of warfare opposed uncalculated
forces to the old régime.
This conviction was enforced upon Europe anew only four months later
by the Constitution overtaking and crushing in West Indian waters the 38-
gun frigate Java, which also was burned to the water’s edge, because the
wreck was not worth saving; and again the British loss was many times
greater than the American. Captain William Bainbridge, who had
distinguished himself in the Mediterranean, was her commander.

THE “CONSTITUTION” CHASED BY CAPTAIN BROKE’S SQUADRON

The ports on the upper deck aft were roughly cut to meet the emergency. The sailors in the rigging
threw water from buckets upon the sails to make them hold better the faint breeze, and below hose
pipe was used to the same purpose. During the three days’ chase boats were sent out to tow, and
kedge-anchors were used to warp the ship forward.

Various successes marked her career for the next two years, until, under
the command of Captain Charles Stewart, she had her memorable adventure
off Madeira, in which she engaged with the two British ships Cyane, thirty-
six guns, and Levant, eighteen guns, and captured both, with a loss of only

three men killed and twelve wounded. Stewart set sail with his prizes and
prisoners for Porto Praya, whence he purposed sending his prisoners to
New York in a captured merchantman. Reaching there on March 10th, he
was next day busy at these arrangements, when the topsails of several men-
of-war were seen entering the harbor through the prevailing fog. Having no
trust that, if these were British, their commanders would respect the
courtesies of a weak neutral port, Stewart felt that his only chance was to
try to run away in the fog, and made immediate preparations to do so,
sending word to the Levant and Cyane to follow. Being discovered by the
strangers—three large British frigates—at the outlet of the harbor, their
escape immediately became a question of seamanship and sailing. Here the
Americans showed their superiority, and effectually dodging both the ships
and the cannon-balls of the pursuers, the Levant got back under the
protection of the guns of the fort at Porto Praya, while the Constitution and
Levant fairly outsailed the frigates and escaped.
In 1830 brave Old Ironsides was condemned as worn out, and ordered to
be sold. But, as a similar sad fate overtaking the “Fighting Temeraire” had
been made the occasion of an immortal painting by Turner, and so, perhaps,
had caused Nelson’s still more famous battle-ship Victory to be preserved in
the harbor of Portsmouth as a shrine of naval inspiration, so the obloquy
that menaced the Constitution now fired the heart of a young poet to write a
passionate appeal to patriotism. Who does not know Dr. Holmes’s ringing
stanzas?—
Oh, better that her shattered hulk
Should sink beneath the wave;
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave.
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every threadbare sail,
And give her to the God of Storms,
The lightning and the gale!

The country caught the spirit, and such a cry of protest went up that the
vandalism was stayed, and Old Ironsides was again repaired—hardly
anything but her ornaments was now left of the original structure—and took
several cruises, one of which was in carrying wheat to famine-stricken
Ireland. Later she was used as a school-ship, but finally became worthless
even for that, and in 1895 the question arose whether she should be broken

up at the Brooklyn navy-yard or
towed around to Portsmouth, New
Hampshire, and there laid up in a
line with the Macedonian and a few
other ancient hulks that were rotting
quietly away in honorable age, and
have now wholly disappeared.
Sentiment dictated the latter course,
and, with a crew aboard, prepared HOMEWARD BOUND.
to take to their boats at a moment’s
notice, the leaking and crazy old warrior, stately even yet, and sadly saluted
by every fort and vessel she passed, crept around to her last berth at Kittery
Point. She is the last and the most glorious representative of the “old navy.”

TYPES OF BATTLE-SHIPS—1890 AND 1800.

CHAPTER VI
(Continued)

WAR-SHIPS AND NAVAL BATTLES

PART II—THE PRESENT ERA OF STEAM AND STEEL
HE introduction of steam made little difference in naval affairs at
first, so far as either strategy or tactics are concerned, although it
changed the conditions of naval action in two principal ways and
in many minor ones. Ships could now, like the early galleys, be
placed in any position the commander pleased, and, unlike galleys, this
effort could be sustained a long time, for engines do not tire out like human
arms. On the other hand, ships propelled by steam needed to return to port
at frequent intervals to obtain coal, and naval powers found it necessary to
provide, either by possession or treaty, safe coaling-stations in various parts
of the world for the use of their cruising fleets.
The first steam war-ships were naturally fitted with side paddle-wheels;
but as soon as the screw-propeller came into use the navy was quick to
adopt it. “By its use the whole motive power could be protected by being
placed below the water-line. It interfered much less than the paddle with the
efficiency and handiness of the vessel under sail alone, and it enabled ships
to be kept generally under sail. Great importance was attached to this, as the
handling of a ship under sail was justly thought an invaluable means of
training both officers and men in ready resource, prompt action, and self-
reliance.” For this reason masts and sails were retained long after they were
admitted to be detrimental to the fighting qualities of battle-ships. Naval
reformers had to wait until the last generation of “old salts,” trained on
“blue water,” had died off, and their scornful sneers at “tea-kettle”
seamanship had been silenced in the only way possible, before they could
persuade governments to build or men to serve in the new style of vessels.
In truth, the transition from the fighting machinery and methods that
prevailed until, say, the bombardment of Acre, in 1840, to those that
decided the inferiority of China in her struggles with Japan at the Yalu and
elsewhere, was rapid enough to make even a sea-dog dizzy.

THE “KEARSARGE” GETTING INTO POSITION TO RAKE THE “ALABAMA” AT THE
CLOSE OF THE COMBAT.

Excellent types of the war-steamers, intermediate between the old two-
and three-deckers and the sailless “ironclads” that followed, were those two
actors in that most glorious sea-fight of the American Civil War—the
Kearsarge and Alabama.
In this great fight, which took place a few miles off the harbor of
Cherbourg, France, one beautiful summer Sunday (June 19th) in 1864,
much the same tactics prevailed as in any one of the earlier ocean duels. As
the Alabama came on she began firing the two-hundred-pound pivot-rifle
forward, which was her main gun, while the Kearsarge was yet a mile
away. The latter waited a little before replying, but only a few moments
elapsed before both were near enough and hard at it, each doing its best to
get a position ahead of its antagonist for raking,—a disadvantage which the
other steadily avoided; and this caused them to follow one another about in
advancing circles, of which seven were described before the end came.
We have a story of the battle as seen from the deck of the Kearsarge,
written by her surgeon, who had little to do except observe the conflict.
The Kearsarge gunners [he tells us] had been cautioned against firing without direct
aim, and had been advised to point the heavy guns below rather than above the water-line,
and to clear the deck of the enemy with the lighter ones. Though subjected to an incessant
storm of shot and shell, they kept their stations and obeyed instructions.

The effect upon the enemy was readily perceived, and nothing could restrain the
enthusiasm of our men. Cheer succeeded cheer; caps were thrown in the air or overboard;
jackets were discarded; sanguine of victory, the men were shouting as each projectile took
effect: “That is a good one!” “Down, boys!” “Give her another like the last!” “Now we
have her!” and so on, cheering and shouting to the end.
After exposure to an uninterrupted cannonade for eighteen minutes without casualties, a
sixty-eight-pounder Blakely shell passed through the starboard bulwarks below the main
rigging, exploded upon the quarterdeck, and wounded three of the crew of the after pivot-
gun. With these exceptions, not an officer or man received serious injury. The three
unfortunates were speedily taken below, and so quietly was the act done, that at the
termination of the fight a large number of the men were unaware that any of their comrades
were wounded. Two shots entered the ports occupied by the thirty-twos, where several men
were stationed, one taking effect in the hammock-netting, the other going through the
opposite port, yet none were hit. A shell exploded in the hammock-netting and set the ship
on fire; the alarm calling for fire-quarters was sounded, and men detailed for such an
emergency put out the fire, while the rest stayed at the guns.
The Kearsarge concentrated her fire and poured in the eleven-inch shells with deadly
effect. One penetrated the coal-bunker of the Alabama, and a dense cloud of coal-dust
arose. Others struck near the water-line between the main and mizzen masts, exploded
within board, or passing through burst beyond. Crippled and torn, the Alabama moved less
quickly and began to settle by the stern, yet did not slacken her fire, but returned
successive broadsides without disastrous result to us.
Captain Semmes witnessed the havoc made by the shells, especially by those of our after
pivot-gun, and offered a reward for its silence. Soon his battery was turned upon this
particular offending gun for the purpose of silencing it. It was in vain, for the work of
destruction went on. We had completed the seventh rotation on the circular track and begun
the eighth; the Alabama, now settling, sought to escape by setting all available sail (fore-
trysail and two jibs), left the circle, amid a shower of shot and shell, and headed for the
French waters; but to no purpose. In winding the Alabama presented the port battery with
only two guns bearing, and showed gaping sides through which the water washed. The
Kearsarge pursued, keeping on a line nearer the shore, and with a few well-directed shots
hastened the sinking condition. Then the Alabama was at our mercy. Thus ended the fight
after one hour and two minutes.

One incident of this battle much talked of at the time, and given as an
excuse for their defeat by the Confederates (though without good reason),
was the fact that the waist of the Kearsarge, opposite the engines, was
protected by anchor-chains, hung in close festoons on the outside of the
ship, and kept in place and concealed by a boxing of thin boards. This,
however, was not the first attempt at protecting ships by armor, which had
now become necessary to meet successfully the better guns and projectiles
that year by year were increased in penetrative power. New powders and
explosives were constantly being invented also, each more effective than
the preceding; and as these were not only used in guns but applied to the

filling of shells, these bursting missiles for a time almost displaced solid
shot.
Along with this the discovery and perfection of the Bessemer and other
processes of making steel, and methods of adapting rifling to great cannon,
produced a rapid and varied increase in size and an improvement in quality
in the guns supplied to ships as well as in those used upon shore.
Against these new weapons the old “wooden walls” were of no avail.
Oak and teak, however sound and thick, failed to turn aside the conical
projectiles as they had the old round shot and shell. The ponderous missiles
would crash clear through, smashing everything in their path, and sending
showers of death-dealing splinters right and left. The navy had to protect
itself by a revival of the armor with which knights of the middle ages
guarded against arrows and javelins and sword-points. By and by, when
guns and bullets came, the knights thickened their armor in an attempt to
resist these new missiles, until at last it reached a weight too great to be
carried, and the whole cumbrous panoply had to be laid aside, and knightly
tactics altogether changed. Many persons believe that this history will be
repeated in the case of the sea-warriors of the world, which, within the
memory of many a grizzled admiral, have changed from buoyant and
beautiful ships to grim and shapeless fortresses afloat.
The Americans, fearless of sea-traditions, were the first to propose armor
for ships, but the French first practically applied it, building several
“floating batteries,” covered with iron 4¾ inches thick, in 1855. The
English copied them, in somewhat more ship-shape form; and then the
French began boldly to sheathe some of their frigates with iron plates and
call them “ironclads.” By this time iron hulls had begun to be used
commonly in the British merchant service, but of course the men-of-war’s
men, the slowest class of persons on earth to accept any change, insisted
that iron would by no means do for war-ships. Nevertheless a few
progressive spirits persuaded their high-mightinesses, the Lords of the
Admiralty, to try an experiment in building one, and, in 1860, the first iron
war-ship was launched and named Warrior, while all the old salts wagged
their heads and predicted the end of “Britannia rules the waves,” until there
wasn’t a really jolly tar to be found from Penolar Point to Pentland Firth. To
a certain extent these hardy old growlers were right, though their idea of a
remedy was wrong. It proved a failure to build old-style battle-ships of iron

or even of steel, or to
coat them all over with
armor, even when
greatly thickened. Not
only were they slow
and somewhat
unmanageable, but by
the time one of them
had been built with
thicker walls than its
latest rival, somebody
had invented artillery
whose projectiles
would penetrate it.
Ships that are “ship-
shape,” that is, possess
masts and sails, but are
THE UNITED STATES FRIGATE “MERRIMAC” constructed wholly of
BEFORE AND AFTER CONVERSION INTO AN IRONCLAD.
Compare with illustration on page 139.
iron or steel, and more
or less heavily
armored, have survived, and will always be a part of the world’s navies, no
doubt, but their uses will be subsidiary to heavy fighting; and with the
disappearance of the wooden sailing line-of-battle ship in the Crimean war
and of the iron war-steamer a quarter of a century later, all traditions of the
“old navy” were ended—traditions that went back to the days of Drake.
But who could have foreseen that this swift and momentous upsetting
should come about, not through the efforts of the great sea powers of
Europe,—the giants who had been struggling for the control of the ocean
for three hundred years,—but from the brain and purse of landsmen in a
country of the New World not taken into account as a naval power at all.
You need not be told that it was Ericsson’s invention and Henry
Grinnell’s building and Lieutenant Worden’s courageous fighting of the
little Monitor in Hampton Roads, on that fair March Sunday in 1862, that
brought about this change. When her turret—the “cheese-box on a raft”—
successfully withstood the assault of that heavily armed floating battery, the

Merrimac (or Virginia), all the war-ships of the world felt themselves
beaten, too, and wise seamen saw that they must prepare to face a new foe.
At once all maritime
governments began to
build fighting-vessels
which were castles of
steel afloat, and smaller
ships for various
services that more
resembled a Nootka war-
canoe in outline than one
of the frigates that used
SIDE ELEVATION AND DECK-PLAN OF THE “MONITOR.”
to do their work. So
shapeless were they that a new term had to be used, and we began to call
them cruisers. All war-ships, in fact, are now classified by their work, not
by their shape or size or rig.
First, fewest, and heaviest are the harbor-defense vessels—monitors and
massively walled floating batteries, intended to remain in harbors, or close
to the coast, as movable forts.
Second, battle-ships—the strongest, most thickly armored, heavily armed
style of ships that can be made, and still be able to go to sea; but these are
not expected to leave their home ports for a long time, nor to go to any great
distance unless compelled to do so in actual war.
Third, cruisers. These take the place of the old-fashioned lesser fighting-
ships, the seventy-fours, frigates, corvettes, and sloops, and vary greatly in
size, model, speed, and power of armament.
Fourth, small, swift, strongly armed but lightly armored, torpedo-boat
chasers, small gunboats for use in rivers and shallow coastal waters,
despatch-boats, dynamite-cruisers, such as our American Vesuvius, tow-
boats, and similar minor craft—the run-abouts of the naval service.
Fifth, torpedo-boats.
The material of all these is steel. Wood is no longer permitted even in the
fittings of their cabins, because wood will splinter and burn.

The great hull of a modern battle-ship, as described by Lieutenant S. A.
Staunton, U. S. N., which supports and carries the vast weights of
machinery, guns, and armor, aggregating perhaps more than ten thousand
tons, is built of plates of rolled steel, varying from 1⅜ inches thick at the
keel to ¾ inch at the water-line. These are closely jointed and fitted, and
bound together with straps, angle-irons, and brackets, so as to make a strong
unyielding structure braced in all directions. Then, through the central part
of the ship, at least, vertical plates are erected upon the frame and outside
plating, which bear a second or inner bottom, thus forming the “double
bottom” as high as the water-line, having the space between the inner and
outer sheathing separated into a multitude of small water-tight cells, so that
an injury to the outside hull would not cause the vessel to leak unless the
inner bottom were also punctured.
Throughout the whole length of the vessel, reaching from side to side and
from the keel to the main deck, are many steel bulkheads, sufficiently
strong to resist the pressure of the water, and communicating only by water-
tight doors, so that even were an accident, such as a collision or running
upon a rock, or an enemy’s shell, to open a hole through both bottoms, the
ship would still float, because the inflowing water would be confined to a
single compartment, leaving the rest of the ship dry and buoyant. Nothing
less than the blow of a ram, smashing through everything and throwing
several compartments into one, would be likely to sink such a ship, and this
is one reason why ramming has again become prominent in naval tactics.

THE FIRST SEA-FIGHT OF MODERN WAR-SHIPS.
The Peruvian turret-ship “Huascar” between the fire of the Chilean ironclads “Almirante Cochrane”
and “Blanco Encalada,” October 8, 1879.

But while safety from sinking is thus reasonably assured, this is more a
precaution of seaworthiness against the accidents of storms than toward
injuries receivable in battle. Passenger and freight steamers now have the
double bottoms and water-tight compartments, and the best of these have
arrangements for mounting light but powerful guns upon their decks, so that
they may be utilized by the government in a war emergency as light
cruisers, as armed transports, as swift scouts, or in other highly important
ways; they will then be coated with a light protective armor, but will not be
expected to engage in a contest with a real fighting-vessel.
The idea of armor-plate is, as has been said, scarcely half a century old,
and the moment it was put on (amid the jeers of the old line-of-battle tars,
who thought they had done all that the dignity of the profession permitted

when they arranged their rolled-up hammocks along the bulwarks to catch
musket-balls, and spread nettings to prevent somewhat the flight of
splinters) ingenious men began to improve their powder and strengthen
their guns to overcome the new defenses. To meet these improvements
armor has been increased and perfected, until now war-vessels are no longer
“ships” in any proper sense of the word, but floating fortresses of steel, the
names of whose defensive parts, even, have been borrowed from land
fortifications, such as turret and barbette.

THE UNITED STATES BATTLE-SHIP “MASSACHUSETTS.”

A limit to this defensive strength is marked in two directions. First, by the
size it is possible to make a vessel, and still keep her seaworthy and
manageable; and, second, by the weight of armor such a vessel can carry, in

addition to the weight of the framework, machinery, guns, and other things
necessary. These limits seemed to be reached some time ago in some of the
monstrous battle-ships built in Europe, and when it was found that even
while they were in construction rifled guns had been invented that would
drive their projectiles through the thickest wall of wrought-iron or steel that
these or any other vessels could carry, naval constructors began to despair
of keeping ahead of the gun-makers, and there was even talk of abandoning
armor altogether, and fighting battles out with bared breasts as we used to
do.
The percentage of weight which may be allotted to armor in the design of a ship limits
the area which can be wholly protected, but often permits the partial protection of other
areas of less importance to her vitality and destructive force. Motive power, steering-gear,
and magazines stand first upon the list of those features demanding complete protection....
The heavy shells from an enemy’s guns may do many other forms of injury besides sinking
a vessel and disabling her crew. They may strike and disable her engines, or pierce her
boilers, causing disastrous explosions. They may injure her steering-gear, destroy the
mechanism which controls her turrets and guns, or injure the guns themselves and their
carriages. In every feature of offense which renders her a formidable and dangerous foe—
her speed, her mobility, the fire of her guns—a man-of-war is dangerously vulnerable
unless she be protected by armor, unless the enemy’s shot be rejected by plates which it
cannot penetrate.

Then came an invention that put a new face upon the matter,—the
surface-hardening of plates, composed of a mixture of nickel with steel,—
which, from one of its perfectors, is known as “Harveyizing” it. Other
processes also are known. This gave to the surface of the metal such a flinty
hardness that the heaviest and most highly tempered steel projectiles would
almost invariably break to pieces when they struck it—the same projectiles
that were able to punch a hole clear through a target-plate of ordinary
wrought-steel twenty-two inches thick!
Plates thus surface-hardened are now made in Europe, and as well, if not
better, in the United States, where we have learned and taught the rest of the
world how to make them by rolling—a much better, as well as cheaper,
process than the former method of hammering them into shape.
It was found that with these hard-surfaced plates much less thickness was
required to contend successfully with the great guns opposed to them than
had been the case before; and the great saving of weight enabled a much
larger extent of armor to be borne upon a ship than was formerly possible,
so arranged as to protect all her hull and vital parts.

Thus, in a typical modern battle-ship, say 360 feet long, 72 feet broad,
and drawing 24 feet of water, having an armor of surface-hardened nickel-
steel, this armor is thus disposed: amidships, and a quarter of her length
behind the point of the prow, is built up a semicircular “barbette,” or wall,
of the thickest armor, behind which is a “turret,” moving to the right or left
through an arc equal to half the horizon, no higher than necessary to cover
and work the guns, and having its motor mechanism fully protected by the
barbette. This is the forward turret—a swinging fort, carrying with it, as it
turns, two of the heaviest guns in the ship.

THE UNITED STATES BATTLE-SHIP “INDIANA.”

