Before the eyes of the workaday commuter aboard a C.R.N.J. ferry bound from Jersey City up the North River to Twenty-third Street there Passes in review a succession of the mighty transatlantic liners which maintain the North Atlantic traffic joining the United States with Europe. To the average computer these leviathans, seen against a background of the stupendous architecture but New York City, are merely so many big steamers. To the thoughtful, patriotic individual viewing the ever-changing scene as the ferry plies her way to her berth, these huge vessels have an additional significance.
As the ferry, keeping to the starboard side of the channel, shaves the sterns of the great vessels alongside the piers, the lettering on the counters or flanks of the queenly superships can be easily read. “Queen Mary—Liverpool,” “Normandie— Havre,” “Europa—Bremen,” “Rex—Genoa.” Among these giants there is not a single one proclaiming an American home port, except the poor Leviathan which, in what should be no more than the Prime of a useful seagoing life, rusts her heart out in the sight of her newer, more modern sisters, a visible manifestation of the fact that American citizens (without Whose support not a single foreign flag would now be vaunting itself on the opposite side of the river) will not patronize an American superliner of the first rank in sufficient numbers to make her operation anything but a losing proposition. Our Merchant Marine, of which such great things were expected, has surrendered the field to whomever cares to build a big ship and enter her in the competition.
That such was not always the case is a matter of consolation—of a negative sort, true, but consolation nevertheless—and if we could but turn back the pages of time just 100 years we would find conditions quite different. In 1838 the cream of the transatlantic traffic was carried in American bottoms, which won and held the first place by sheer merit. Our packet ships were better built, faster, more comfortable, safer and more regular in their operation than were any others, and so great was the margin of their supremacy that even the British, with all the co-operation afforded by Parliament, could secure no more than a bare foothold! We held undisputed sway over the Western Ocean ferry trade for almost half a century, and it was only the combination of the development of the fast, economical, and reliable steamship, the rise of the California trade (which diverted the best of our sailing packets from the Atlantic and gave the foreigners a chance to put in their oar) and the Civil War with all its vicissitudes that eventually led to our Merchant Marine being reduced to a minor factor in the transatlantic passenger service. But in the meantime our ships had established the traditions of speed, comfort, cuisine, and frequent and regular service that are today the most noteworthy features of the North Atlantic ferry.
It was just 100 years ago that the first transatlantic passenger steamers entered regular service, the pioneers being the Great Western and Sirius, both British craft. From the beginning the British steamers took and held the lead, but so great was the prestige of the Yankee sailing packets that for more than 20 years they kept up the struggle. It was not until after the Civil War that the last of them was transferred to a less fiercely competitive trade.
In 1816 the first packet line, the Black Ball Line, commenced operation, running a fleet of four small vessels on regular schedule between New York and Liverpool. The Black Ball Line set the pace, and the rival companies which shortly afterwards began running packets out of New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Charleston imitated its policies and adopted its plan of emblazoning a readily distinguishable badge on the foretopsail, this being a form of advertising which survives in the painting of the stacks of modern liners.
There were very definite reasons why the year 1816 should have seen the beginnings of the packet service. Europe was just at that time entering the longest peaceful period of her history, so that peaceful merchantmen could come and go at will. The War of 1812 being over, social and commercial intercourse between England and the United States was both possible and extremely desirable. And most important of all, the opening up of our West and the growth of our cities brought about the migration of vast numbers of Europeans from the Old World to the New. It was the immigrants who made the packet service profitable.
Most of the lines converged upon Liverpool, although a few had their eastern termini at London and Havre. The completion of the Erie Canal in 1825 gave New York such a great advantage over other American seaboard cities that within a few years most of the lines operating out of other ports had either gone out of business or had transferred their activities to New York.
The packets were, in the beginning, small ships; the first four Black Bailers were of 500 tons only. But within a space of 15 years competition had forced tonnages up to twice that and more. The Roscius, of 1836 (a typical craft of her day), was of 1,000 tons, and later ships averaged about 1,350. Enoch Train, of Boston, eventually projected a “giant” of 1,800 tons for his White Diamond Line and commissioned Donald McKay to build her. While still on the stocks the vessel was seen by an official of the Swallowtail Line, who was so taken by her unusual beauty that he determined to have her, which he finally did at a price double that which McKay had contracted for. This ship never entered the transatlantic packet service for which she had been intended, as when completed she was put directly into the California trade. Her name is well known; she was the Flying Cloud. (See page 402.)