Half-way from the center to the stern stands the after turret and its
barbette, similarly built of the strongest armor,—ten to twelve inches thick,
—and sweeping with its guns half the horizon.
From a point just in front of the forward barbette two walls of the
heaviest possible armor, reaching vertically from four and a half feet below
the water-line (loaded) to three feet above it, extend diagonally backward to

the sides of the ship, then continue along its side in a “belt” to points
opposite the after barbette, where they bend inward as before and meet just
aft of the after barbette; but hereafter the increased efficiency of armor, by
further reducing its weight, will probably enable the armor-belts to be
carried to the extreme ends of the ship, which otherwise can be so seriously
damaged by an enemy as to interfere with the speed and control of a ship in
action, even if it does not disable her.
But while these upright walls will resist a direct shot, it is equally
necessary to guard against a plunging fire, and therefore the space between
the turrets, at least, must be roofed over with a steel deck, two or three
inches thick, to deflect shot that come just over the top of the armor-belt.
In addition to this, on each side of the vessel are erected one or two
smaller turrets, carrying somewhat smaller guns than those of the forward
and after turrets, and also protected by heavy barbettes which reach down to
the armor-belt and thoroughly protect the turning mechanism, passage of
ammunition, etc. These various upper parts are connected by defenses
which may not resist the largest shells, but are safe against smaller shot.
Now, what is the armament of this fortress which thus protects all the
motive power and interior machinery of the ship, by which she can be made
so terrible an engine of combative force? Well, it is as different from the
bronze “long-toms” and carronades of the old three-deckers, or even from
ten-inch smooth-bore “Dahlgrens” of the days of our Civil War, as is the
ship itself from old-time models. In place of broadside batteries of forty or
fifty cannon hidden in clouds of smoke, there are now six or eight big rifles,
from whose muzzles wreaths of thin gas only drift to leeward; and, more
striking still, in contrast, a ship is no longer comparatively helpless when
headed or turned sternward to an enemy,—when the “raking,” formerly so
justly dreaded, would be received,—but is rather more able to do damage in
that position than by a “broadside.”
The guns themselves are marvels of structure and power. All of those
used in the United States navy are made by the government in the gun-
shops at the Washington navy-yard, and are “built up.” The methods and
tools required for this are the invention of Americans, as well as the
complicated arrangements for closing the breech, and the carriages and
mechanism for overcoming the tremendous recoil and handling the

ponderous ammunition; the latter, often weighing hundreds of pounds, is
handed up to the gunners from the magazines below by hoists worked by
electricity.
The history of the development of heavy ordnance, especially that
applied to naval uses, is one of the most interesting chapters in mechanics;
and a surprising number of ways of making a ship’s cannon have been tried
and rejected. Out of this two things seem now to be settled: namely, that a
gun composed of steel in separate parts welded together is best, and that the
best missile to shoot from it is a conical shell, very hard and heavy, yet
containing an explosive small in quantity but exceedingly powerful.
Such guns are built up of a tube or “core” of steel of the required size,
upon which is shrunk a jacket, covering the rear, or breech half of the core,
outside of which are shrunk on several broad hoops. The cutting out of the
bore to exactly the proper caliber and the plowing of the spiral riflings put
the gun in readiness for its breech-closing and other attachments. This
process requires several months, involves large capital and powerful
machinery, and good results imply the very highest workmanship.

THE UNITED STATES CRUISER “BROOKLYN” (STERN VIEW).

Such are the guns of modern men-of-war; and a first-class battle-ship
carries four twelve- or thirteen-inch rifles (that is, having a bore twelve or
thirteen inches in diameter), several eight- or ten-inch rifles, and many
smaller guns arranged to be fired with extraordinary speed, and hence
called “rapid-fire” guns; while her upper works and “military tops” fairly
bristle with fierce little six-, four-, and one-pounders,—revolving magazine
rifles, capable of discharging rifle-balls as fast as a man can turn the crank.

ON BOARD A BATTLE-SHIP GOING INTO ACTION. WORKING THE RAPID-FIRE GUNS.

To give some idea of the size and power of one of the 13-inch guns,
whose long muzzles, in pairs, project so far out of the turrets that hide their
mountings and firing-crew, let me tell you that it is 40 feet long, more than
4 feet in diameter, and weighs 60½ tons. “It requires 550 pounds of powder
to load it, and the projectile weighs half a ton. The muzzle-velocity of the
projectile is 2100 feet per second, with the stated charge, and its energy is
sufficient to send it through 26 inches of steel at a distance of 600 yards. At
an elevation of 40 degrees the range of the gun will be not far from 15
miles.”
In such a ship, deep down within the fortress is the massive and
complicated machinery, steam and electric, upon which the life and activity
of the whole structure depend. The power is generated in four enormous
boilers, seventeen feet in diameter and twenty in length, their steel shells
one and a half inches thick, built to carry a working-pressure of 160 pounds

to the square inch. Each pair of these boilers, placed fore and aft and side by
side, is installed in a separate compartment, with fire-rooms at the ends.
Every boiler has four furnaces in each end, which give eight to each fire-
room, or a total of thirty-two. The two boiler compartments are separated by
a water-tight bulkhead, and by a deep, broad coal-bunker. At the sides of the
ship are also coal-bunkers, which supplement the heavy armor-belt by the
protection of a mass of coal twelve feet in thickness—in itself a not
inconsiderable earthwork, which might arrest the fragments of a bursting
shell that had succeeded in piercing the armor. No casualty of naval combat
can be worse than the penetration of high-pressure boilers by heavy shells.
Their complete protection is an imperative condition, quite as important as
the protection of the magazines.
Such is a modern battle-ship—a “wonderful and complex instrument of
warfare,” as Lieutenant Staunton has expressed it.
She is filled [he tells us] with powerful agencies, all obedient to the control of man—the
creatures of his brain and the servants of his will. Steam in its simple application drives her
main engines and many auxiliaries. Steam transformed into hydraulic power moves her
steering-gear and turns her turrets. Steam converted into electrical energy produces her
incandescent and search-lights, works small motors in remote places, and fires her guns
when desired. Every application of energy, every device of mechanism, finds its office
somewhere in that vast hull, and the source of all the varied forms of power lies in the great
boilers, far down below danger of shot and shell, under which grimy stokers are always
shoveling coal. Decades of thought and study, experiment and failure, trial again with
partial success, and repeated trials with complete success, have assigned to each agency its
appropriate function, and perfected the mechanism through which its work is performed.

These modern developments have added one entirely novel and
tremendous adjunct to the fleet, in the torpedo-boat and its terrible weapon.
These take the place to some extent of the fire-ship of a century ago, which
was designed to injure the enemy not by silencing his guns or overcoming
his gunners, but by insidiously destroying his ship itself.
The torpedo is, in its simplest form, simply some arrangement of a
powerful explosive to be set off beneath or against the bottom of a ship, and
shatter or sink it. The idea is as old as gunpowder, but it is only in recent
times that it has been made effective,—how effective we do not yet know.
Torpedoes are used in two ways: one is by fixing the torpedo beneath the
water, either to be exploded by means of a percussion-cap when the ship
runs against it, or from the shore by means of electricity. Such arrangements
as this, called submarine mines, are regarded as a most important means of

defending harbors against hostile attack. During our Civil War they were
extensively used by the Confederates, and were sometimes successful, as
when one destroyed the monitor Tecumseh in Mobile harbor, during
Farragut’s famous attack there in 1864.

THE MONITOR “TECUMSEH” SUNK BY A TORPEDO AT MOBILE, 1864.

The former class, for which the word torpedoes is now reserved, includes
explosive agents which are to be placed or sent against a ship’s bottom at
sea and exploded there. Various devices of that kind, also, have been used
for a long time in naval warfare. The Confederates tried hard to destroy
several Northern vessels in the blockading squadron by devising very small,
half-submerged boats, towing torpedoes astern, or else projecting on a long
spar from their bows; and now and then they succeeded, as when one of the
latter kind was made to sink the Housatonic off Charleston.
Then there have been invented, during the past fifty years, several cigar-
shaped machines, which, by means of a chemical or compressed-air engine
or clockwork, or some other application of power that might keep motive
machinery within them going long enough, could be launched from shore or
from another vessel and sent under water against a hostile ship. At first

these were made to
glide along just beneath
the surface, carrying
little flags that could be
seen, and trailing two
electric wires, enabling
a person, by means of
electric currents, to
direct their flight; but
latterly ingenuity has
devised such an
arrangement of rudders
THE SEARCH-LIGHT REVEALING THE TORPEDO-BOAT. and self-acting
balances within the
torpedo’s mechanism that it will continue perfectly straight upon the course
it is aimed for, swerving neither right nor left, up nor down, and will
explode the instant it touches an object hard enough to jar the delicate cap
of fulminate in its snout. This latter kind, called the automobile (self-
moving) torpedo, is now almost exclusively used, and some modification of
the Whitehead is most popular. It is cigar-shaped, and about twelve feet in
length; the forward third is filled with gun-cotton—in quantity sufficiently
powerful, if accurately applied, to ruin almost instantly the greatest battle-
ship afloat.
All large war-ships are now fitted with tubes, opening near the water-line
in various parts of the hull, which form gun-like exits for these terrible
weapons, which are set in motion by a puff of gunpowder; but in addition to
this every maritime government now has a number (Great Britain has more
than 250) of small, swift steamers designed wholly for this purpose and
called torpedo-boats. Most of them are a hundred feet or so in length, and
intended to accompany the fleet wherever it goes and in all weathers; but
some are so small that they may be carried on the deck of a big cruiser.
All are made long, low, and narrow, and the speed of many of them
exceeds thirty miles an hour. There is almost nothing to catch the wind or
show above deck except a pair of short, flattened smoke-stacks, one behind
the other; and the steersman stands, with only his head and shoulders
visible, in a little box with windows that serves the purpose of a wheel-

house. A mere wire railing saves the
crew from sliding off the deck, and
in action everybody stays below.
No weight is carried that can be
avoided, and the engines, taking
steam from two boilers, are as
powerful as can be packed into the
space at command. Usually only
coal enough for a few hours’
steaming is carried, and every
bushel of it is carefully selected as
to quality, and is so treated and
intelligently fed to the furnaces as
to make the hottest possible fire,
although never a spark must escape
from the smoke-stack to betray the
vessel in the darkness.
A SELF-MOVING TORPEDO ON ITS WAY
TO ATTACK A MAN-OF-WAR.

A TORPEDO-BOAT AT FULL SPEED.

Next to speed the most important quality is ability to turn quickly, upon
which might often depend the safety of the audacious little craft.
Torpedo-boats, however, are designed for a wider service than simply to
carry and discharge the frightful weapon from which they take their name.
They are to the navy what scouts and skirmishers are to a land army. They
form the cavalry of the sea, of which the cruisers are the infantry, and the
battle-ships and monitors the artillery arm. They must spy out the position
of the enemy’s fleet, hover about his flanks or haunt his anchorage to
ascertain what he is about and what he means to do next. They must act as
the pickets of their own fleet, patrolling the neighborhood, or waiting and
watching, concealed among islands or in inlets and river-mouths, ready to
hasten away to the admiral with warning of any movement of the adversary.
It is not their business to
fight (except rarely, in the
one particular way), but
rather to pry and sneak and
run, for the benefit of the
fleet they serve.
But to insure all these fine
results, both officers and men
must be taught the art.
Constant instruction and
ONE FORM OF SUBMARINE TORPEDO-BOAT. drilling are necessary, and in
each navy a regular school of
torpedo-practice is maintained, where the subject is studied in every way. In
the United States such a school is kept at the Newport (R. I.) Torpedo
Station, where the torpedoes themselves are fitted for use and supplied to
the ships (the loaded war-heads are kept separately in the ship’s magazine),
and where one or more torpedo-boats are reserved for drilling purposes.

COPYRIGHT, 1897, BY C. E. BOLLES, BROOKLYN, N. Y.
THE UNITED STATES BATTLE-SHIP “MAINE.”
Blown up in the harbor of Havana, February 15, 1898.

But a worse and more insidious foe than even these sneaking, hiding,
surface torpedo-boats threatens us in the submarine torpedo-boat, which
inventors have been experimenting with since naval warfare first began. It
is said that twenty-five hundred years ago divers were lowered into the
water in a simply constructed air-box, to perforate the wooden bottom of an
adversary’s war-galley and sink it. Again, in our Revolutionary War, a tiny
walnut-shaped boat was made by an American, which was actually tried. It
would hold one man, and air enough for him to breathe for half an hour. He
would close the hatch, let in enough water to sink him a little way, and then
scull himself along by means of a screw-bladed stern-oar until he got
underneath the keel of an anchored vessel, to which, by ingenious means,
he would attach a can of gunpowder to be fired by clockwork, giving him
time to get away. It was actually tried and nearly succeeded. Robert Fulton,

who made the first success of the steamboat, tried for years to contrive a
submarine boat that would work, and succeeded so far as to scare British
blockaders in 1812 very badly indeed; and the Confederates repeated the
scare when the North was blockading their ports in the Civil War.
The great advantage of a submarine boat is, of course, its invisibility, and
its safety from shot even if discovered; but the difficulties of progress and
control as to depth and direction under water, and at the same time effective
appliance of the explosive and safe retreat, are so many that they have as
yet been only partly overcome. If the thing is ever accomplished, naval
warfare will be demoralized until some adequate means be found to combat
this unseen, destroying agency.
The principal agent in
submarine attacks would
probably be some form
of dynamite, which,
inhuman as its use
seems, is slowly but
surely taking its place
among the weapons of
war. The United States
has one vessel primarily
designed to employ
dynamite by hurling it in
the form of shells. This
volcanic craft is suitably
named Vesuvius, and is a
small, swift vessel
having long tubes
slanting upward through
her forward deck, as
shown in the illustration.
These tubes are the
muzzles of great air-
guns, through which she sends darts loaded with dynamite to fall upon a
hostile ship or fort. It would not be safe, to say the least, to fire such bombs
with gunpowder; and therefore pumps and engines in her interior compress

air until it has acquired an expansive force sufficient for the purpose. When
one of the darts has been laid in the breech of the tube, down beneath the
deck, and suitably closed in, a valve is opened, the compressed air acts like
burning powder, and away goes the dart, in a graceful curve to its target. In
this case, of course, it is the vessel rather than the immovable gun that is
aimed, and good marksmanship depends upon accurate calculation of
distance; but remarkable shooting has been done. This system has never yet
been tried in actual warfare, and may prove valuable chiefly in clearing
harbors of mines.

CHAPTER VII

THE MERCHANTS OF THE SEA
HE history of shipping in an earlier chapter will also answer as a
history of early international commerce. It began with the
Egyptians and Phenicians, and was confined to their parts of the
Mediterranean until after the middle ages, when it moved
steadily to the western borders of Europe.
How great, rich, and influential were Tyre and its people we have already
seen. A thousand years before the Christian era they controlled the
commerce of the ancient world by reason of their wisdom as traders and
their skill and energy as navigators and seamen. Turn to the twenty-seventh
chapter of Ezekiel, and see how the Phenician metropolis was regarded,
even in the time of that prophet, six hundred years before Christ. These
Syrians had gradually extended their commerce until it took in the whole
known world; and by their caravans to and from the interior of Arabia,
Persia, India, and the Soudan, by their trains (perhaps of pack-horses)
across Europe, by their marine expeditions to the Nile,—which they forced
open to trade, for ancient Egypt was much like China in its exclusiveness,
—and by their ships to all the Mediterranean ports, and up and down the
Atlantic coast, they gathered and exchanged in the bazaars of Tyre and
Sidon the products, manufactures, and luxuries of every country that had
anything to sell. To the Phenicians, indeed, was ascribed, by the Latin and
Greek writers of a few centuries later, the invention of navigation; and even
when Phenicia had become of little account as a nation, its conquerors
noted with admiration the skill of the men of that coast in seamanship.
“They steered by the pole-star, which the Greeks therefore called the
Phenician star; and all their vessels, from the common round gaulos to the
great Tarshish ships,—the East-Indiamen, so to speak, of the ancient world,
—had a speed which the Greeks never rivaled.”
Later, in the days of the Roman supremacy, the trading-ships were as
important to the country as its soldiers, for nearly every free man was in the
army, and the slaves made poor farmers. A large part of the grain, as well as

cattle, to supply the wants of the people, had to be brought from Egypt,
which was pretty sure to have “corn,” as the Bible calls it, when the rest of
the world was suffering from short crops. Egypt supplied grain to Rome
during the second Punic war, thus enabling her to resist the invasion of
Carthage, and it is possible that Rome’s later political alliance with Egypt
was largely due to her interest in Egyptian crops. Large fleets of grain-
ships, convoyed by armed vessels, were continually passing between the
African coast and the Tiber, and so many were the risks they ran of wreck
or capture, that the arrival of a flotilla with its precious freight of food was
always a cause of rejoicing, at any rate, among the poor.
These merchant ships of classical times were broader and heavier than
the war-galleys, and although they carried a few oars to help themselves in
a difficulty, they ordinarily moved by means of sails, probably lugs. One of
the grain-ships plying between Egypt and Italy about 150 A. D., according
to Lucian, was one hundred and eighty feet long, slightly more than one
fourth as broad, and forty-three and a half feet deep inside,— more like a
barge than a “ship.” The largest used in this trade would carry about two
hundred and fifty tons. The transports that accompanied one of Justinian’s
fleets, A. D. 533, are stated to have carried one hundred and sixty to two
hundred tons of supplies each.
These Roman vessels were made of pine, and were coated with a
composition of tar and wax, then painted, often with elaborate decorations
in bright colors, with pigments mixed with melted wax. Now and then one
was built of truly vast proportions, as that one which brought from Egypt to
Rome the first of the stolen obelisks.
With that grand awakening of interest in education, industry, and
discovery which took place in the fourteenth century, the city of Venice
gained the lead in power, and her merchants became the most enterprising
and wealthy. It was the expansion of commerce that urged the explorations
that marked the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, for by this time Venice
had her banks—the first in the world to approach the character of modern
banks—and her exchange on the famous Rialto bridge; Genoa was in close
rivalry; Spain was gathering immense quantities of gold in South America;
and England was coming to the front as a maritime power. The trade with
Cathay—as India, China, and the Oriental islands were called collectively
—was chiefly by caravans across the Persian deserts, and Spain, England,

and Holland had small shares in it,
since the only water-route known
was through the Mediterranean and
Red seas, where, between the perils
of the ocean, the extortionate
charges and stealings of the Arabs
(who carried the cargoes from
vessel to vessel across the Isthmus
of Suez), and the risk of capture by
Algerian pirates, there was little
chance left for profit to either
merchants or ship-owners.
To western Europe, then, Vasco
de Gama’s discovery of the route
around the Cape of Good Hope was
a long advantage, and England and
Holland at least were quick to seize
it. The great “East India
Companies” of the Dutch and
English were formed by a group of A CAPTAIN IN THE MERCHANT MARINE.
powerful merchants in London and
in Amsterdam, who were given vast privileges by their governments in
respect to trading in the East. The Dutch company was not founded until
1602, two years after the English company, but it soon became the more
prominent of the two, and was one of the principal means by which the
Netherlands secured the preponderance of the carrying trade of the world,
bringing to her ports, by the middle of the seventeenth century, almost all
the commerce previously enjoyed by Cadiz, Lisbon, and Antwerp, and
making very serious inroads upon that of London and Bristol. The Dutch
East India ships, copied from the Genoese carracks, were the biggest
merchant vessels then afloat, well able to cope with many of the war-ships;
and two hundred of them were at this time engaged in the Asiatic trade
alone.

A CLIPPER ESCAPING FROM THE “ALABAMA.”

It was in aid of the English rival company not only, but as an attempt to
save and revive the commercial position of England generally, that
Cromwell’s “navigation laws” were enacted, prohibiting the carriage of
goods to or from British shores except in ships owned and manned by
Englishmen,— laws that were aimed directly at the Dutch, and led to the
long wars of the latter half of the seventeenth century. These were called
wars for the supremacy of the sea, but actually they were a prolonged
struggle for the biggest share of the world’s trade, which is the only real

value of the “supremacy of the sea.” It is a saying that “trade follows the
flag,” and so it does; but at the beginning the flag goes were the trade is to
be had.
These companies were so mixed up in the politics of their respective
governments that it would be a long task, although entertaining, to trace
their growth, which is really that of western civilization in the East. They
equipped fleets of merchant and war vessels, established forts, carried on
small wars along the Oriental coasts, and were really little kingdoms within
kingdoms, because of their wide monopoly, enormous wealth, and the
national importance of all their enterprises. The final result was that, as
Great Britain finally overcame the Dutch and French at home, so her East
India Company ousted them from India; but it was not until 1858 that old
“John Company,” which had come to be regarded by the natives of India as
the government itself, was dissolved, and resigned its territories to the
crown and a system of trade open to all the world.
Those were slow and costly times compared with the present, though
seeming to us full of a romance impossible now. A voyage around the world
occupied three years, and to go from London to Calcutta and back took
from New Year’s to Christmas under the most favorable circumstances.
Another important change, too, has gradually come about. Formerly, the
vessels were owned almost entirely by the merchants themselves, or by a
company of them; they paid all a ship’s expenses, and put into her a cargo
of their own wares. They would send to China, for instance, cotton goods,
household furniture, hatchets, tools, cutlery and other hardware, farming
implements, and fancy goods of all sorts. In return the vessels would bring
silks, tea, and porcelain, which would go into the owners’ warehouses and
be sold in their own shops. Shipper, importer, and merchant were all one.
Now this is changed. The importers and merchants of London, Hamburg,
and New York are not often those who own vessels and bring their own
goods. Instead of this they have agents, who live permanently in each of the
foreign ports, where they buy the merchandise they want and hire a vessel,
or the needed space in a vessel, belonging to somebody else to bring them
home. By the old way, the nation which had anything to sell carried it to the
nation that would buy it, and brought back the best thing it could get in
exchange; now the merchants go to various parts of the world, buy their

cargoes, and order them sent home, in substantially the same way as you go
a-shopping in town.
This has brought out a new department of sea-labor, unknown, as a class,
a century ago—the business of carrying goods which the owners of the
vessels have no property in. In London, New York, Hamburg, and all other
seaboard cities of this and other countries, the great majority of the shipping
is owned, not by the merchants of the city, but by “transportation
companies,” who agree to carry cargoes at a certain rate.

THE SALOON OF A SAILING PACKET-SHIP, ABOUT 1840.

Merchant vessels may be divided into three classes, of which the first
includes steamships and sailing-vessels planned primarily for freight
transportation, which run back and forth between certain ports, and so
constitute “lines” for freight. Such lines exist along even the remotest
coasts, so that goods may be shipped directly, or by a single transfer, from
any given seaport to almost any other in the world. Some of these lines,
sailing between certain ports, are devoted to particular uses, such as those

of oil-steamers and cattle-steamers. The oil-steamers run between America
and Europe with American petroleum, and in the Black Sea and the
Mediterranean with oil from Russia; the entire holds are divided into vast
iron tanks for this liquid, which is poured into and pumped out of them as
into and out of a great barrel. The cattle-steamers are specially arranged for
the transportation of live stock, but one line, running between America and
England, also carries passengers at a cheap rate. The second class of vessels
consists of those which make the transportation of passengers their first
object, loading their holds with first-class freight, for which high rates are
paid in consideration of its swift delivery. The third class includes what are
known as “tramp” steamers, which run irregularly, as the old sailing-vessels
used to do, picking up cargoes wherever they find them and carrying them
to any port. They are often of great size and power, but being under less
close supervision are often less careful as to the safety of crews and
cargoes, and are sometimes unseaworthy. They are always ready to answer
any sudden demand for ships, their owners keeping watch of the chances
and telegraphing to their captains where to go for their next cargoes.
Without the submarine telegraph these tramp steamers could scarcely
compete with the regular lines; but, besides the great transoceanic cables,
all the sea-coasts are now festooned with electric cables, which have
frequent stations and connect the important ports of America and Europe
with those of Africa, Persia, India, the Spice Islands, Australia, and New
Zealand, and there is now a plan to run a cable across the Pacific between
America and New Zealand, by way of the Sandwich Islands, Samoa, and
Fiji.

A CORNER IN THE SALOON OF A MODERN STEAMSHIP.

The passenger-ship is a distinctly modern feature of marine carriage. In
former days the few persons who were obliged to cross the seas on business
errands, and the fewer who went abroad for health or pleasure or the love of
travel, had to accept such rough accommodations as the ordinary merchant
ships afforded. But as soon as the East and West Indies were added to the
map of the world, and colonies of Europeans began to settle on distant
coasts and islands, the amount of travel justified owners of vessels in
enlarging cabins and providing comforts likely to induce patronage of their
lines. Even two hundred and twenty-five years ago the voyage between
India and England around the Cape of Good Hope, though it became
somewhat tedious, because it lasted six or seven months, was by no means a
miserable experience in a well-found ship. Thus Dr. John Fryer has
recorded of such a sea-journey in 1682 that “it passed away merrily with
good wine and no bad musick; but the life of all good company, and an
honest commander, who fed us with fresh provisions of turkies, geese,
ducks, hens, sucking-pigs, sheep, goats, etc.”
A century later, when England had come firmly into possession of India,
and thousands of her officers, troops, and traders, with their families, were
colonizing her ports, there were demanded the largest and finest ships that

could be built, combining accommodations for many passengers with great
cargo capacity. Such were the great East Indiamen; and in those leisurely
days a trip half-way round the world on one of these roomy old vessels was
a continuous pleasure to almost every one that undertook it.
The ship was a bit of Old England afloat, where the passenger rented for so many
months a well-lighted, roomy, unfurnished apartment, which, according to his taste and
means, he fitted up for the voyage with numberless comforts and sea stores that none but a
yachtsman would think of cumbering himself with at sea to-day; and, reading narratives of
the old long sea-voyages, one is constantly coming across expressions of regret by
passengers when they “took leave of the good ship that for so many months had been their
floating home.” These fine old passenger sailing-ships were, like a man-of-war, entirely
dismantled at the end of each homeward voyage, and underwent a complete overhaul and
refit before starting out again on an outward one. Passengers usually sold their state-room
furniture by auction on board the ship on her arrival in port.

Such a ship, the Atlantic packets, and even men-of-war bound on a long
blockading cruise, did not hesitate to stow aboard all the live stock that
room could be found for, sometimes by comical devices. In that book of
charming reminiscences of ways and means afloat before the days of quick
steam transit, “Old Sea Wings,” Mr. Leslie has a chapter which he calls
“The Old Ship-Farm,” where one may learn curious particulars of this
matter.
The man in charge of this part of the stores was the ship’s butcher, and he had as “mate,”
or assistant, a youth of all work known to all sailors as “Jemmy Ducks.” Their barn, or
storehouse, was especially the great long-boat, which often looked more like a model of
Noah’s ark than a craft serviceable in case of shipwreck.
Always securely stowed amidships, well lashed down and housed over, the boat, as she
lay upon the ship’s deck, was full of live provender, being divided, as to her lower hold,
into pens for sheep and pigs, while upon the first floor, or main deck, quacked ducks and
geese, and above them (literally in the cock-loft) were coops for another kind of poultry.
This great central depôt was closely surrounded by other small farm-buildings, the most
important being the cow-house, where, after a short run ashore on the marshes at the end of
each voyage, a well-seasoned animal of the snug Alderney breed chewed the cud in sweet
content. In fact, when, in the old days, a passenger-ship began her voyage, the hull of her
clumsy long-boat was nearly hidden by the number of temporary pens and sheds required
to house the live stock for the supply of her cabin table; and with its many farm-yard and
homelike sounds a ship was, even then, more like a small bit of the world afloat than it is
now.

There was always regular traffic between America and Europe, especially
with Great Britain, and the rapid growth of emigration to the United States
and Canada made it profitable, early in this century, to put on fast-sailing
packet-ships, making voyages, at intervals of a month, between London and
New York. By 1840 a man might find a large, well-ordered ship departing

every week or so for the transatlantic passage, which usually required less
than a month going east, but might be two weeks longer coming west. Their
cabins were as comfortable and perhaps more homelike than any seen now,
and quite as pretty, with their white and gold paint, cut-glass door and
locker knobs, damask hangings, dimity bed-curtains, and other old-
fashioned niceties; and the fare was abundant and varied, as it ought to be in
a neat ship with a small dairy aboard, and perhaps a green-salad garden
planted in the jolly-boat. None of these packets were more popular than
those of the well-remembered Black Ball Line.

FAIR WEATHER ON THE DECK OF A CLIPPER-SHIP CARRYING GOLD-SEEKERS TO
CALIFORNIA IN 1849.

The steerage passengers were not so well off then, though they seemed to
stand the voyage quite as well as nowadays. The fare was twenty-five
dollars, and the passenger found himself “in everything but fire and water.”
“Steerage passengers then had to cook their own victuals, weather
permitting, at an open galley-fire on the waist-deck; ... but in anything like
rough weather, all steerage passengers had either to run the chance of

getting constantly wet with salt water or keep below.” The ’tween-decks
space allotted to them was almost completely filled by rows of bunks, built
in each port by the ship’s carpenter, in three tiers, one above the other,
though the ceiling was scarcely seven feet from the floor; and when in a
stormy time the hatches were closed the only way the crowd could find
room was by most of it stowing itself away in the bunks, while a few tried
to sit or lie on the luggage piled in the narrow aisles. The only light was that
of a few candle or whale-oil lanterns, and in a very bad storm everybody
came near smothering, for then it was impossible to ventilate the steerage
properly without flooding it. Considering that all the provisions for the
steerage people were kept in this crowded, damp, and fearfully close room,
it is marvelous that a pestilence did not break out during every voyage, but,
in fact, sickness was rare.
The introduction of steam into oceanic navigation was experimented with
as soon as river steamboats were successfully built. The first vessel to go
across the ocean by the aid of a steam-engine is said to have been the
Savannah. This vessel, built in Savannah, Ga., and having a steam-engine
and paddle-wheels, certainly crossed to Liverpool in 1819; but it is asserted
that she sailed all the way, using her steam very little, if at all, although
making the trip in twenty-two days. In 1825 the English steamer Enterprise
went from London to Calcutta; but it was not until some years later that
ocean navigation by steam became successful in the beginning of
operations by the Cunard Company in 1833.
These first steamers were side-wheelers, and their huge boilers and
simple engines consumed so much fuel that the space taken up by the coal,
added to that devoted to passengers, left little room for cargo. Moreover,
their speed was less, often, than that of the “clippers,” so that for some time
the sailing-packets maintained their competition. The adoption of the screw
propeller, in place of the costly and cumbersome side-paddles, and the
perfection of the compound marine engine, which effected a great saving in
fuel, soon established the superiority of steam navigation for passenger
service, fast freights, and service in war, yet even these improvements were
not fairly brought about until the first half of the present century had gone;
and sails are not yet abandoned, not only because they steady a vessel in a
gale, and may help her decidedly when the wind is fair, but may save her
altogether in case of the disabling of her machinery.

Great modifications and improvements on old models have grown out of the
employment of steam and the screw, and human invention has been taxed to the uttermost
to combine economy of space and expense with the various needs of different climes, or
special cargoes, or the demands of a traveling public that is growing more fastidious every
day. The most obvious changes in naval construction have been in the greatly elongated
hull, the enormous dimensions aimed at, and the all but universal employment of iron.
When the first steamship crossed the ocean the proportions of ships averaged three to five
beams in length.... But it was discovered that with a given power and depth and beam the
length could be increased without materially affecting the speed, thus adding to the
carrying capacity of steam. Great length to beam, however, does not necessarily imply
great speed; the speed of beamy vessels has too often been demonstrated. Fineness of lines
is equally essential, together with the proper distribution of weights, and the like. The great
average speed exhibited by the modern steamship is due in large part to the momentum of
such a vast weight, which, once started, has a tremendous force.

Long after the transatlantic steamships were regularly running, sixteen or
seventeen days was considered a good passage between New York and
Liverpool. Then the Inman and White Star lines began to see the
importance of faster speed, and their rivalry had cut this estimate in two by
1870, and ten years later the Guion Line’s Arizona and other crack boats
took a full day off that. Since then there has been a steady improvement in
speed, as is shown by the table below; and this seems to have followed
proportionately the steady increase in length. The ships of 1850 never
reached 300 feet in length, and few were over 2300 tons in burden
measurement. By 1880 almost all the first-class “liners” of the world
exceeded 450 feet, and some soon approached 600, as the City of Rome
(586 feet, 8826 tons), and several of the famous Hamburg liners, White
Stars, and Cunarders nearly equaled her in dimensions (Paris and New
York, 580 feet each; Teutonic and Majestic, 582 feet); while some of the
more recent boats are even longer, as Campania and Lucania, 620 feet, and
the gigantic Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse, 648 feet. Two other ships, now
planned, will considerably exceed this length. The total number of
transatlantic passenger-steamships regularly sailing from New York alone is
now between 90 and 100, belonging to 14 different lines. The table of
speed-records between New York and Queenstown, since the time was
reduced to less than six days, is as follows:
Time.
Year. Steamer. Line. Direction. Date. Days. Hours. Min.
1882 Alaska Guion Eastward May 30 to June 6 6 2 0
1891 Majestic White Star 5 18 8
1891 Teutonic White Star Westward Aug. 13-19 5 16 31
1892 Paris American Westward Aug. 14-19 5 14 24

1893 Campania Cunard 5 12 7
1894 Lucania Cunard Westward Sept. 8-14 5 8 38
1894 Lucania Cunard Eastward Oct. 21-26 5 7 23
The approximate distance between Sandy Hook (light-ship), New York, and Queenstown
(Roche’s Point) is 2800 miles. The fastest day’s run on record, however, was made by the
Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse, of the Nord Deutscher Lloyds Line, averaging 22.35 knots (or
nautical miles, of 6080 feet each) per hour, equal to about 25½ land miles. From Sandy
Hook to Queenstown deduct 4 hours 22 minutes for difference in time. Queenstown to
Sandy Hook add 4 hours 22 minutes for difference in time.

This eager rivalry in respect to speed, which insures not only a larger and
more influential passenger service, but increased business in fast freight and
in the carriage of mail—both highly remunerative—is only one feature of
the sharp competition between these ocean carriers as to which shall offer
the greatest advantages, and this is of benefit to the public, though it has not
greatly cheapened fares.

EMIGRANT PASSENGERS EMBARKING UPON A TRANSATLANTIC “LINER.”

Men travel far more now than they were wont in the time of “good
Queen Bess,” or even of our own grandfathers, and the few travelers for
pleasure of those days would scarcely believe their eyes if they could look
into the floating palaces—almost cities—in which we brave old ocean now.
A ship of one of the better passenger lines is a little world in itself,
containing almost all the appliances of the best modern hotels on shore, and
reducing the inevitable inconveniences of life on shipboard by clever
devices of every sort. In the one matter of ventilation the ingenuity of the

builders is particularly taxed. Money is spent lavishly in the finishing and
furnishing of these great ships, not to mention the expense of running them,
which sometimes amounts in cost of fuel, food, and wages to $5000 a day.
The steamship lines between New York and Great Britain do not steer
straight across the Atlantic, but on their way to this country keep well to the
northward, so as to get to the west of the Gulf Stream, and into the
favorable current flowing south from Baffin’s Bay; then they skirt
Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, and Cape Cod. Going east, however, the
steamers—and sailing-vessels too—keep farther south, and work along with
the Gulf Stream as far as they can. From Europe to South America, or
through the Straits of Magellan on their way to the South Sea islands or
Australia (though this route is not often taken), or to the Pacific coast of the
Americas, vessels keep close down the African coast, and then steer straight
ahead from Guinea to Brazil, and on down the American coast. (Put a map
before you and you will understand these courses better.) Sailing-vessels to
Europe or the United States from Cape Horn, however, would swing far out
into the South Atlantic to avoid heading against the southward coast-current
and to get the benefit of the southwest trade-wind and the equatorial
currents. Between New York and the Cape of Good Hope the track is nearly
straight.
In the Pacific, the steamer-route between San Francisco or Vancouver and
China and Japan, instead of being as direct as a parallel of latitude, takes a
southerly course when bound west, and a northerly course when bound east,
the exact lines varying with the seasons as the prevailing winds and currents
change. What these winds and currents are is explained in another chapter;
but it is interesting to note that there is a difference of many miles in the
ordinary westerly and easterly courses, the latter being much the shorter,
although the vessels of the Canadian Pacific Line often sail so far north
with the Japan warm current as to sight the Aleutian Islands. Sailing-
vessels, moreover, curve so much farther south than steamers in going west
from San Francisco, in order to take advantage of the equatorial current and
the trade-winds, that the space is a thousand miles north and south between
ships outward bound and those coming home. Between California and
Honolulu a steamer takes a bee-line, but sailing-vessels find it best to make
detours. In summer, when outward bound, this amounts to steering straight

northward until under latitude forty degrees, before turning westward,
making an angular course that looks very unnecessary to a landsman.

A “WHALEBACK” FREIGHT STEAMER, ALSO ADAPTED TO PASSENGER SERVICE.

I have said that the finding of a sea-route to the East around the Cape of
Good Hope was a great boon to western Europe, and advanced commerce.
It remained so until within the last seventy-five years. Lately, the corsairs
being out of the way, and safety guaranteed in Egypt, merchants and sailors
both began to wish they had a shorter route between England and India.
Then, with immense labor and sacrifice, the canal was cut across the
Isthmus of Suez, and commerce returned to its ancient channel through the
Red Sea, saving thousands of miles of weary distance.
From the end of the Red Sea at Aden, the tracks of steamers both ways
are straight courses to Bombay or Ceylon, and thence right up to Calcutta,
across to Singapore, or down to Australia. Except East African coast lines,
few steamers go around the Cape of Good Hope from England, excepting
one line to South Australia, which steers straight eastward all the way from

Cape Town to Adelaide, 6125 miles. But the Indian Ocean is so situated
under the equator, is so filled with prevailing winds and currents and
counter currents, that sailing-vessels must take very roundabout courses
there, and can by no means steer the same track at all seasons of the year.
These voyages from New York and London to the East are the longest
regular sea-roads. A short table of distances between well-known ports
along regular steamer-routes will be of interest; and by reversing them, or
adding them together, the sailing distance between almost any two ports on
the globe may be calculated.
MILES.
Acapulco to San Francisco 1,850
Aden to Bombay 1,635
Aden to Colombo (Ceylon) 2,100
Aden to Zanzibar 1,770
Auckland to Honolulu 3,915
Auckland to Suva (Fiji) 1,140
Cadiz to Teneriffe (Canaries) 698
Cape Horn to Rio de Janeiro 2,350
Cape Town to Plymouth (Eng.) 6,016
Cork to St. John’s (N. F.) 1,730
Ceylon to West Australia 3,305
Glasgow to New York 2,790
Havre to Martinique 3,560
Havre to New York 3,160
Hobart (Tas.) to Invercargill (N. Z.) 930
Hong Kong to Manila 650
Hong Kong to Shanghai 800
Hong Kong to Yokohama 1,620
Leith (Scot.) to Iceland 1,050
Lisbon via Dakar (W. Af.) to Pernambuco 3,297
Lisbon to Cape Verd Islands 1,537
Liverpool to Barbadoes 3,646
Lisbon to Para 4,000
Liverpool to Lisbon 983
Liverpool to Madeira 1,430
Liverpool to New Orleans 4,767
Liverpool to New York 3,057
Liverpool to Para 4,010
Liverpool to Quebec 2,634
Marseilles to Algiers 410
Montevideo to Magellan Strait 1,070
New Orleans to Havana 570

New York to Colon 1,980
New York to San Francisco, about 17,000
New York, via St. Thomas, to Para 3,130
Panama to San Francisco 3,260
Porto Rico (San Juan) to Havana 1,030
Rio de Janeiro to Plymouth 4,941
San Francisco to Honolulu 2,080
San Francisco to Yokohama 5,280
Shanghai to Yokohama 1,033
Singapore to Hong Kong 1,430
Suez to Aden (length of Red Sea) 1,308
Suva to Honolulu 2,783
Sydney to Auckland 1,281
Sydney to Vancouver (B. C.) 6,780
Teneriffe to Porto Rico 2,790
Trieste to Bombay 4,317
Yokohama to Honolulu 3,445
Yokohama to San Francisco 4,750
Yokohama to Victoria 4,320
Zanzibar to Bombay 2,400

CHAPTER VIII

ROBBERS OF THE SEAS
S the sea has furnished opportunities for so much good,—for
manly exertion, knowledge of the world, and acquaintance with
people outside of one’s own country, and for gaining wealth,—so
it has given a chance for unscrupulous men to show the worst
that is in them; and the guarding of shore towns and merchant vessels from
piratical attacks has always been a part of the usefulness and duty of a
nation’s naval force.
As on land there are robbers and highwaymen, so on the ocean robber
ships have often been lying in wait for vessels loaded with treasure, and
have landed crews of marauders to make havoc with rich seaboard
provinces. Such robbers on the high seas are termed pirates, and their crime
was visited by the old laws with torturing punishments; yet they were never
more daring than when the laws against them were severest.
The word is Greek, and the first pirates who figure in history are those of
the Greek and Byzantine islands and coasts—bloody ruffians who
originated the amusing method of disposing of unransomed prisoners by
making them “walk the plank,” as has been done within the present century.
The intricate channels and hidden harbors of the Ægean Sea long
remained a hiding-place of sea-robbers, and are still haunted by them,
though every few years, from Cæsar’s time till now, the kings of the
surrounding countries have sent expeditions to break them up. In the
sixteenth century piracy in that region was especially prevalent. The crews
then were chiefly Turkish, but the great leaders were two renegade Greeks,
the brothers Aruck and Hayradin Barbarossa (“Redbeard”).

WALKING THE PLANK.

It happened that Spain, having conquered the Moors of Granada in 1492
and pursued her victories across the straits, had gained control of Algeria (at
that time a collection of small Mohammedan states), and held it until the
death of King Ferdinand in 1516. Then the Algerians sent an embassy to
Aruck (sometimes spelled Horuk, or Ouradjh) Barbarossa, requesting him
to aid them in driving out the Spaniards, and promising him a share in the
spoils. He eagerly accepted this proposition, seeing a great deal more in it
than the Algerians saw; and the moment the Spaniards had been beaten and

expelled he murdered the prince he had come there to help, seized upon the
city and port for himself, and made it the headquarters of that system of
desperate piracy which became the dread of all Europe. These robbers of
the sea called themselves corsairs, from an Italian word signifying “a race”;
and they generally won, because they had the best and swiftest vessels of
that time, such as feluccas, xebecs, and the like. The black flag which they
flew was not blacker than their reputations, so that even yet to call a man as
bad as a Barbary pirate is to mean that he could not be much worse if he
tried. The Spanish colonies in America, a few years later, began sending
home immense treasures dug in the silver-and gold-mines of Peru and
Mexico, and extorted from the natives or stolen from the temples of those
unhappy countries. A quantity of ingots and gold and silver ornaments equal
in value to fifteen million dollars of our modern money was taken at one
time by Pizarro, in Peru, as the ransom of the Inca Atahualpa, and booty
amounting to a similar sum was gained in the sacking of various cities. This
great inpouring of wealth caused a general giving up of manufactures and
trade in Spain, and was one of the reasons of her final decline in power, and
it had the immediate bad effect of making piracy more attractive than ever.
The treasure-ships, though convoyed by war-ships, were often attacked and
captured by the corsairs. Barbarossa’s fleets were more like armadas of a
powerful nation than mere pirate craft; and whenever it happened that his
commanders were defeated, they would land upon the nearest unprotected
coast of Spain, France, or Italy, and pillage and burn some town in revenge.
How galling this was to all merchants and travelers we can hardly
understand in these days; but so strong were the corsairs that the fleets and
armies of various governments, and even of the Pope, which were sent
against them, could not gain their stronghold nor suppress their cruisers, at
least for more than a short time. Charles V of Spain tried greatly to conquer
them; but although his forces, attacking Aruck Barbarossa from the
province of Oran, near Algiers, defeated and killed him, Hayradin (more
properly spelled Khair-ed-din) Barbarossa succeeded his brother, and,
placing himself under the protection of Turkey, continued to build up the
power of the pirates. His first care was to fortify the city of Algiers, and he
expended a great deal of money and labor on the perfection of the harbor,
compelling all his prisoners and thousands of citizens to work as slaves on
the defenses. Next he conquered Tunis, and was selected by the sultan as
the only fit man to sail against Andrea Doria, the great Genoese naval

commander of the Christians in their wars against the Turks early in the
sixteenth century. Mediterranean commerce became so unsafe that watch-
towers were built all along the coasts, and guards were kept afoot to give
alarm at the approach of the corsairs. Charles V gathered together a
powerful armament, and sailed to the rescue of Tunis, recapturing it for its
rightful sovereign in 1535; but he was never able to capture Hayradin
Barbarossa, who lived out his life in Algiers as “a friend to the sea and an
enemy to all who sailed upon it.” After his time the power of the pirates
continued under other leaders; and not Algeria alone, but Tripoli, Morocco,
and even Tunis, harbored piratical vessels in every port, and the rulers
shared their spoils; piracy, indeed, was the source of their national revenues,
and was encouraged by the Sultan of Turkey inasmuch as all these states
were his vassals.
Every few years some European power—Spain, France, Venice, or
England—would lose patience, send a fleet, and open a campaign that
would be successful in destroying certain strongholds, releasing a crowd of
prisoners, and burning or sinking many ships. The city of Algiers was
bombarded almost into ruins in 1682, and the job completed a year later,
after the Algerians had tossed the French consul out to the fleet, with their
compliments, from the mouth of a mortar. They were fond of such jokes.
Nevertheless, the city speedily recovered, and piracy, complicated by
Moslem fanaticism and Turkish politics, harassed commerce during all the
next century, partly because Europe was so busy in its own wars that it had
no time for outside matters, and partly because it was for the advantage of
certain nations (particularly of Great Britain, which, in possession of
Gibraltar and Port Mahon, might have suppressed this villainy) to let the
corsairs prey upon its foes—especially France. The actual result was that
most or all of the European powers fell into the custom of paying to Algiers,
Tunis, Tripoli, and other rulers of the Barbary (or Berber) States large sums
of money as annual tribute to restrain them from official depredations upon
their coasts and commerce, besides other large payments for the ransom of
such Christian prisoners as each sultan’s lively subjects continued to take in
spite of treaties.
In this shameful condition of affairs the newly independent United States
was obliged to join during the first years of its existence, to secure
immunity for our commerce in the Mediterranean, because we had not yet

had time to create a navy. By the end of the century, however, the United
States was able to defend itself at sea, and in 1801 answered the insults of
Tripoli by bombarding its capital seaport until the dey sued for mercy and
promised to behave himself. Nevertheless, he needed another lesson, and in
1803 a second American fleet was sent to the Mediterranean, commanded
by Preble, in the Constitution, with such subordinate officers as Bainbridge,
Decatur, Somers, Hull, Stewart, Lawrence, and others that later became
famous. One incident of this campaign, which began by frightening the
Sultan of Morocco at Tangier into abject submission, but was especially
directed against Tripoli, is well worth remembering.

THE “ARGUS” CAPTURING A TRIPOLITAN PIRATE FELUCCA.

Captain Bainbridge, going alone in the fine frigate Philadelphia into the
harbor of the city of Tripoli, had unfortunately run aground, and there,
overpowered by the number of his enemies afloat and ashore, had been
compelled to give up his ship, and find himself and all his crew taken
prisoners. He managed to get word of his misfortune to Commodore Preble
at Malta, and that officer at once took his fleet to Tripoli—Decatur, in the
Argus, gallantly capturing on the way one of the great lateen-sailed piratical
crafts of the enemy, which later proved a useful instrument in the contest.
The fleet blockaded Tripoli for a while, and shelled the fortifications
somewhat, just to give the bashaw a hint, and to encourage the poor
prisoners; but none of the big vessels was able to enter the narrow, tortuous,
and ill-charted harbor in the face of the many batteries, under whose guns
the Philadelphia could be seen at anchor with the Tripolitan flag at her
main, so they sailed away to Syracuse to make preparations for reducing
this nest of barbarians. Gunboats of light draft and mortar-vessels had to be
fitted out; but the first thing was to try to carry out a plan that Decatur and
all his friends had been maturing ever since they had arrived—the
destruction of the Philadelphia, not only because she had been refitted into
a powerful weapon in the hands of the enemy, but because it was galling to
national as well as naval pride to see her flying a foreign flag. The plan was
this:
Decatur was to take a picked crew of seventy officers and men on the
captured felucca (renamed Intrepid), and attempt at night to penetrate to the
inner harbor of Tripoli in the disguise of a trader, supported as well as
possible by the gun-brig Siren, also disguised as a merchantman. As his
pilot was an Italian and a competent linguist, it was hoped the ketch could
get near enough to set fire to the ship, whirl a shotted deck-gun into position
to send a shell down the main hatch and through her bottom, fire it, and
escape before the surprise was over. The chances of failure were enough to
daunt the bravest, yet every man in the fleet wanted to go.
On February 15, 1804, Decatur in his felucca, and Somers commanding
the brig, found themselves, toward evening, again in sight of the town, with
its circle of forts crowned by the frowning castle. The great Philadelphia
stood out in bold relief, closely surrounded by two frigates and more than

twenty gunboats and galleys. From the castle and batteries 115 guns could
be trained upon an attacking force, besides the fire of the vessels, yet the
bold tars on the Intrepid did not quail.
The crew having been sent below, the pilot Catalona took the wheel,
while Decatur stood beside him, disguised as a common sailor. It was now
nine o’clock, and bright moonlight. Standing steadily in, they rounded to
close by the Philadelphia, and, boldly hailing her deck-watch, asked the
privilege of mooring to her chains for the night, explaining that they had
lost their anchors in the late storm, and so forth, until at last consent was
given.
Having dragged themselves close to the frigate, it was the work of only a
moment to board her with a rush, overpower her surprised crew, and make
sure of her destruction by means of the combustibles and powder they had
brought with them. Before their task was done, however, they had been
discovered, and it is almost a miracle that they were able to return to their
felucca, and make their way out of the harbor, through a rain of harmless
cannon-balls; yet they did so, and Decatur was justly honored for one of the
most gallant exploits in naval annals.
A few weeks later Preble’s squadron shelled the pirate city and fortresses
into ruin, forced Tripoli as well as Algiers and Tunis to respect them and
thenceforth the American flag, and gave these arrogant rulers the new
sensation of paying instead of receiving money for bad deeds. It put an end
to the corsairs.
Turkish and Barbary pirates were not the only ones in the world,
however. Although the old Norwegian vikings and rough Norman barons
did not go under that name, they were scarcely anything else, in fact, as the
neighboring peoples could testify, though this was far back before modern
history began. But when the Spaniards and the French began to colonize the
West Indies, and to dig mines in South and Central America, not only were
the Barbary corsairs given a fresh incentive, but a new set of pirates sprang
up, the most daring that the world has ever seen.
As the archipelago east of Greece had sheltered the hordes of the Turkish
sea-robbers, so the many islands, crooked channels, reefs unknown to all
but the local pilots, small harbors, and abundant food of the Antilles, made
the West Indies the safest place in the world for pirates to pursue their work.

To these new and wild regions, in the sixteenth century, had flocked
desperados and adventurers from all over the world. When the wars with
their chances of plunder died out after the campaigns led by Cortés, Pizarro,
Balboa, and the rest of the Spanish conquistadores, many ruffians seized
upon vessels by force, or stole them, and turned into robbers of the sea. At
first, as a rule, they had farms and families on some island, and went
freebooting only a portion of the year. The island of Hayti, or Santo
Domingo, was then settled by farmers, hunters, and cattlemen, the last-
named of whom, mainly French, passed most of their time in the interior of
the island, capturing, herding, or killing half-wild cattle and hogs. But the
monopolies which Spain imposed upon the colonists interfered with the
market for their produce and induced an illicit trade, which led to frequent
encounters with the Spanish navy. As the constant wars between Spain and
France and England increased the difficulties of trade, large numbers of the
colonists joined the freebooters, who then became extremely numerous and
formidable, losing their old name and becoming known by that of the
cattlemen—buccaneers, from the French word boucanier.
First Santo Domingo, then Tortugas, and finally Jamaica were
headquarters of the buccaneers, who were made up of men of all nations,
united by a desire to prey upon Spain as a common enemy. They were
thousands in number, possessed large fleets of ships and boats, were well
armed, and finally formed a regular organization with a chief and under-
officers. The most noted of these chiefs, perhaps, was Henry Morgan, a
Welshman, who was at one time captured and taken home to England for
trial. To his own surprise, instead of being executed, he was knighted by
Charles II, who had not been at all grieved at seeing Spanish commerce
harassed; and Morgan was returned to Jamaica as commissioner of
admiralty, where at one time he acted as deputy governor, using his
opportunity to make it unpleasant for those of the buccaneers with whom he
had formerly had disagreements as to the distribution of prizes.
The earlier buccaneers found ample plunder in the Spanish fleets. They
patrolled the sea in the track of vessels bound to and from Europe, and
seized them, allowing or compelling the crews to become pirates, or else to
be killed or carried into slavery. This work, however, employed only a
portion of the buccaneers; and early in the seventeenth century, as the
commerce of Spain declined, it became too uncertain a means of wealth to

suit them. But the rich Spanish settlements still remained; and often,
therefore, they equipped a great fleet, enlisted men under certain strict rules
as to sharing the spoils, and sailed away to pillage some coast. There was
hardly an island in the West Indies from which, in this way, they did not
extort immense sums of money under threat of destruction of the people.
The mainland also suffered from the marauders. Great cities, like Cartagena
in Venezuela, Panama on the Isthmus, Mérida in Yucatan, and Havana in
Cuba, were attacked by armies of buccaneers numbering thousands of men.
Sometimes their fortifications held good, and the enemy was beaten back;
but sooner or later all these cities, and others, smaller, were captured,
robbed of everything valuable that they contained, and burned or partly
burned.
For years the buccaneers were the terror of the Caribbean region, and
after the famous sacking of Panama, under Morgan, in 1671, their power
spread across the Isthmus and scourged the southern seas. We have no way
of knowing the amount of the treasure which they captured from the
merchant vessels and from the coast of Peru; for the moment they got home
from an expedition they wasted all their booty in wild carousing, so that the
spoils earned by months of exposure, and wounds, and danger of death,
would be spent in a single week.
At last even England and France, after secretly favoring the buccaneers,
became roused to the necessity of controlling them, and it was with this
object in view that a certain Captain William Kidd was fitted out at private
expense toward the end of the seventeenth century, and armed with King
William’s commission for seizing pirates and making reprisals, England
being at war with France. Just why it was, nobody has explained, but
Captain Kidd spent his time in loitering around the coast of Africa, where
no pirates were to be found, until he grew quite disheartened, and, fearing
to be dismissed by his employers and to be “mark’d out for an unlucky
man,” he started a little pirate business for himself, in which he gained more
of a certain kind of fame than any of the rest; for popular tradition supposes
him to have hoarded his booty and buried it. “Captain Kidd’s treasure” has
been sought for until the whole eastern coast of the United States is
honeycombed with diggings for it; but probably he had eaten and drunk it
up before 1701, when he was captured and executed in England. About this
time, however, and without his valuable aid, the combined naval forces of

all the nations interested in the commerce of the New World broke the
power of the buccaneers, and their depredations ceased. Their story is one
of the wildest, most romantic, and most terrible in the history of the world.

“In revel and carousing
We gave the New Year housing,
With wreckage for our firing,
And rum to heart’s desiring.”

The trade of piracy was carried on during the eighteenth century in the
region of the West Indies by unorganized bands of desperados who had all
the faults and none of the greatness of the men they succeeded, and who
received little attention from the world at large. At the beginning of the
nineteenth century the Barataria pirates came into notice on the coast of
Louisiana, taking the place of the buccaneers, but in a much smaller way.
Their leaders, Pierre and John Lafitte, carried on business quite openly in
New Orleans; and their settlements on the marshy islands along the coast,
and their “temple,” to which persons came out from the city to buy goods,
were open secrets. But in the War of 1812, although the British tried to buy
their services, they redeemed themselves by standing true to the American
government, which had just been trying to exterminate them, and so they
won public pardon and an added glamour of romance.

For the same reasons as those in the case of other island systems, the East
Indies have always been infested with pirates, whose light, swift vessels run
in and out of the intricate channels among the dangerous coral reefs, where
government cruisers dare not follow, while the people on shore sympathize
more with the pirates than with the police.
The East Indian sea-robbers are, as a rule, natives of that region—
Malays, Borneans, Dyaks, and Chinese, with many half-savages of the
South Sea Islands. This is more like a continuance of savage resistance to
civilization than real piracy, since the pirates of the Atlantic are civilized
sailors in mutiny against their own people and national commerce. The
result is just as bad, however; for these East Indians are as bloodthirsty and
cruel as the others, and if they do not kill their victims, or save them for
some cannibal feast (as would probably happen in the New Hebrides and
some other islands), they condemn them to a life of misery. But in these
days of improved sea-craft, piracy, even in Malayan waters, is weak. Our
consuls and government agents watch suspicious vessels; our telegraph
warns the naval authorities in a moment; our steam-cruisers outspeed the
swiftest craft of the black flag; our rifled guns silence their cheap artillery;
and our coast surveys furnish maps so accurate that the pirate no longer
holds the secret of channels and harbors where he can safely retreat. If,
therefore, the old “Redbeards” should come back to life and try to be kings
of the sea, as they rejoiced to be a couple of centuries ago, their pride would
soon be humbled, and they would gladly return to their graves and their
ancient glory.
There is a form of sea-roving which has been at times not very different
from piracy; it is called privateering, and history shows a good many cases
where it has degenerated into sea-robbery pure and simple.
A privateer is a ship, owned by a private citizen or citizens, to which
authority is given by a government to act as an independent war-vessel. Its
commission is called a “letter of marque” (lettre de marque in French),
entitling it to “take, burn, and destroy” a certain enemy’s property on the
sea or in its ports. It has no right, of course, to attack any one else.
The object and plea of the government issuing commissions to privateers
is that thus a great many more armed vessels can be sent afloat than the
government has money to equip, and that consequently far more damage

will be done to the enemy, by crippling his trade and resources, than regular
men-of-war alone can accomplish. Private capital has been willing to take
the risk because rewarded by a large share of the prizes; and from the end of
the fifteenth to the middle of the eighteenth century this was one of the
most profitable of marine industries, for then nearly universal wars made
almost any capture legitimate. In the earlier times even the limited
regulation that came later was absent, and there was small choice between a
privateer and a pirate. Queen Elizabeth found the hundreds of privateers
which she had commissioned against the Spanish and Dutch preying upon
her own people, and robbing fishermen, coasters, and small shore towns, to
such an extent that she had to suppress them as bandits. Those were the
times when Hawkins could use a royal fleet to wage war upon the Spanish
colonies for private reasons; and when his ablest lieutenant, Drake, could
make his notable journey around the world a history of robbery and
slaughter. On the west coast of South America he spent months in
destroying Spanish vessels and ravaging and burning settlements; yet it was
thought remarkable, when he returned from his circumnavigation of the
globe, that the Queen hesitated somewhat before recognizing his great
achievements as a seaman, for fear of complications with Spain!

MALAY PIRATES ATTACKING A STEAMER.

Spain, in those days of first harvest from her American possessions and
the East Indies, was the prey of everybody on the high seas able to rob her,
and formalities were joyously disregarded by both sides. Her galleons
carried precious cargoes of spices, silks, and East India goods around the
Cape, and brought silver ingots and gold bars from the Spanish Main. They
were usually convoyed by regular war-ships, and had to run the gantlet of
the enemy’s fleets whenever Spain happened to be openly at war with
somebody, as was usually the case; and otherwise must escape buccaneers
in West Indian waters, Malayan and Chinese pirates in the far East, and
irregular sea-rovers along the West African coast, while the corsairs made
the Mediterranean route doubly dangerous.

PAUL JONES’ FIGHT IN THE “BON HOMME RICHARD” WITH THE “SERAPIS.”

The gradual growth of organized navies, the development of international
law, and the increasing organization of the civilized world generally, slowly
tamed these wild practices and reduced privateering to some sort of control.
Thus Jean Bart, the popular hero of French naval history, who flourished
toward the end of the seventeenth century, was recognized and supported by
the French monarch as a free-lance in the Mediterranean, because his
humble birth prohibited him from taking a commission in the regular navy,
which amounted to a sort of apology for his deeds.
During the wars of the United States with England privateering was
extensively practised on both sides, and was of especial value to the
Americans. Congress issued private commissions as early as March, 1776,
and the ablest statesmen upheld it as a means of employing the ships,
capital, and thousands of seamen that must lie idle when the enemy’s
cruisers were ranging the ocean highways unless permitted to arm
themselves and assist the government in an irregular warfare, trusting to the
value of their captures for remuneration. That the chance of such reward
was enough inducement is shown by the fact that during the first year of the
Revolution nearly three hundred and fifty British vessels were captured,
chiefly West Indiamen, worth, with their cargoes, five million dollars. As
Great Britain did not recognize the flag of the United States, not only these,
but even our regular naval officers, were regarded by them as pirates, rather
than true privateers—Paul Jones first of all; but she never acted on this
theory with the severity that would have been visited upon true pirates.
In the naval warfare that came later between the United States and
France, privateering again flourished, and was a source of immense profit to
the principal seaports whence these swift, effective Yankee vessels were
despatched. No less than three hundred and sixty-five American privateers
were sent out between 1789 and 1799, and swept the seas almost clean of
the French merchant flag.
Then came the second war with Great Britain, which was fought over a
question of the sea rather than of the land,—the right of search claimed by
the British,—and once more American and British privateers swarmed upon
the highways of commerce. Of our merchant ships in all parts of the world,
about five hundred were lost; but this was more than paid for, since our two
hundred and fifty privateers captured or destroyed, during the three years

and nine months of the conflict, no less than sixteen hundred British
merchant vessels of all classes.
This disparity of results was largely due to the greater number of English
merchant vessels, but is also to be credited to the superior speed and
handiness of the Yankee vessels, most of which were “Baltimore clippers,”
topsail-rigged schooners with raking masts, that could outsail and out-
manœuver anything afloat. “They usually carried from six to ten guns, with
a single long one, which was called ‘Long Tom,’ mounted on a swivel in the
center. They were usually manned with fifty persons besides officers, all
armed with muskets, cutlasses, and boarding-pikes.”
An English writer, Mr. R. C. Leslie, is of the opinion that this type of
vessel grew out of models in vogue in the West Indies, long before, for the
small piratical craft that made those waters the terror of travelers.

DRAWN BY W. TABER. ENGRAVED BY HENRY WOLF.
UNITED STATES FRIGATE “CONSTELLATION” OVERHAULING THE SLAVER “CORA.”

These Baltimore clippers, too, enlarged and square-rigged, but still the
fastest things on the western ocean, formed the craft with which the slave-
trade was continued between Africa and America long after it had been
condemned by the civilized world. For many years previous to the
American Civil War, which put an end to the larger part of the traffic by
destroying its market, England and the United States kept squadrons
patrolling the African coast to arrest the slavers and free their “cargoes.”
What wild, wild tales of the sea do these reminiscences of piracy,
privateering, and the slave-chase bring to mind—tales of horror, and yet full
of such deeds of daring and romance and fierce delight as must stir the heart
in spite of brain and conscience!
Pirates are things of the past—no more to be feared except in a small way
in the Malayan and Chinese archipelagoes. The African slave-trade is
extinct, so far as shipment across the ocean is concerned, save where, now
and then, an Arab dhow steals with its black cargo along the East African
foreland, or flits across the Gulf of Aden or the Red Sea. Privateering has
been forbidden by international treaty among the larger European powers,
which now recognize that trade goods, even of belligerents, must be held
safe in the ships of neutrals (except articles declared contraband of war),
because the business of the world cannot stop, or even be put in jeopardy,
by a quarrel between two nations. Privateering, therefore, has been
abandoned in Europe as a method of war since the treaty of Paris in 1856,
though Prussia came pretty near it in 1870, by organizing what she called a
volunteer fleet, and Spain reserves the privilege of commissioning
privateers.
The United States, however, and some other countries whose policy or
ability forbid them to have a large navy, would not enter into the European
agreement above mentioned, mutually to abstain from privateering, on the
plea that to do so would be to yield the most powerful weapon of a nation
weak in naval armament and sea commerce, against any of many possible
enemies whose large sea-borne commerce would expose it to the most
serious wounds. In our Civil War the President issued no letters of marque,
although authorized to do so. It was customary to speak of the Confederate
cruisers Alabama, Shenandoah, Florida, etc., as privateers, or even pirates,
and they actually played the part with a success woeful to us of the North,
and to Great Britain, which had to pay for the damages caused by the

Alabama; but, strictly speaking, they were neither, because commissioned
by a temporary but regular government, whose flag might have been
recognized if its arms had succeeded.

More lately (1898) the United States has announced it as its policy to
refrain from privateering, though no formal signature has been given to any
international agreement to that effect.

STEAM YACHT. “HALCYON.” SANDY HOOK LIGHT-SHIP. “VOLUNTEER.” “MAYFLOWER.”

A SPIN OUT TO SEA.—WELL-KNOWN YACHTS ROUNDING THE SANDY HOOK LIGHT-
SHIP.
(From the painting by J. O. Davidson, owned by F. A. Hammond, Esq.)

CHAPTER IX

YACHTING AND PLEASURE-BOATING
ACHT is a word derived from the Dutch language, which has
given to the English so many of its sea-terms, meaning,
originally, a fast boat, such as was built for chasing pirates and
smugglers, and, later, a pleasure-boat. The latter meaning alone is
now kept in view by the word, which is properly applied to anything
designed and used for pleasure-sailing, whether moved by sails, steam, or
electricity.
In Great Britain, where yachting, as we now understand it, arose, it was
not until about 1650 that races between pleasure craft began to be sailed on
the Thames and in the quiet waters about the Isle of Wight, while the first
yacht-club was not formed until 1720 (at Cork, in Ireland). Even then, a
century elapsed before yachting as a sport attracted much attention even
among the British, famous for their love of the sea. In 1812 a “yacht-club”
was founded at Cowes, in the Isle of Wight. It received a new impetus and
became the “Royal Yacht-Club” in 1817, the Prince Regent having joined it,
and in 1833 was again reorganized by King William III as the “Royal Yacht
Squadron,” the designation it bears to-day. It carried on races, or regattas, as
they soon came to be called (borrowing from the Italians a term descriptive
of the old Venetian gondola races), but all sorts of cruising-boats were
matched against one another, classified by a tonnage rule with no
allowances for size or any of the systems by which contestants are now
classified and equalized.
By this time, however, there was peace on the North Atlantic, and many a
good seaman was free to turn his attention to enjoying and improving the
tools of his profession. By this time, also, the Americans had made great
headway as ship-builders and seamen, and by rivalry with the Old World for
trade, and by experience in the Newfoundland fisheries and the West Indies
fruit-trade, had acquired a skill in building and rigging ships that astonished
the world by their speed and weatherly qualities. It was natural that these
ideas should influence pleasure craft on this side of the water, as Great

Britain’s long sea-struggles had influenced its sailors; and when, in 1844,
the New York Yacht-Club was founded, the conditions were favorable for
beginning that home development of yachting as a sport which was soon to
place the Americans and Canadians among the leading yachting peoples of
the world, and to lead to those international tests of speed that nowadays
excite so wide-spread and intense an interest.

“AMERICA” (AS ORIGINALLY RIGGED) AND “MARIA.”

The great preponderance in numbers and value of pleasure-vessels in the
United States, and in the number of clubs and club-members, is due not
only to our large population and long coast-line, but to the great extent of
inland waters furnished by our rivers and interior lakes, and to the
prevalence of bays or protected lagoons, such as Narragansett Bay, the
Great South Bay of Long Island, New York harbor, Delaware and
Chesapeake bays, and the long series of “sounds” that border the southern
Atlantic coast from Barnegat to Biscayne. The Great Lakes are bordered by
yacht-clubs on both sides, and furnish space and weather for quite as

serious work as tries the skill of ocean navigators, while a hundred smaller
lakes make fine pleasure-waters and excellent training-grounds for fresh-
water sailors.
Though the first regatta in America was sailed in 1845, little over half a
century ago, the evolution of American yachts began with the building of
the sloop Maria by Robert L. Stevens, one of that family of remarkable
inventors, who had already devised the first practical screw-steamer, and
afterward created the Monitor. Her model, as we learn from an excellent
article in “The Century” for July, 1882, by S. G. W. Benjamin, was
suggested by the low, broad, almost flat-bottomed sloops employed to steal
over the shallows of the Hudson and the Sound—vessels depending upon
beam rather than on ballast for stability, and imitated by many of our
coasters, which are so stiff that they sometimes make outside voyages
without either cargo or ballast; but the Maria had a long, sharp, hollowed
bow, whence she expanded aft, with little taper at the stern, so that her
deck-plan was that of an elongated flat-iron. The principal novelty about
her, however, was the use of two “center-boards.”
A center-board is a plate of wood or metal, suspended, usually by a
corner pivot, within a sheath or box in the waist, which can be let down
through the keel into the water, so as to form an adjustable keel. It is the
most convenient form of a very old device for preventing a boat’s drift to
leeward, or tendency to capsize under the pressure of the wind. In earliest
times, a mat was hung over the side. Later this was replaced by the
leeboard, apparently a Dutch invention, which may still be seen on the
canal barges in Holland, and which was a feature of the pirogues or
periaugers (shallow double-ended sailing-canoes) that in early times formed
almost the only type of small sail-boat in New York waters. Two other
novel, foreshadowing features possessed by Mr. Stevens’ boat, were the use
of rubber compressors on the traveler of the main boom to ease the strain of
the sheet (rubber is applied in many places about modern rigging), and the
bolting of lead to the keel as outside ballast.
The Maria justified the expectations aroused by these and other novelties
in hull and rig by beating everything in existence, until a Swedish
gentleman in New York constructed a much smaller boat, the Coquette, on
very different lines, for although only sixty-six feet long she drew ten feet

of water; and in a match on the open sea she beat the Maria easily, showing
the superiority of the deep-keeled model for windy weather.
Profiting by these experiences and widely gathered information, a new
designer essayed the task of making a still better yacht. This was George
Steers, the son of a British naval captain and ship-modeler, who had
become an American naval officer and was the first man to take charge of
the Washington navy yard. He built several graceful and fleet-winged
sloops, famous in their day, such as the Julia, David Carl’s Gracie, and
many pilot-boats and ships. His most celebrated production, however, and
the one which gave our yachtsmen an international reputation and
established their method of pursuing recreation as the foremost American
sport, was the America, from which the “America Cup” races take origin
and name.
The origin was really accidental. When the first World’s Fair was to be
held at the Crystal Palace in London, one of the attendant festivities was a
great national gathering of British yachts in their favorite harbor, Cowes, at
which, it was announced, foreign yachtsmen were to be welcome,
especially Americans. In preparation for it, John C. Stevens, of Hoboken,
then Commodore of the New York Yacht-Club, and some of his friends,
ordered a new yacht from George Steers with which to cross the Atlantic
and meet the English racers. This new boat, completed in the spring of
1851, and named America, was schooner-rigged, but had raking masts, no
topsails except a small main gaff, and only one jib, whose foot was laced to
a boom. Such was the style of the day; but later she was changed in rig so
as to carry far more and bigger sails, more like those of a modern schooner-
yacht.
The moment she arrived in Cowes, in the early summer of 1851, her
superiority in speed was conceded, and no British captain would consent to
meet her; but finally a match was extemporized, open to all nations, for
which a prize was offered in the form of a cup presented by the Royal Yacht
Squadron—not by the Queen, as usually said. Fifteen yachts responded, but
none showed what it could do, for there was little wind, and the cup was
awarded to the America more in general acknowledgment of its excellence
than because of any great performance there. Not much importance was
attached to the incident, but the silver tankard was brought home and left to
ornament Commodore Stevens’ drawing-room until 1857, when its owners

dedicated it to the purpose of a perpetual challenge cup, in charge of the
New York Yacht-Club, for international races under specified conditions.
Fifteen years elapsed, however, before the first contestant appeared.
The America had differed prominently in shape from all her opponents at
Cowes, by having fine hollowed bows and a wide stern, instead of the bluff
bows and narrowing after part—the “cod’s head and mackerel’s tail” pattern
—of English craft; she also had sails that hung very flat instead of bellying
out under the wind as was the foreign style. In these directions British
yachtsmen saw good, and tried to improve; but they would have nothing to
do with center-boards, and clung to their cutter-rig. We, on the other hand,
had gained ideas as to improving rig, especially in the schooners, and in the
bestowal of ballast, outside and in.

FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY G. WEST & SON, SOUTHSEA, ENGLAND.

“GENESTA,” “TARA,” AND “IREX”—THE BRITISH TYPE OF CUTTER OF 1884-85.
“Galatea,” 1885, belonged to the same type.

At length, in 1870, an English schooner, the Cambria, came over to
compete for the cup, and was pitted against a fleet of crack yachts off Sandy
Hook; but again the wind was so light that the boats did little more than
drift. The Englishman, nevertheless, was outdrifted by nine others, and the
leader was the little sloop Magic, which became the custodian of the cup.
The next year, however, another challenge was received, and the British
keel-yacht Livonia appeared and was defeated by the American keel-
schooner Sappho, which, under a new rule, had won her right to defend the
cup by first beating in preparatory ocean races all other rivals for the honor.
As this contest was between single representative yachts, tried in five races,
and in all sorts of weather, it was a fair and conclusive measure of
comparative qualities. The next yacht to come after the international cup
was the Canadian Countess of Dufferin, which was promptly defeated by
the Magic in 1876. Five years later another Canadian appeared, the
Atalanta, differing from previous contestants in being a single-masted
center-board yacht; but her rigging and finish were so bad that her excellent
model could not save her from defeat (1881) at the hands of the elegant iron
sloop Mischief which had been built especially for the race, and had won
her foremost place through severe trial races, as before.
Up to this time, as Mr. W. P. Stephens tells us in “The Century” for
August, 1893, whence many of the portraits of these racers have been taken,
no pleasure-boats had been built except after the rule of thumb—some
practical sailor whittled out a model according to his ideas, and the builder
followed it.
Systematic designing was unknown, and ... one type of yacht was in general use, the
wide, shoal center-board craft, with high trunk cabin, large open cockpit, ballast all inside
(and of iron, or even slag and stone), and a heavy and clumsy wooden construction. Faulty
in every way as this type has since been proved, in the absence of any different standard it
was considered perfect, and open doubts were expressed of the patriotism if not the sanity
of the few American yachtsmen who, about 1877, called into question the merits of the
American center-board sloop, and pointed out the opposing qualities of the British cutter—
her non-capsizability, due to the use of lead ballast outside of the hull; her speed in rough
water; and the superiority of her rig both in proportions and in mechanical details.
A wordy warfare over these types raged for several years, gaining strength with the
building of the first true English cutter, the Muriel, in New York in 1878, and bearing good

fruit a year later in the launching of the Mischief, an American center-board sloop, but
modified in accordance with the new theories. The plumb stem, the straight sheer, and
higher free-board, with quite a shapely though short overhang, suggested the hull of the
cutter, and though quite wide—nearly twenty feet on sixty-one feet water-line—she drew
nearly six feet. Even with her sloop rig she was a marked departure from the older boats of
her class, especially as she was built of iron in place of wood, and consequently carried her
ballast, all lead, at a very low point.

One of the results of this controversy was the sending to this country,
from Scotland, of a little ten-ton racing cutter, the Madge, purely to show
what capabilities lay in “a deep, narrow, lead-keeled craft with the typical
cutter rig.” The only American able to beat her was the Shadow, a famous
Herreshoff sloop of unusual depth, and she did it but once. Nevertheless,
the controversy was not decided in the United States, and the Britishers
thought it worth while to try to give us another lesson. In 1884 they
launched two big cutters, Irex and Genesta, and in 1885 a third, Galatea;
and Sir Richard Sutton, owner of Genesta, and Lieutenant William Henn, R.
N., owner of Galatea, challenged for the America Cup.
Then the question arose: What should be done to meet them? The British
cutters differed from those previously met, in that they were built for racing,
not for general use—were “racing machines” instead of cruising-yachts. To
meet this, a scientific designer of marine vessels, Mr. A. Cary Smith of New
York, was called upon to produce a moderately deep, center-board, iron
sloop-yacht on the lines of the Mischief, but much larger, and he produced
the Priscilla. But while she was building there was quietly begun another
yacht, the Puritan, owned and built in Boston from designs by an almost
unheard-of architect, Mr. Edward Burgess, who previously to this
performance had been renowned only as a student of insects!
“The stout oak keel of the new Puritan was laid upon a lead keel of
twenty-seven tons, carried down into a deep projecting keel; the plumb
stem, the sheer, and the long counter suggested the British cutter rather than
the American sloop; the draft of eight feet six inches was greatly in excess
of all of the old center-board boats, and the rig was essentially that of the
cutter rather than of the sloop.”
A struggle decided that she was better than the Priscilla, and in the cup
races in September she proved herself better than the famous English cutter
Genesta.

Nevertheless, when
the Galatea, whose
challenge had been
postponed until 1886,
came out, the Puritan
had already been
distanced by an
American rival, the
Mayflower, practically
a larger copy of herself,
as Galatea was of
Genesta, and,
therefore, a lead-keeled
center-board boat,
having a cutter-like rig.
Trial races showed that
the Mayflower was able
to beat all her beautiful
predecessors, and again
the British contestant
was obliged to take a
defeat and leave the
THE CUTTER “MURIEL,” SHOWING THE ENGLISH
prize in New York. DEEP-DRAFT TYPE OF BUILD AND RIG.
The result of this last
contest (1886) was to cause British yachtsmen to abandon their old tonnage
rule of measurement and adopt the far better modern one of load-line and
sail-area measurement. Another challenge immediately came from
Glasgow, supported by a boat named Thistle, built under the new rule; and
to oppose it Mr. Burgess built the Volunteer, which differed from its
predecessors mainly in increased draft and tendency toward the cutter
model. She easily beat the Thistle, and the discouraged foreigners rested for
some years before trying again to wrest from us the coveted trophy.
In 1891, however, there came to New York, from the yards of the
Herreshoff Brothers, in Rhode Island, a new forty-six-foot yacht, which
soon put the fame of the Volunteer and all her glorious rivals into the
background. This was the Gloriana, “remarkable as a daring and original

departure from the
accepted theories.” The
radical novelty in her
form consisted in the
great cutting away of
her bulk under water
while preserving the
full extent of the water-
line, and the making of
a very deep, heavily
loaded keel, trusted for
stability. Her hull was
also novel, consisting
of a double skin of thin
“PURITAN.” wood on steel frames,
while the upper part of
the hull projected excessively at both ends. She was everywhere a winner,
and was immediately followed by a smaller boat, the Dilemma, whose keel
was an almost rectangular plate of steel, the ballast, which alone was trusted
for stability, being in the form of a cigar-shaped cylinder of lead bolted to
the lower edge of the “fin,” as this kind of keel was appropriately styled.
Many boats of this pattern were soon afloat, most of them highly successful
at home and abroad, and carrying a surprising spread of canvas.
The year 1893
brought another
challenge for the
cup in the person
of Lord Dunraven,
sailing the yacht
Valkyrie, but he
was met by a new,
well-proved
Herreshoff fin-
keel, the Vigilant
(built of a new
alloy—Tobin
bronze), and FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY J. S. JOHNSTON AND PURVIANCE.

handsomely “MAYFLOWER.”
defeated. The
following season the Vigilant went to England, and found herself equally
overmatched by the Britannia, owned by the Prince of Wales, while
Valkyrie II was wrecked. In 1895 Lord Dunraven sent a second challenge,
backed by a new Valkyrie (III); and this produced a fresh American
contestant, again designed and built by the Herreshoffs, named Defender.
The races came off amid intense public excitement, outside of Sandy Hook,
but were most unsatisfactory; “in the first, Defender won; in the second,
Valkyrie was disqualified as the result of a foul, and Lord Dunraven
declined to sail a third.”

COMPARISON OF OLD AND NEW TYPES.
1. “America,” 1851, water-line 90 feet.—2. “Cambria,” 1868, water-line 100 feet.—3. “Magic,” 1857-69, water-line 79 feet.—4.
“Sappho,” 1867, water-line 120 feet.—5. “Mischief,” 1879, water-line 61 feet.—6. “Puritan,” 1885, water-line 81 feet.—7.
“Genesta,” 1884, water-line 81 feet.—8. “Thistle,” 1887, water-line 86 feet.—9. “Volunteer,” 1887, water-line 85 feet.—10.
“Gloriana,” 1891, water-line 45 feet.—11. “Wasp,” 1892, water-line 46 feet.—12. “El Chico,” 1892, water-line 25 feet.

Such has been the history of this long series of races for the America
Cup, and such the development of its defenders; but while they and their
work have stimulated interest in yachting all over the world, they have
really not influenced it greatly, because all of the later boats competing
were not practical yachts, in which one might cruise and live afloat, and
enjoy life with his friends, but “machines” in which every quality tending to
comfort and safety was sacrificed to the requirements of speed. In fact, the
owners of these “big boats” kept small, handy, comfortable yachts for their
own enjoyment, and the racers were as a rule sailed by a skipper and crew
of professional racing sailors.
There are said to be over two hundred yacht-clubs in the United States,
enrolling about four thousand yachts, an eighth of which are steam or
electric boats, scattered wherever any water suitable for the sport exists.
With the lakes and rivers we have nothing to do, except to say that the
yachtsmen of Montreal and Quebec are really salt-water sailors, for they
cruise in the Gulf of St. Lawrence and elsewhere at sea as well as their
fellow-sportsmen of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia. At the other extreme
the Havana Yacht-Club has American members who take their boats to the
West Indies every winter. Bermuda is another favorite resort, and the scene
of lively races with a local, narrow sort of craft, called a “flyer,” which will
beat almost anything if only it can be kept right side up.
On the Pacific coast, ... wherever there is a bay that will afford a harbor, and a town that
will support people, the yacht is used as a vehicle of pleasure.... Many of the San Francisco
boats are large schooners, a number are powerful sea-going sloops, while of smaller craft
there is an abundance of almost every type, although the New York catboat and the flat-
bottomed sharpie of Long Island Sound are seldom met with, and seem not to be in favor....
Pacific yachters appreciate the good points of the yawl, for the squalls which blow over the
waters of the west coast are sudden and severe, and no rig meets these conditions of
weather so well as does the yawl.

The most important and numerous yachting interest of the country,
however, as would be expected, is along the northeastern seaboard, where,
measured by numbers and the investment in boats, wharves, club-houses,
and equipments generally, it surpasses any other district in the world. More
than one hundred clubs exist between Maine and Philadelphia.
The earliest form of yacht [as Mr. F. W. Pangborn reminds us in “The Century” for May,
1892] was, of course, a rowboat with a sail.... From the primitive sprit-sail pleasure-boat
comes the ever-present and universally favored center-board catboat, a type of yacht
which, for speed, handiness, and unsafeness, has never been surpassed. Keel catboats are
also built, but the typical American “cat” is the center-board boat of light draft, big beam,

and huge sail. The two
objectionable points about boats
of this class are their
capsizability, and their bad habit
of yawing when sailing before
the wind. Yet the cat is the
handiest light-weather boat made.
It is very fast, quick in stays, and
simple in rig; but it can never
become a first-class seaworthy
type of yacht. It belongs among
the fair-weather pleasure-boats....
From the center-board catboat
grew the jib-and-mainsail sloop,
a type of yacht which has always
been noted for its great speed and
general unhandiness. Small
yachts of this kind are always
racers, and the interest in racing
is sufficient to keep them in the
lists of popular boats. In design
they are like the catboats, the
only difference being in their rig.
DRAWN BY W. TABER These two boats, the center-board
cat and the jib-and-mainsail
FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY WALTER BLACKBURN. sloop, are what yachters call
THE NEWPORT CATBOAT. “sandbaggers”; that is to say,
their ballast consists of bags of
sand which are shifted to windward
with every tack and thus serve to keep
the yachts right side up. A boat
ballasted in this manner can carry
more sail than rightly belongs on her
sticks, but she cannot be very safe or
comfortable. Her place is in the
regatta. It is not beyond the truth to
assert that the sandbaggers constitute
probably two fifths of the total of
small yachts. They will never cease to
be popular, for the reason that speed
and sport are synonymous terms with
a great many yachters, and no one can
deny that these boats, like Brother
RIG OF THE YAWL. Jasper’s sun, “do move.”
Passing the sandbaggers, the next
popular and most universally used yacht is the ballasted sloop. A sloop may be a center-
board boat, or a keel boat, or a combination of both. She has only one mast and carries a
topmast. Her sails are many, and, like the cutter, she is permitted to carry clouds of canvas
in a race. Technically speaking, a cutter differs from a sloop only in one point, as the terms

“sloop” and “cutter” really apply
to the rig of the yacht. The cutter
has a sail set from her stem to her
masthead; the sloop has not. This
sail is called a forestay-sail, and
its presence marks the cutter-rig.
The term “cutter,” however, is
usually applied to the long,
narrow, deep-keeled vessel, and
has in common parlance grown to
mean a boat of that type. It is in
that sense that it is generally
understood. It is worthy of notice
that nearly all yachters who
cruise about in summer, and
especially those who are fond of
speedy boats, use either sloops or
cutters; and it is remarkable to
see how much comfort can be
DRAWN BY W. TABER,
found in boats of these types,
even when quite small.... FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY WALTER BLACKBURN.
The average yachting man, if ENGRAVED BY A. NEGRI.
he be of that stuff of which good A SANDBAGGER SLOOP.
seamen are made, soon finds his chief delight in
being master of his own vessel. He likes to feel that
it is his skill, his prowess, his intellect, that rule the
ship in which he sails; and finding this complete
mastery of the vessel to be impossible aboard a big
boat, he longs for one which he can handle alone.
This independent and sportsmanlike instinct of the
American yachter has culminated in a liking for
certain classes of very small boats,—“single-
handers” they are called,—and this liking has given
impetus to the building of some little vessels which
are really marvels in their way. Simplicity and
handiness of rig have been considered in their
A SHARPIE. construction, and this has led in many cases to the
adoption of what is known as the yawl style, a rig
which for safety and convenience has never been surpassed by any other. The yawl is really
a schooner with very small mainsail. For small cruising-yachts it is an excellent rig, and
preferable to the cat rig. Cat-yawls are also in use; they are merely yawls without jibs. With
such rigs as these a yachter can go alone upon the water without fear of trouble and with no
need of assistance. Naturally, with men of moderate means who love the water, these small
single-handers have become very popular. Some of them are not over sixteen feet long, yet
the solitary skipper-crew-and-cook, all in one, of such a boat finds in his yacht comfortable
sleeping-quarters, cook-stove, dinner-table, and all necessary “fixings.” The ingenuity
displayed in fitting out the cabins of these little boats is quite remarkable.
Of the many nondescript rigs which are applied to small yachts, two are in common use.
One of these is the sharpie, a simple leg-o’-mutton rig used with flat-bottomed boats. Large

sharpies have been built with fine cabin
accommodations, and such boats are
particularly adapted to the shoal waters of the
South. They are fast sailers, but owing to their
long, narrow bodies and light draft, are not
always trustworthy. They are cheaper to build
than boats of other designs....
Buckeyes are favored only in the South.
Originally the buckeye was a log hollowed out
and shaped into a boat, and was used by the
negroes. To-day, however, buckeyes are built
upon carefully drawn plans, and many of them
are excellent vessels. They are common on the
A BUCKEYE.
coast waters south of the Delaware Bay, and
are used chiefly for hunting-boats, their cheapness, handiness, and roominess rendering
them useful to the sportsman. A true buckeye is a double-ender, but some large ones have
been built with an overhang stern, which destroys the ideal and creates a new kind of craft.
A few years ago the sailing public was
surprised by the appearance upon the
waters of a spider-like contrivance which
its friends said was a “catamaran.” This
new claimant for yachting favor was like
the raft of the South Sea Islanders only in
name; in fact, it was not a catamaran at
all, but a new device for racing over the
water by means of sails. Wonderful feats
were predicted for the future of the
catamaran, and it certainly did
accomplish something; but after a long
and fair trial (for the yachter, no matter
how bigoted he may be, will always try a
OLD-STYLE PIROGUE WITH LEEBOARD. new boat) it was discarded as a useless,
dangerous, and decidedly unsatisfactory
kind of craft....
Leaving the discussion of the odds and ends of yacht styles, we come, by natural
progress, to a type which is destined to greater popularity as time goes on, and yachters
learn the ways of the sea and the best methods of dealing with them. Although the schooner
is generally deemed a big yacht, it is nevertheless a fact that small schooners are desirable
boats to have, and that the number of schooners of small tonnage is increasing. There is no
denying the advantage of the schooner’s rig over that of the sloop. A schooner of forty feet
is handier, safer, and less expensive to run than a forty-foot sloop. The rig of the schooner
is peculiarly adapted to all weathers, and a small crew can handle such a vessel with ease,
when to manage a sloop of equal size would require the best efforts of “all hands and the
cook.” The reason for this is that the schooner’s sails can be attended to one at a time,
which is not the case with the big-mainsail sloop.

FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY WALTER BLACKBURN.
YACHTS WAITING FOR A BREEZE.

It is the small yachter [Mr. Pangborn declares in conclusion] who gives to the sport its
wide popularity, and makes yachting so universally loved by men who are fond of aquatic
pleasuring. The small yachter is everywhere upon the waters. From the coast of Maine,
from the shores of the harbor of the Golden Gate, from the beaches of the Atlantic
seaboard, and from the borders of the inland lakes, he can be seen, all summer long, sailing
about in his little vessel, and enjoying in all its fullness the excitement and delight of this
most noble and health-giving sport. With a pluck and energy that mark the true lover of the
sea, and a tact and skill that bespeak the real sailor, he handles his little craft, in fair
weather and in foul, in a manner that leaves no room for doubt as to its fitness for the work
which he is doing; for, whether he sail alone, or with the help of his friends, or that of a
hired man to run his boat, he is always the master of his vessel,—which is seldom the case
with the proprietor of the big boat,—and is in reality a “yachtsman” under all
circumstances, at all times, and in all weathers. He must be cool-headed and calm in times
of peril, affable and courteous on all social occasions, and generous and prompt to respond
to all calls upon his courage—in brief, a gentleman.

THE “ADLER” PLUNGING TOWARD THE REEF AT SAMOA.

CHAPTER X

DANGERS OF THE DEEP
EITHER ships of the stanchest steel, nor seamen however skilful,
nor pilots never so knowing, can wholly avoid the dangers of a
seafaring life. Experience in reading the signs of the ocean and of
the skies, surveyors’ charts of coasts and harbors, added to the
appliances of powerful modern machinery, have lessened the perils, it is true,
since the old times; yet even now ships sail proudly out of sunny havens,
their topsails watched by loving eyes till they disappear at sunset, and are
never seen again. On a calm day in 1782 the great hundred-gun line-of-battle-
ship Royal George sank at her anchors in the harbor of Spithead, carrying
down almost a thousand souls; thirty years ago the Captain, then one of the
finest of England’s steam turret-ships, capsized at sea, and not a man
survived. Each of these vessels was perhaps the best of its kind in the world.
No better navigators exist than naval officers, yet they ran the historic old
steam-frigate Kearsarge on Roncador Reef, in the Caribbean Sea, in broad
daylight, and left her there a total wreck. Not a year passes that does not
record some dire calamity on the ocean, and many lesser accidents.
The wild oceanic storms are responsible for fewer of these than anything
else—I mean the mere power of wind and waves in the open sea. When a
captain has sea-room, and knows in advance, as he almost always may, of the
coming of a storm, so that he can make everything snug, the loss of his
vessel, or even serious damage to her, is not common. Yet the mere violence
of the gale has overturned, beaten down, and extinguished the greater part of
the Newfoundland fishing-fleet again and again, and doubtless many of the
ships that are recorded as “missing” have been sunk simply by overwhelming
waves.
Certain rare and extraordinary mishaps nevertheless may meet a vessel in
the open ocean. One of these is a stroke of lightning, powerful enough to set a
ship on fire in spite of her lightning-rods, and such a fire is likely never to be
quenched. Another extraordinary occurrence would be an overwhelming
waterspout, such as not infrequently is seen in the tropics, especially along

the Chinese coast, where it often plays havoc with fishing junks. A third
unusual, yet possible, peril is the meeting with those waves of sudden and
extraordinary size and volume which sometimes engulf vessels in storms that
otherwise might be safely weathered, or are surmounted only by a miracle, as
it were. These are said to be produced in some cyclones, as one of the effects
of that whirling form of storm, and are often called tidal waves, but the tide
has nothing to do with their formation or progress.

THE U. S. S. “ONEIDA” AFTER COLLISION WITH A STEAMSHIP.

To say that a ship in mid-ocean might be destroyed by an earthquake seems
paradoxical and absurd, yet it is true. Whenever a subterranean convulsion
occurs beneath or at the edge of the sea, the water will be agitated in
proportion to its force. Strike a tub of water a gentle tap and see how its
liquid contents shiver and ripple. Watch a railway train running at the edge of
a body of water, and observe how the water trembles under the percussion of
the wheels upon the ground.

Earthquake shocks give rise sometimes to great disturbances, either by a
direct jar to the water, or by setting in motion waves whose rolling does
damage, especially in confined harbors. Sometimes a port will be suddenly
invaded by a wave, the cause of which was an earthquake, which rolls in
upreared like a wall, and carries death and destruction in its course. The
principal port of the island of St. Thomas, in the West Indies, was once
devastated by this means. The incoming wave is said to have been over forty
feet high, and broke inland, destroying much property and causing many
deaths. “So tremendous was this breaker that it landed a large vessel on a
hillside half a mile from the harbor.”
Such catastrophes are not uncommon in volcanic districts, where the ocean
retorts with terrible vengeance when it is struck by the land. That appalling
explosion in 1883 of Krakatoa, in the Strait of Sunda, was followed on
neighboring coasts by a series of vast billows that rolled inland, deluging a
wide extent of shore, sweeping away over 150 villages, and crushing or
drowning more than 30,000 persons. Within a few years the coasts of
northern Japan have been inundated repeatedly by earthquake waves with
similar dire calamities, and they are likely to occur again. Now and then
earthquakes are felt even in the open sea, far from land. Thus, Captain Lecky,
a scientific writer upon the sea, tells us that in one instance where he was
present, the inkstand upon the captain’s table was jerked upward against the
ceiling, where it left an unmistakable record of the occurrence; and yet this
vessel was steaming along in smooth water, many hundreds of fathoms deep.
“The concussions,” he says, “were so smart that passengers were shaken off
their seats, and, of course, thought that the vessel had run ashore.” All this
disturbance was, nevertheless, only the result of a shock at the bottom; and
when the non-elastic nature of water is considered, the severity of the jar is
not surprising.
It would seem as though in the vast breadth of the “world of waters,” and
with nothing to obstruct the view, two ships might easily give one another a
wide berth; yet a collision is one of the ever-present dangers of voyaging,
even far from land. It is to avoid this peril that all the maritime nations have
agreed upon certain signals, and “rules of the road” which are the same in all
parts of the world, and without which it would now be almost impossible to
carry on commerce or travel on the water.
The rules of the road say that when two vessels are approaching one
another, head on, each shall turn off to the right far enough to avoid the other;

that when two vessels are crossing one another’s courses, the one which has
the other on her starboard (right hand) must turn to starboard (the right), and
go behind the other vessel, while the latter continues along her course; and
that a steam vessel must always get out of the way of a sailing vessel, one at
anchor or disabled, or a vessel with another in tow.
It is presumed that every ship will keep a sharp lookout, and that in the
daytime two approaching ships will see each other in time to keep safely
apart; but in the darkness of night none could be safe unless all carried lights
by which the position and character of each could be determined.
In ancient times this matter of lights at sea was a much more troublesome
one than now. We know that the Roman navy managed it somehow, and had
methods of signaling by lanterns and torches. In medieval and early times,
say up to a couple of centuries ago, a ship’s lights were a much more
conspicuous and bothersome part of her than now, when, indeed, electricity
has simplified as well as perfected signaling as much as it has benefited
general illumination on ship’s board. In such ships as those of the Armada,
and long afterward, three huge lanterns made of ornamental iron-work,
sometimes large enough to enable a man to move about inside them,
surmounted the elevated after-quarter; and these were filled with dozens of
great candles. How important candles were in the stores of one of these old
ships is shown by the fact that we still call a merchant who outfits vessels a
ship-chandler. Regular rules were formulated for judging of a ship’s position
and movements, and how you ought to steer by the way these beacons
grouped themselves. The introduction of whale oil gradually superseded
candles and as the sperm-lamp did not require a glass house, smaller lanterns
took the place of the big ones, until finally, by aid of lenses, reflectors, and
kerosene, and still more lately by the use of electricity, ship’s lights have
become the small, handy, and powerful ones they are to-day.
The present rules as to lights are these—using the language of a United
States navy officer, Lieut. John M. Ellicott, who has written many instructive
and entertaining essays on sea-affairs:
When you face toward a ship’s bow the side at your right hand is called the starboard side,
and the side at your left hand is called the port side. On her starboard side a ship carries at
night a green light, and it is so shut in by the two sides of a box that it cannot be seen from
the port side or from behind. On her port side she carries a red light, and it is so shut in that it
cannot be seen from the starboard side or from behind. If the ship is a steamship she carries a
big white light at her foremast-head, but if she is a sailing vessel she does not. This white
masthead light can be seen from all around except from behind....

It is for the red and green lights, commonly known as the side lights, that the officer of the
deck most intently watches (when the lookout warns him that lights are in sight), for by them
he can tell which way the vessel is going. If her red light shows, he knows that her port side
is toward him and she is crossing to his left; if it is her green light, her starboard side is
toward him and she is crossing to his right; but if both the red and green are showing, she is
heading straight in his direction.... If a vessel has another vessel in tow, she carries two
masthead lights instead of one; and when a vessel is at anchor she has no side lights or
masthead light, but a single white light made fast to a stay where it can be seen from all
around her.
In rivers and crowded harbors it is often impossible to follow the rules of the road; and
sometimes even at sea the officer of the deck of one vessel discovers that the other is not
heeding the rules. Then the steam-whistle is used to tell the other vessel what the first is
doing. Thus, one whistle means “I am going to the right”; two whistles mean “I am going to
the left”; and three whistles mean “I am backing”; while a series of short toots means “Look
out for yourself; get out of the way!”
There is one class of vessels which is most annoying to those who direct the course of
large steamers. These are small fishing-vessels. On the Grand Banks of Newfoundland, on
the coast of Spain, and on the coasts of China and Japan big fleets of these little vessels are
found at all times. They show no lights at night, preferring to save the expense of oil, and
take their chances of being sent to the bottom; but when they see a big ship rushing down
upon them, they light a torch and flare it about. Often they pay for their folly with their lives.
The torch is seen too late, or not seen at all, and the great iron bow of the steamship crushes
into the frail little craft, perhaps cutting her clean in two; and the unhappy fishermen sink
into the foaming wake of the churning propellers, leaving not a soul to tell their wives what
became of them.

ELECTRIC-LIGHT SIGNALS AT SEA: ARDOIS SYSTEM.

Signaling with lights is principally of use to men-of-war, where, also,
lanterns hung in the rigging in a particular order have a definite significance.
For long-distance signaling the best system is that invented by Lieutenant
Very, U. S. N. These night-signals “consist of a white, a red, and a green star,
each fired into the air from a pistol, so that by firing one, two, or three of
them in quick succession and in different orders, with a pause between the
groups, different letters or signal numbers can be made until a sentence is
complete.” They can be easily read from vessels twelve miles away. For
nearer work the system of the Spanish navy officer, Ardois, which consists in
flashing and extinguishing, by means of a switchboard on deck, a series of
red and white electric lamps in the rigging, serves very well; and close at
hand a signal-man waves an incandescent electric bulb by night as he would a
flag by day.
It is, however, when the land is approached that the sailor’s perils become
menacing. Here Old Neptune is still a match for us when he asserts himself.
Nevertheless, we must go upon the restless waters, and must risk a contest
with their power along the coasts, where the ocean’s line of battle may be
said to be. Therefore, every effort has always been made by men on land to
be of aid to their brethren at sea by erecting beacons to guide them by night
as well as by day, by marking the channels, so that hidden shoals, rocks, and
obstructions may be avoided, and by contrivances to save life and property
when the fury of the gale renders seamanship futile, and the noble ship is cast
away in the surf thundering on some wild shore, to break up in a few hours.
What could be more humiliating to our pride, as well as terrifying to our
hearts, than such a scene as that at Samoa, in 1889, when a whole fleet of
ships, including powerful men-of-war, was wrecked while at anchor in the
beautiful harbor of Apia. Of small use, then, were all their charts and
lighthouses, buoys and breakwaters!
The disturbed state of affairs in Samoa caused the assemblage there, during
March, 1889, of three small German men-of-war, Adler, Olga, and Eber, the
British corvette Calliope, and the American steamships Trenton, Vandalia and
Nipsic. The Trenton, Captain Farquhar, was one of our largest war-ships at
that time, and the flagship of Rear-Admiral Kimberley; the Vandalia, Captain
Schoonmaker, was somewhat smaller, and the Nipsic, Commander Mullan,
was still less in size. On March 15 a hurricane demolished the whole of this
fleet, except one, and ten merchant vessels besides, and caused the loss of
nearly one hundred and fifty lives. It is an extraordinary story, which has been

fully related by Mr. John P. Dunning,
from whose article in “St. Nicholas” for
February, 1890, the accompanying facts
and illustrations are drawn.
The harbor in which the disaster occurred is a
small semicircular bay, around the inner side of
which lies the town of Apia. A coral reef, visible
at low water, extends in front of the harbor from
the eastern to the western extremity, a distance of
nearly two miles. A break in this reef, probably a
quarter of a mile wide, forms a gateway to the
harbor. The space within the bay where ships can
lie at anchor is very small, as a shoal extends
some distance out from the eastern shore, and on
the other side another coral reef runs well out into
the bay. The war-vessels were anchored in the
deep water in front of the American consulate.
The Eber and Nipsic were nearest the shore. There
were ten or twelve sailing-vessels, principally
small schooners lying in the shallow water west of
the men-of-war. The storm was preceded by
several weeks of bad weather, and on Friday,
March 15, the wind increased and there was every
indication of a hard blow. The war-ships made
preparation for it by lowering topmasts and
making all the spars secure, and steam was also
raised to guard against the possibility of the
anchors not holding.
The wind rose to a hurricane and was
accompanied by heavy, wind-driven rain, and
when toward morning it became evident that
some smaller ships were already ashore, and that
the war-ships were dragging their anchors in spite
of every effort, the whole town was awake, and
THE “VERY” ROCKET-SIGNAL AT SEA. much of it down by the beach seeking what
shelter it could from the sleet-like blast. This night
of horror gradually lightened into dawn, when it was seen that all the war-ships had been
swept from their former moorings and were bearing down toward the inner reef. The decks
swarmed with men clinging to anything affording a hold. The hulls of the ships were tossing
about like corks, and the decks were being deluged with water as every wave swept in from
the open ocean. Several sailing-vessels had gone ashore in the western part of the bay. Those
most plainly visible now were the Eber, Adler, and Nipsic, very close together and only a few
yards from the reef.
The little gunboat Eber was making a desperate struggle, but her doom was certain.
Suddenly she shot forward, the current bore her off to the right, and her bow struck the port
quarter of the Nipsic, carrying away several feet of the Nipsic’s rail and one boat. The Eber
then fell back and fouled with the Olga, and after that she swung around broadside to the
wind, was lifted high on the crest of a great wave and hurled with awful force upon the reef.
In an instant there was not a vestige of her to be seen. Every timber must have been

shattered, and half the poor creatures
aboard of her crushed to death before
they felt the waters closing above
their heads. Hundreds of people were
on the beach by this time, and the
work of destruction had occurred
within full view of them all. They
stood for a moment appalled by the
awful scene, and a cry of horror
arose from the lips of every man
who had seen nearly a hundred of his
fellow-creatures perish in an instant.
Then with one accord they all rushed
to the water’s edge nearest the point
where the Eber had foundered. The
natives ran into the surf far beyond
the point where a white man could
have lived, and stood waiting to save
any who might rise from the water.
There were six officers and seventy
men on the Eber when she struck the
reef, and of these five officers and THE “CALLIOPE” ESCAPING FROM APIA HARBOR.
sixty-six men were lost. This was
about six o’clock in the morning.

“THE SAMOANS STOOD BATTLING AGAINST THE SURF, RISKING THEIR LIVES
TO SAVE THE AMERICAN SAILORS.”

During the excitement attending that calamity the other vessels had been for the time
forgotten, but it was soon noticed that the positions of several of them had become more
alarming. The Adler had been swept across the bay, close to the reef, and in half an hour she
was lifted on top of the reef and turned completely over on her side. Nearly every man was
thrown into the water, but as almost the entire hull was exposed, all but twenty succeeded in
regaining her deck, and the remainder were rescued toward the close of the day when almost
exhausted.
Just after the Adler struck, the attention of every one was directed toward the Nipsic. She
was standing off the reef with her head to the wind, but the three anchors which she had out
at the time were not holding; and orders were given to attach a hawser to a heavy eight-inch
rifle on the forecastle and throw the gun overboard. As the men were in the act of doing this,
the Olga bore down on the Nipsic and struck her amidships with awful force. Her bowsprit
passed over the side of the Nipsic, and, after carrying away one boat and splintering the rail,
came in contact with the smokestack, which was struck fairly in the center and fell to the
deck with a crash like thunder. For a moment it was difficult to realize what had happened,
and great confusion followed. The iron smokestack rolled from side to side with every
movement of the vessel, until finally heavy blocks were placed under it. By that time the
Nipsic had swung around and was approaching the reef, and it seemed certain that she would
go down in the same way as had the Eber. Captain Mullan saw that any further attempt to
save the vessel would be useless, so he gave the orders to beach her. She had a straight
course of about two hundred yards to the sandy beach in front of the American consulate,
where she stuck and stood firm.
Two attempts to lower boats were failures and every man crowded to the forecastle. A line
was thrown, double hawsers were soon made fast from the vessel to the shore, and the
natives and others gathered around the lines, where the voices of officers shouting to the men
on deck were mingled with the loud cries and singing of the Samoans. One by one, and in a
very orderly manner, the men of the Nipsic came down the hawsers toward the shore, but
many would never have reached it, had it not been for the assistance of the Samoans, who, at
the peril of their lives, stood in the boiling torrent, grasping those whose hold was broken
from the rope.
Meanwhile, the four large men-of-war, Trenton, Calliope, Vandalia, and Olga, were still
afloat and in a comparatively safe position; but about ten o’clock the Trenton was seen to be
in a helpless condition; her rudder and propeller were both gone, and there was nothing but
her anchors to hold her up against the unabated force of the storm. The Vandalia and
Calliope were also in danger, drifting back toward the reef near the point where lay the wreck
of the Adler; and they came closer together every minute, until finally the English ship struck
the Vandalia and tore a great hole in her bow. Then Captain Kane of the Calliope determined
to try to steam out of the harbor as his only hope, and he at once cut loose from all his
anchors. The Calliope’s head swung around to the wind and her engines were worked to their
utmost power. Great waves broke over her bow and she gained headway at first only inch by
inch, but her speed gradually increased until it became evident that she could leave the
harbor. This manœuver of the British ship is regarded as one of the most daring in naval
annals—the one desperate chance offered her commander to save his vessel and the three
hundred lives aboard.
The Trenton’s fires had gone out by that time, and she lay helpless almost in the path of the
Calliope. The decks were swarming with men, but, facing death as they were, they

recognized the heroic struggle of the British ship, and a great shout went up from aboard the
Trenton. “Three cheers for the Calliope!” was the sound that reached the ears of the British
tars as they passed out of the harbor in the teeth of the storm; and the heart of every
Englishman went out to the brave American sailors who gave that parting tribute to the
Queen’s ship.
When the excitement on the Vandalia which followed the collision with the Calliope had
subsided, it was determined to beach the vessel, and straining every means at hand to avoid
the dreaded reef, she moved slowly across the harbor until her bow stuck in the sand, about
two hundred yards off shore and probably eighty yards from the stem of the Nipsic. Her
engines were stopped and the men in the engine-room and fire-room below were ordered on
deck. The ship swung around broadside to the shore, and it was thought at first that her
position was comparatively safe, as it was believed that the storm would abate in a few
hours, and the two hundred and forty men on board could be rescued then; but the wind
seemed to increase in fury, and as the hull of the steamer sank lower the force of the waves
grew more violent, yet no one on shore was able to render the least aid.
These terrible scenes had detracted attention from the other two men-of-war still afloat;
but about four o’clock in the afternoon the positions of the Trenton and Olga became most
alarming. The flagship had been in a helpless condition for hours, being without rudder or
propeller, while volumes of water poured in through her hawser-pipes. Men never fought
against adverse circumstances with more desperation than the officers and men of the
Trenton displayed during those hours, yet the vessel was slowly forced over toward the
eastern reef. Destruction seemed imminent, as the great vessel was pitching heavily, and her
stern was but a few feet from the reef. This point was a quarter of a mile from shore, and if
the Trenton had struck the reef there, it is probable that not a life would have been saved. A
skilful manœuver, suggested by Lieutenant Brown, saved the ship from destruction. Every
man was ordered into the port rigging, and the compact mass of bodies was used as a sail.
The wind struck against the men in the rigging and forced the vessel out into the bay again.
She soon commenced to drift back against the Olga, which was still standing off the reef and
holding up against the storm more successfully than any other vessel in the harbor had done,
and in spite of every effort on the part of both ships a collision took place which severely
damaged both. Fortunately, the vessels drifted apart, whereupon the Olga steamed ahead
toward the mud-flats in the eastern part of the bay, and was soon hard and fast on the bottom.
Not a life was lost, and several weeks later the ship was hauled off and saved.
The Trenton was now about two hundred feet from the sunken Vandalia, and seemed sure
to strike her and throw into the water the men still clinging to the rigging. It was now after
five o’clock, and the daylight was beginning to fade away. In a half hour more, the Trenton
had drifted to within a few yards of the Vandalia’s bow, and feelings hard to describe came to
the hundreds who watched the vessels from the shore.
Presently the last faint rays of daylight faded away, and night came down upon the awful
scene. The storm was still raging with as much fury as at any time during the day. The poor
creatures who had been clinging for hours to the rigging of the Vandalia were bruised and
bleeding; but they held on with the desperation of men who were hanging between life and
death. The ropes had cut the flesh on their arms and legs, and their eyes were blinded by the
salt spray which swept over them. Weak and exhausted as they were, they would be unable to
stand the terrible strain much longer. The final hour seemed to be upon them. The great,
black hull of the Trenton was almost ready to crash into the stranded Vandalia and grind her
to atoms. Suddenly a shout was borne across the waters. The sound of four hundred and fifty
voices was heard above the roar of the tempest. “Three cheers for the Vandalia!” was the cry
that warmed the hearts of the dying men in the rigging.

The shout died away upon the storm, and there arose from the quivering masts of the
sunken ship a response so feeble it was scarcely heard upon the shore. Every heart was
melted to pity. “God help them!” was passed from one man to another. The cheer had hardly
ceased when the sound of music came across the water. The Trenton’s band was playing “The
Star-Spangled Banner.” The thousand men on sea and shore had never before heard strains of
music at such a time as that. An indescribable feeling came over the Americans on the beach
who listened to the notes of the national song mingled with the howling of the storm.
But the collision of the Trenton and Vandalia, instead of crushing the latter vessel to
pieces, proved to be the salvation of the men in the rigging. When the Trenton’s stern finally
struck the side of the Vandalia, there was no shock, and she swung around broadside to the
sunken ship. This enabled the men on the Vandalia to escape to the deck of the Trenton, and
in a short time they were all taken off.
The storm had abated at midnight, and when day dawned there was no further cause for
alarm. The men were removed from the Trenton and provided with quarters on shore.
During the next few days the evidences of the great disaster could be seen on every side.
In the harbor were the wrecks of four men-of-war: the Trenton, Vandalia, Adler, and Eber;
and two others, the Nipsic and Olga, were hard and fast on the beach and were hauled off
with great difficulty. The wrecks of ten sailing-vessels also lay upon the reefs. On shore,
houses and trees were blown down, and the beach was strewn with wreckage from one end of
the town to the other.

Ever since men began to go to sea lights have been placed on shore to
guide them to a landing-place; but in early times these were nothing more
than fires on headlands, kindled, perhaps, by the wives and children of the
captain and his crew of neighbors, when these mariners were expected home.
These friendly services became a little more systematic when merchants
began to risk their property on the water; and on the shores of the
Mediterranean, which we have found to be the cradle of civilized navigation
and trade, harbor-beacons were erected in very early times as guides to a safe
anchorage.
The giant statue known as the Colossus, at Rhodes, is supposed to have been used as a
beacon and lighthouse, a fire burning in the palm of its uplifted colossal hand at night.
Although the account of the Colossus is only a matter of guesswork, it is historically true that
in those ages of ignorant heedlessness of the need of beacons, a lighthouse was built so grand
in proportions, so enduring in character, that it became known as one of the Seven Wonders
of the World, and outlived all the others, save the Pyramids, by centuries, and in some ways
has never been excelled by any similar structure in modern times, unless it be by our
mammoth marble monument to Washington. This was the lighthouse built on the little island
of Pharos by Ptolemy Philadelphus, king of Egypt, two hundred and eighty years before
Christ, to guide vessels into the harbor of Alexandria. From all descriptions, it must have
closely resembled our Washington monument; for it was built of white stone, was square at
the base, and tapered toward the apex. Open windows were near its top, through which the
fire within could be seen for thirty miles by vessels at sea.

The destruction of these beacons in the general smash and ruin that seem to
have overtaken the world when the Roman empire went to pieces is only

indicative of the way the darkness of barbarism returned and enveloped the
minds as well as the works of men, until light broke through the clouds again
with the rise of organized sea-powers in Western Europe. Then beacons were
gradually rebuilt, but in almost all cases by private hands—the feudal lords of
coast estates, the master or authorities of sea-ports, the monks in monasteries
near dangerous landings, and now and then the king at his principal port,
setting up marks for steering by day and lighting fires on dark nights. Most of
the latter were hardly more than tar-barrels, which would burn brightly in a
gale, and the better class were towers of stonework, on top of which a mass
of coal was ignited in an iron cage, and kept stirred into brightness by a
watcher.
It was an easy matter to imitate such beacons, and wreckers would often
set up false lights. Many a fearful tradition has come down of the doings of
wreckers, not only in England and Spain, but in America and in the East. One
of their tricks, when they saw a ship approaching in the evening, was to hang
a lantern upon a horse’s neck, and let him graze, well-hobbled, along the
beach. This would appear like the rocking of a lantern on a vessel at rest—
what is called a riding or anchor light; and, deceived by this promise of a safe
anchorage, the stranger would not discover that he had been cheated until his
keel struck a reef or sandbar, and the pirates had begun their villainous attack.
It is said to have been a device of this kind which caused the wreck in 1812,
on the Carolina coast,—whose islands and lagoons are reputed to have been
infested by such ruffians, there known as “bankers,”—of a vessel carrying the
beautiful Theodosia Burr, daughter of Aaron Burr, and wife of Governor
Alston of South Carolina. Her death at the hands of these men is illustrated
on page 172.
During the reign of Henry VIII of England, an association of mariners
called, in short, the Guild of the Trinity was chartered and given various
powers and privileges in connection with the newly instituted royal navy and
dockyards. It encouraged coast-lights, and in 1573 Queen Elizabeth formally
placed authority to erect and govern lighthouses and coast beacons in the
hands of this corporation, and there it remains to this day; for its
headquarters, Trinity House, on Tower Hill, in London, are a recognized
office of the British government, answering to our Lighthouse Board.
It was not long before it encouraged the founding of a permanent light on
Eddystone Shoals, a group of reefs near Plymouth, exceedingly dangerous
because they lie precisely in the track of ships bound up or down the English

Channel, yet almost invisible. Upon the mere standing-room afforded by the
crest of this rock, Sir William Winstanley managed to erect, two hundred
years ago, a tower of wood and iron trestle-work, bolted to its foundation and
carrying a glass room or lantern containing a coal-grate, eighty feet above
low-water mark. This was completed in 1698. One winter’s experience
convinced him that it needed strengthening, and in 1699 a case of masonry
was built about the tower, and made solid to the height of twenty feet, while
the whole structure was increased to the height of one hundred and twenty
feet. Then, it is related, Winstanley boasted that the sea had not strength
enough to tear it down, and all England rejoiced in so noble a beacon; but we
now know that the construction was faulty, in its large diameter, polygonal
outline, excess of ornament, and lack of weight. While Sir William was
within it making repairs, four years later, the memorable hurricane of
November 20, 1703, swept the coast, and left scarcely a trace of the tower. Its
value had been proved, however, and it was replaced, in 1706, by a straight-
sided tower of oaken timbers, weighted in their lower courses by stone. This
was designed by an engineer named Rudyerd, and lasted until burned down
in 1755; and engineers say it was better for its place than was the round,
solid-based stone tower of Smeaton that followed it, and became so
celebrated. This was finished in three years, and in 1760 was lighted, not by a
fire, as of old, but by candles—the first use of such an illuminant. This truly
illustrious lighthouse remained until a few years ago, when it became so
racked by the assaults of the sea as to be unsafe. It was then replaced by the
one that stands there to-day, rivaling its magnificent neighbor on the Biscay
shore opposite, the lighthouse of Carduan, which was built to support a
bonfire of oak, but has remained to be lighted successively by oil-lamps, by
gas-burners, and finally by electricity.

ENGRAVED BY R. C. COLLINS.
THE WRECK OF THE FIRST MINOT’S LEDGE LIGHTHOUSE.

A somewhat similar history belongs to some of the lighthouses on this side
of the Atlantic. The first one regularly set up in the United States was that on
the north side of the entrance to Boston harbor, erected in 1716; but many
others go back to Colonial days—that on Sandy Hook, for instance. Perhaps
the most interesting history is attached to the light on Minot’s Ledge, in
Boston harbor. This is a dangerous reef, concealed at high water and so
exposed that the problem of lighting it was much the same as that presented
at Eddystone, Bell Rock, Dhu Heartach, and other well known islets on the
British coast.
The first lighthouse on Minot’s Ledge was built in 1848, and was an
octagonal tower resting on the tops of eight wrought-iron piles sixty feet
high, eight inches in diameter, and sunk five feet into the rock.
These piles were braced together in many ways, and, as they offered less surface to the
waves than a solid structure, the lighthouse was considered by all authorities upon the subject
to be exceptionally strong. Its great test came in April, 1851. On the fourteenth of that month,
two keepers being in the lighthouse, an easterly gale set in, steadily increasing in force.... On
Wednesday, the sixteenth, the gale had become a hurricane; and when at times the tower
could be seen through the mists and sea-drift, it seemed to bend to the shock of the waves. At

four o’clock that afternoon an ominous proof of the fury of the waves on Minot’s Ledge
reached the shore—a platform which had been built between the piles only seven feet below
the floor of the keeper’s room. The raging seas, then, were leaping fifty feet in the air. Would
they reach ten feet higher?—for if so, the house and the keepers were doomed. Nevertheless,
when darkness set in the light shone out as brilliantly as ever, but the gale seemed, if
possible, then to increase. What agony those two men must have suffered! How that dreadful
abode must have swayed in the irresistible hurricane, and trembled at each crashing sea! The
poor unfortunates must have known that if those seas, leaping always higher and higher, ever
reached their house, it would be flung down into the ocean, and they would be buried with it
beneath the waves.
To those hopeless, terrified watchers the
entombing sea came at last. At one o’clock in
the morning the lighthouse bell was heard by
those on shore to give a mournful clang, and
the light was extinguished. It was the funeral
knell of two patient heroes.
Next day there remained on the rock only
eight jagged iron stumps.

Thus, everywhere, and in all
latitudes, the beacons and wooden
towers and huge pyramids of long ago
have given place to slender spires of
solid masonry, holding powerful
signals perhaps hundreds of feet above
the waves, and visible as far as the
curve of the earth’s surface will permit.
Yet in place of the sturdy bonfire of
oak, or the huge iron cage full of coals,
there is only a single lamp, whose rays
are gathered by deep reflectors into a
compact bundle of unwasted rays, and
doubled and redoubled by rows of
A SCREW-PILE OCEAN LIGHTHOUSE. magnifying lenses until they can dart to
the furthest horizon in a strong beam of
steady light. No longer does the mariner trust to his wife to kindle the tar-
barrel to guide him home. He knows that nowhere is his government more
watchful of its subjects than in its lighthouse service, and that he may trust to
having that bright signal to welcome him in the darkness, as well as he can
trust his own eyes to see it. The United States alone expends over $2,500,000
annually in looking after her lighthouses, lightships, and buoys.

Indeed, these beacons have
become so thickly planted that it
has been found necessary to
distinguish between them in
order to avoid mistaking one for
another. At first this was done by
doubling, as in the case of New
York’s “Highland Lights,” or the
twin lights of Thatcher’s Island
off Cape Ann, or even trebling
them as at Nauset, on Cape Cod,
but now the display is made to
vary. Thus some of them are
simply fixed white lights; some
are white and revolve—the
whole lantern on the summit of
the tower being turned on wheels
by machinery, and the flame
disappears for a longer or shorter
time; while others are white THE LIGHTHOUSE AT ST. AUGUSTINE, FLORIDA.
“flash” lights, glancing only for
an instant, and then lost for a few seconds, or giving a long wink and then a
short one with a space of darkness between. Some lighthouses show a steady
red light; others, alternate red and white. By these colors and varying periods
of appearance and disappearance (noted on charts, and published by the
government in a general seaman’s guide called the “Coast Pilot”), navigators
know which light they are looking at when several are in sight. For daylight
recognition the towers may be painted half black and half white, or in stripes
or bands or spirals, like the big barber’s pole in front of St. Augustine,
Florida.
It is impossible here to describe in detail the beautiful machinery by which
the rays from the large but simple argand kerosene lamp are condensed into a
single beam and projected through the Fresnel system of condensers and
lenses, and by which the revolution and “flashing” are effected. Petroleum
has superseded all other oils for general use, but electricity is now being
extensively employed in the illumination of coast lights, especially in France,
where they are introducing new principles, such as producing lightning-like

flashes with a certain recognized regularity, and waving stupendous search-
light beams in the sky, so that the approach to the coast may be seen when the
land and lighthouse themselves are still below the horizon. If you have an
opportunity to go into the lantern of a lighthouse, by all means take advantage
of it; and if you can be there when a storm is raging, or when, on some misty
night, the lantern is besieged by migrating birds, you will never forget the
scene.
On some especially dangerous—because hidden—shoals, reefs, or bars,
like those off Nantucket or the extreme point of Sandy Hook, it may be out of
the question or bad policy to erect a lighthouse. Here its place is taken by
anchoring a stout vessel, built to withstand the severest weather, and arranged
to carry lanterns at its mastheads.
These are called “lightships,” and they are manned by a crew of keepers
who have a very monotonous and uncomfortable time of it; yet in some cases
men have spent twenty years or more in the service.
The most desolate and dangerous lightship station is that of No. 1,
Nantucket. “Upon this tossing island, out of sight of land, exposed to the fury
of every tempest, and without a message from home during all the stormy
months of winter, and sometimes even longer, ten men, braving the perils of
wind and wave, and the worse terrors of isolation, trim the lamps whose light
warns thousands of vessels from certain destruction, and hold themselves
ready to save life when the warning is vain.”
Seven years ago Mr. Gustav Kobbé, and the artist, William Taber, spent
several days on the lightship and gave a graphic account of the life there,
which I wish I were able to quote in full.
The anchorage is twenty-four miles out at sea beyond Sankaty head, at the
extremity of the shoals and rips which make all that space of water beyond
the visible coast of Nantucket fatal to ships, hundreds of which are known to
have been beaten to pieces on its treacherous bars. She is moored to a 6500-
pound mushroom anchor by a chain two inches in thickness, yet she has been
torn adrift twenty-three times, and has wandered widely before returning or
being overtaken.
“No. 1, Nantucket New South Shoals,” to quote Mr. Kobbé,
is a schooner of two hundred and seventy-five tons, one hundred and three feet long, with
twenty-four feet breadth of beam, and stanchly built of white and live oak. She has two hulls,
the space between them being filled through holes at short intervals in the inner side of the

bulwarks with salt.... She has fore-and-aft lantern-masts seventy-one feet high, including
topmasts, and directly behind each of the lantern masts a mast for sails forty-two feet high.
Forty-four feet up the lantern-masts are day-marks, reddish brown hoop-iron gratings, which
enable other vessels to sight the lightship more readily. The lanterns are octagons of glass in
copper frames five feet in diameter, four feet nine inches high, with the masts as centers.
Each pane of glass is two feet long and two feet three inches high. There are eight lamps,
burning a fixed white light, with parabolic reflectors in each lantern, which weighs, all told,
about a ton. Some nine hundred gallons of oil are taken aboard for service during the year.
The lanterns are lowered into houses built around the masts. The house around the main
lantern-mast stands directly on the deck, while the foremast lantern-house is a heavily-
timbered frame three feet high. This is to prevent its being washed away by the waves the
vessel ships when she plunges into the wintry seas. When the lamps have been lighted and
the roofs of the lantern-houses opened,—they work on hinges, and are raised by tackle,—the
lanterns are hoisted by means of winches to a point about twenty-five feet from the deck.
Were they to be hoisted higher they would make the ship top-heavy.

LIGHTSHIP NO. 1, NANTUCKET NEW SOUTH SHOALS.

A conspicuous object forward is the large fog-bell swung ten feet above the deck. The
prevalence of fog makes life on the South Shoal Lightship especially dreary. During one
season fifty-five days out of seventy were thick, and for twelve consecutive days and nights
the bell was kept tolling at two-minute intervals.

The actual work to be done is small, the daily cleaning of the lamps
requiring only two or three hours, and other chores being very light, and the
men nearly die of loneliness and “nothing to do.” It is pathetic to read how
intense and friendly an interest they take in a single red buoy anchored near
them; and they admit that fog is dreaded more because it hides this neighbor
than for any other reason.
Mr. Kobbé tells us that the emotional stress under which this crew labors
can hardly be realized by any one who has not been through a similar

experience.
The sailor on an ordinary ship has at least the inspiration of knowing that he is bound for
somewhere; that in due time his vessel will be laid on her homeward course; that storm and
fog are but incidents of the voyage: he is on a ship that leaps forward full of life and energy
with every lash of the tempest. But no matter how the lightship may plunge and roll, no
matter how strong the favoring gales may be, she is still anchored two miles southeast of the
New South Shoal.

CLEANING THE LAMPS ON A LIGHTSHIP.

Besides enduring the hardships incidental to their duties aboard the lightship, the South
Shoal crew have done noble work in saving life. While the care of the lightship is considered
of such importance to shipping that the crew are instructed not to expose themselves to
dangers outside their special line of duty, and they would therefore have the fullest excuse for
not risking their lives in rescuing others, they have never hesitated to do so. When, a few
winters ago, the City of Newcastle went ashore on one of the shoals near the lightship, and
strained herself so badly that although she floated off, she soon filled and went down stern
foremost, all hands, twenty-seven in number, were saved by the South Shoal crew and kept
aboard of her over two weeks, until the story of the wreck was signaled to some passing
vessel and the lighthouse tender took them off. This is the largest number saved at one time
by the South Shoal, but the lightship crew have faced great danger on several other
occasions.

This is, perhaps, the extreme picture of lightship life, but apart from the
prolonged isolation and continuous roughness of the water, the experiences of
the men off Sandy Hook and elsewhere are not greatly removed from it, and
no philanthropy is more worthy of support than that which seeks to mitigate
the loneliness of these exiles by providing them with reading matter. The

Lighthouse Board provides a small circulating library for these ships, and
contributions of books and files of illustrated periodicals will be gratefully
received and put to good use by the Superintendent of the Lighthouse Service
in Washington.
But there are times—and they occur very
frequently in northern waters—when fogs which
no light can penetrate envelop sea and coast, and
that is the most dangerous of all times to an
approaching ship. The only means by which a
warning can be given, in such an emergency, is by
sound. In many places bells are rung, but often the
place to be avoided is so situated that the roar of
the surf would drown a bell’s note, and then fog-
horns are blown. These fog-horns are of a size so
immense, and voices so stentorian, that it requires
a steam engine to blow them, and they utter a
booming, hollow blast, a dismal note as we hear it
when we are safe on the land, but sweet to the
anxious captain whose vessel is laboring through
the gloom under close-reefed topsails, and
uncertain of her exact position. One kind of these THE FOG-BELL.
horns is very complicated in its structure, and
screeches in a rough, broken blare, a note far-reaching beyond any smooth,
whistling sound that could be made. This shriek is so hideous, so ear-
splitting, when heard near at hand, that no name bad enough to express it
could be found; so its inventors went to the other extreme, and called it a
siren, after those most enchanting of sweet singers who tried to entice
Ulysses out of his course. This name is opposite in a double sense, indeed, for
the sirens of old lured sailors to wreck, while our siren hoarsely bids them
keep off. Finally, buoys, which at first were simply tight casks, but now are
usually made of boiler-iron, are anchored on small reefs, to which are hung
bells, rung constantly by the tossing of their support; and on other reefs buoys
are fixed having a hollow cap so arranged that when a big wave rushes over,
it shuts in a body of air, under great and sudden pressure, which can only
escape through a whistle in the top of the cap, uttering a long warning wail to
tell its position.
It is in such times as this that the pilot comes out strong.

A pilot is a man who has made himself thoroughly acquainted with certain
waters where navigation is dangerous, and who is licensed by some proper
authority, after training and examination, to direct vessels in safety in entering
harbors or passing through other intricate places. A ship-captain may be an
excellent navigator, but he is not expected to know every rock and sandbar
crouching under the waves, and all the twistings and turnings of the entrance
and channel of a foreign harbor, especially as these channels are subject to
constant change. In this country, indeed, although coasting-vessels may
refuse a pilot, the law will not permit captains coming from or bound to a
foreign port to do so; and if any accident happens when no pilot is aboard the
insurance money will not be paid, and the ship’s officers may be punished.

A SIREN RIGGED UPON A MERCHANT STEAMSHIP.

Pilots, then, are important men and are able to charge very high prices for
their services (generally rated according to the draft of the vessel), and their
profession is so organized and guarded that not only must a man be
thoroughly competent, but he must wait for a vacancy in the regular number
before he will be admitted to their ranks.
Their method of work is very exciting. A dozen or so together will form the
crew of a trim, stanch schooner, provisioned for a fortnight or more, which
can outsail anything but a racing yacht, and is built to ride safely through the
highest seas. A few steamers are coming into use, but the procedure is much
the same. You will now and then see one of these beautiful little vessels
sailing up the quiet harbor, threading its way through the black steamers and
sputtering tug-boats and great ships, as a shy and graceful girl walks among
the guests at a lawn party, and you know from its air as well as the big
number on its white mainsail that it is a pilot boat, even if it does not carry

the regular pilot-flag, which in the United States is simply the “union” or
starry canton of the ensign.

BURNING A “FLARE” ON A PILOT-BOAT.

But these fine schooners and the brave men they carry are rarely in port.
Their time is spent far in the offing of the harbor, cruising back and forth in
wait for incoming ships, and the New York pilots often go two and three
hundred miles out to sea, and in storms may be blown much farther away.
Other pilot-boats are waiting also, and the lookout at the reeling mast-head

must keep the very keenest watch upon the horizon. Suddenly he catches
sight of a white speck which his practised eye tells him is a ship’s top-sails, or
of a blur upon the sky that advertises a steamer’s approach. The schooner’s
head is instantly turned toward it, and all the canvas is crowded on that she
will bear, for away off at the right a second pilot-boat, well down, is also seen
to be aiming at the same point and trying hard to win.
The first pilots of New York harbor were stationed at Sandy Hook, and
visited incoming vessels in whale-boats; and many a stately British frigate or
colonial trader was forced to wait anxiously outside the bar, rolling and
tossing in the sea-way, or tacking hither and yon, hoping for a glimpse of that
tiny speck where flashing oars told of the coming pilot. It is in this way, as
the late Mr. J. O. Davidson, the artist, who knew all about such things, told us
in “St. Nicholas” (January, 1890), that many vessels are still met, off some of
our smaller harbors, and at the mouth of the Mississippi River. There the
waters of the great river pouring into the Gulf of Mexico through the Port
Eads Jetties make a turbulent swell with foam-crested billows that roll the
stoutest ship’s gunwale under, even in calm weather; yet the little whale-
boats, swift and buoyant, dash out bravely in a race for the sail on the distant
horizon, for there are two pilot-stations at the Jetties, and it is “first come first
engaged.”
Sometimes, on the other hand, it is the ship that looks for the pilot, cruising
about with the code-letters P T flying from her signal-halyards in token of her
need. She may even run past a pilot-boat in the night and get into danger
without being aware of it. To prevent this, says Mr. Davidson, the pilots burn
what is known as a “flare” or torch, consisting of a bunch of cotton or lamp-
wick dipped in turpentine, on the end of a short handle. It burns with a
brilliant flame, lighting up the sea for a great distance and throwing the sails
and number of the pilot-boat into strong relief against the darkness. On a dark
clear night, the reddish glare which the signal projects on the clouds looks
like distant heat lightning.
Having sighted his vessel, the pilot whose turn it is to go on duty hurries
below and packs the valise which contains such things as he wishes to take
home, for this is his method of going ashore; and when he has departed, if he
is the last one of the pilot-crew, the little vessel returns herself to port in
charge of the sailing-master, cook, and “boy,” to refit and take on a new set of
men.

The storm may be howling in the full force of the winter’s fury, and the
waves running “mountain-high,” but the pilot must get aboard by some
means. It is rough weather indeed when his mates cannot launch their yawl
and row him to where he can climb up the stranger’s side with the aid of a
friendly rope’s end.

A PILOT BOARDING A STEAMER.

Yet frequently this is out of the question. Then a “whip” is rigged beyond
the end of a lee yard-arm, carrying a rope rove through a snatch-block, and

having a noose at its end. The steamer slows her engines, or the ship heaves
to, and the pilot-schooner, under perfect control, runs up under the lee of the
big ship, as near as she dares in the gale. Then, just at the right instant, a man
on the ship’s yard hurls the rope, it is caught by the schooner, the pilot slips
one leg through the bowline-noose, and a second afterward the schooner has
swept on and he is being hoisted up to the yard-arm, but generally not in time
to save himself a good ducking in the coaming of some big roller. Going on
shipboard in this fashion is not favorable to an imposing effect; nevertheless,
the pilot is welcomed by both crew and passengers, who admire his courage
and trust his skill, but smile at the high hat beloved of all pilots.
Now the pilot is master—stands ahead of the captain even—and his orders
are absolute law. He inspects the vessel to form his opinion of how she will
behave, and then goes to the wheel or stands where best he can give his
orders to the steersman and to the men in the fore-chains heaving the
sounding lead. He must never abandon his post, he must never lose his
control of the ship, or make a mistake as to its position in respect to the lee-
shore, or fail to be equal to every emergency. If it is too dark and foggy and
stormy to see, he must feel; and if he cannot do this he must have the faculty
of going right by intuition. To fail is to lose his reputation if not his life. This
is what is expected of pilots, and this is what they actually do in a hundred
cases, the full details of any one of which would make a long and thrilling
tale of adventurous fighting for life.
It is to help pilots and navigators of all sorts to avoid the perils that beset
them that governments not only spend large sums in surveying coasts and
harbors, publishing charts and descriptions, and maintaining lighthouses and
lightships, but mark out bars and channels with floating guides, and their
borders with shore-beacons and “ranges,” to form so many finger-posts for
the right road. Were it not for these sign-posts no ship could safely enter any
commercial harbor in the world; and it will be valuable to quote somewhat
from an article, with capital illustrations, written for “St. Nicholas” (March,
1896) by an officer of the United States Navy, Lieut. John M. Ellicott, since it
describes how the long, winding approaches to one of the greatest ports of the
world are marked out by day and by night—I mean the harbor of New York.
Suppose, then, that we are on a big transatlantic steamer approaching the United States
from Europe.... Having secured his pilot, it is the captain’s next aim to make a “land-fall”—
that is to say, he wishes to come in sight of some well-known object on shore, which, being
marked down on his chart, will show him just where he is and how he must steer to find the
entrance to the harbor.

A special lighthouse is usually the object sought, and in approaching New York harbor it is
customary for steamers from Europe to first find, or sight, Fire Island Lighthouse. This is on
a sandy island near the coast of Long Island. When, therefore, the liner steams in sight of Fire
Island Light she hoists two signals, one of which tells her name and the other the welfare of
those on board. The operator then telegraphs to the ship’s agents in New York that she has
been sighted, and that all on board are well or otherwise. [Other despatches go to the
newspapers, who have observing stations and telegraph arrangements here and at Sandy
Hook.]

DAY-MARKS IN NEW YORK HARBOR.

The ship’s course is then laid to reach the most prominent object at the harbor entrance, in
this case Sandy Hook Lightship. She is easily recognized. The course from this lightship to
the harbor entrance is laid down on the chart “west-northwest, one quarter west,” and,
steering this course, a group of three buoys is reached. One is a large “nun,” or cone-shaped,
buoy, painted black and white in vertical stripes; another has a triangular framework built on
it, and in the top of this framework is a bell which tolls mournfully as the buoy is rocked;
while the third is surmounted by a big whistle.... These mark the point where ocean ends and
harbor begins, and can be found in fair weather or in fog by their color and shape, or noise.
They are the mid-channel buoys at the entrance to Gedney Channel, the deep-water entrance
to New York harbor. Here it may be noted that mid-channel buoys in all harbors in the United
States are painted black and white in vertical stripes, and, being in mid-channel, should be
passed close to by all deep-draft vessels. At this point the pilot takes charge.
Ahead the water seems now to be dotted in the most indiscriminate manner with buoys and
beacons, and on the shores around the harbor, far and near, there seem to be almost a dozen
lighthouses. If, however, you watch the buoys as the pilot steers the ship between them, you
will soon see that all those passed on the right-hand side are red, and all on the left are black.
Where more than one channel runs through the same harbor, the different channels are
marked by buoys of different shapes. Principal channels are marked by “nun” buoys,
secondary channels by “can” buoys, and minor channels by “spar” buoys.

NUN BUOYS. CAN BUOYS. SPAR BUOYS.

Gedney Channel is a short, dredged lane leading over the outer bar, or barrier of sand,
which lies between harbor and ocean. Its buoys are lighted at night by electricity, through
submarine cables, the red ones with red lights, the black ones with white lights. Moreover, a
little lighthouse off to the left, known as Sandy Hook Beacon, has in its lamp a red sector
which throws a red beam just covering Gedney Channel. Thus this channel can be passed
through in safety by night as well as by day. If it is night the pilot knows when he is through
it by the change of color in Sandy Hook Beacon light from red to white. Then he looks away
past that light to his left for two fixed white lights on the New Jersey shore and hillside,
known as Point Comfort Beacon and Waackaack Beacon, for he knows that by keeping them
in range, that is to say, in line with one another and himself, and by steering toward them he
is in the main ship channel. By day the main ship channel buoys would guide him, as in
Gedney Channel, but at night these buoys are not lighted.
Only a short distance is now traversed when the ship comes to a point where two unseen
channels meet. This is indicated by a buoy having a tall spindle, or “perch,” surmounted by a
latticed square. From here, if she continues on her course, she will remain in the main ship-
channel, which, although deeper, is a more circuitous route into port; so, if she does not draw
too much water, she is turned somewhat to the right, and, leaving the buoy with the perch and
square on her right, because it is red, she is steered between the buoys which mark Swash
Channel. If it were night this channel would be revealed by two range-lights on the Staten
Island shore and hillside, known as Elm Tree Beacon and New Dorp Beacon, both being
steady-burning, white lights; but we are entering by daylight, and when half-way through
Swash Channel we notice a buoy painted red and black in horizontal stripes. To this is given
a wide berth by the pilot. It is an “obstruction” buoy marking a shoal spot or a wreck.

Channel buoys are all numbered in sequence from the sea inward, the red
ones with even, and the black ones with odd numbers, and the larger ones are
anchored with “mushrooms” while the smaller have “sinkers” of iron or
stone. They are made of iron plates in water-tight compartments, so that if
punctured by an over-running ship or some other accident, they will not be

likely to sink. In harbors where ice forms in winter,
large summer buoys are replaced in winter by a smaller
sort less liable to be torn adrift. Buoys do go adrift,
however, now and then, and sometimes take a voyage
across the ocean or far down the coast before they can
be found by the tenders of the Lighthouse Service,
which is constantly looking after these and other marks.
Lieutenant Ellicott tells us that all changes in the
OBSTRUCTION BUOY.
position of buoys or lightships, or the placing of new
buoys to mark a change of channel, or an obstruction,
are published promptly in pamphlets called “Notices to Mariners,” which are
distributed as quickly as possible through well organized means of
communication. A few years ago one of the largest of our handsome new
cruisers was approaching New York harbor from the West Indies in a light
fog. Sandy Hook Lightship had been found, the usual course laid for Gedney
Channel, and the ship was steaming onward at full speed, her captain, having
been inspector of that very lighthouse district but a short time before, feeling
that he knew his way into that port better than the most experienced pilot.
Presently, however, he was startled by the alarming cry of breakers ahead! A
large hotel also loomed up, and, as the ship was backed full speed astern, all
hands realized that they had barely escaped running high and dry on
Rockaway Beach. When the vessel got into port it was learned that Sandy
Hook Lightship had been moved considerably from its old position, and that
the notice of this change had failed to reach the captain of the cruiser before
he sailed from the West Indies.

A WHISTLING BUOY, OUT OF COMMISSION.

Shipwrecks still occur, however, in spite of lighthouses and sirens and
buoys and coast-surveys; therefore we add to our precautions arrangements to
help those cast away. Societies to save wrecked persons have existed, it is
said, for many centuries in China, but in Europe they are hardly a hundred
years old. The early humane societies, like that of Great Britain, placed life-
boats and rescuing gear in certain shore towns, and organized crews, who
promised to go out to the aid of any lost ship, and to take good care of the
persons rescued.
In America, however, our coasts are so extensive, and so much of the
dangerous part of them is far away from villages, or even a farmhouse, that
the government has been obliged to do whatever was necessary. Thus came
about the Life Saving Service, which now has its stations close together along
our whole sea-coast, and upon the great lakes, covering more than ten
thousand miles in all.
Each of these stations is a snug house on the beach, tenanted by a keeper
and six men, all of whom are chosen for their skill in swimming, and in
handling a boat in the surf—something every man who “follows the sea”
cannot do successfully. Beaching a boat through surf is an art.
During all the season, from October till May, two men from each station
are incessantly patrolling the beach at night, each walking until he meets the
patrolman from the next station. No matter how foul the weather, these
watchmen are out until daylight looking for disasters. The moment they
discover a vessel ashore, or likely to become disabled, they summon their
companions and hasten to launch their boat. These boats are of two kinds. On
the lakes and on the steep Pacific coast is used the very heavy English life-
boat, fitted with masts and sails if necessary, which a steam tug is required to
tow to the scene of the wreck, unless it is close in shore. But upon our flat,
sandy Atlantic beaches only a lighter kind of surf-boat, made of cedar, can be
handled. This is built with air-cases at each end and under the thwarts, so that
it cannot sink. The station men drag it on its low wagon to the scene of its
use, unless horses are to be had, and when it is launched they sit at the six
oars, each with his cork belt buckled around him, and his eye fixed on the
steersman, who stands in the stern, ready to obey his slightest motion of
command, for rowing through the angry waves that dash themselves on a
storm-beaten beach is a matter requiring extraordinary skill and strength.
Then, when the vessel is reached, comes another struggle to avoid being
struck and crushed by the plunging ship, or the broken spars and rigging

pounding about the hull. But skill
and caution generally enable the
crew to rescue the unfortunate
castaways one by one, though
frequently several trips must be
made, in each one of which every
surfman risks his life, and in many a
sad case loses it; yet there is no lack
of men for the service.

PATROLMEN EXCHANGING THEIR CHECKS.