The early packets were flush-decked, bluff-bowed craft of frigate build. Having lines far from fine, they derived their speed from huge sail areas and hard and constant driving. Their masters and officers had been schooled in the privateers of 1812, where the art of carrying sail had been raised to a state of high development. The desire for more and still more rapid passages soon led to an attempt to improve speed by fining down the hull lines, and McKay and other designers employed by the various rival concerns evolved the “clipper” with a special view toward the needs of the transatlantic packet service.
The cabin accommodations of the flush deckers having proved insufficient, later packets were provided with spacious (and not very sightly) poops, sometimes provided with two tiers of stern windows, although it was more usual to have the transom built solid and bearing some similarity to the transom of a modern pleasure cruiser. Eventually the heavy poop was displaced by a deckhouse in the waist, this construction affording a maximum of light and ventilation in the passengers’ staterooms.
. The packets were invariably ship-rigged. They were in this way in contrast to the older conception of a “packet,” which was a brig. In even greater contrast was their reputation for safety, as losses were throughout their career surprisingly few, despite the North Atlantic weather, the continual “cracking on” of sail, and the half-mutinous and unruly crews. The old packet brigs operated by the British Postal authorities had been distinguished to such an extent by accidents that they had earned the nickname of “coffins.”
Competition being then, as now, such an important factor in the trade, the packets were kept to their courses in all weather. The lot of their crews was naturally a hard one, and the better class of seamen soon came to avoid them as carefully as they did the whalers. The packet crew was made up principally of Liverpool Irishmen, the finest of seamen but at the same time the most vicious and dissolute, who could be kept in hand only by the most violent knock-down-and-drag-out methods. The huge sails and heavy spars made necessary the carrying of large numbers of these tough individuals, and the ship’s officers had to be constantly on the alert against them. The only safety lay in convincing the “packet rat” that he had better not start anything, and as the only language understood by Liverpool Pat was that spoken by handspike and sea-boot toe, the “bucko” mate was directly produced by this school.
In addition to his propensity for stirring UP trouble on board, the “packet rat” had an even more serious fault in that he ordinarily signed on for only a single voyage; the very great turnover largely offset the “rat’s” undoubted professional skill, added much to the difficulties of the officers, and also carried with it a considerable dement of danger. An attempt was made to reduce turnover by signing on crews at a fixed monthly wage of $25, but this was no more of a success than was an attempt to get rid of the “packet rat” altogether by manning the vessels with Negro crews. The colored seamen proved (as might have been expected) to be useless in cold weather and in any sudden emergency. So the “rat” type remained, principally because nobody else fit to handle the job would touch it. If it is at all in his favor, it may be said of him that he often showed great loyalty to his ship and his employer of the moment by cheerfully knifing, when ashore, adherents of other ships or other lines.
In contrast to the foremast hands, the officers of the packets often came from the finest families. Going to sea was at that time considered not only a respectable occupation for a young man but was in that pre-collegiate era a necessary part of the training of a youth ambitious to become a “merchant.”
The professional “bully” mate might be a necessity on board, but he who hoped to become master of a first-rate packet was expected to be a fit person to associate with the distinguished individuals who were very likely to take passage on the ship. The ability to please the passengers was important, as travelers do compare notes.
Those who embarked on a packet no doubt came aboard in a state of mind similar to that of a present-day traveler about to set out on an air trip over a similar distance. The maze of mysterious cordage and gear on deck and overhead, the shouting and rushing to and fro—the scene was, while exciting, hardly soothing to a timid person. The well-meant although possibly not very tactful remarks of friends coming down to see them off would hardly be reassuring. As the voyage under sail might be unduly prolonged, such friends were wont to load down the departing with all sorts of provisions, both solid and otherwise, to supplement the ship’s fare should supplies run low. This custom is still followed, and adventurers setting out on a 4-day voyage on a 50,000-ton liner replete with well-stocked “shoppes” of every variety are even to this day presented with a supply of quite superfluous dainties “against the rigors of the voyage.” As a matter of fact, the ocean-crosser of 100 years ago was in no very serious danger of being put on short rations. It was very rarely that a packet required more than three weeks to complete a crossing, even with the lightest and vaguest winds, and upon the upper deck was carried a veritable barnyard ample to furnish fresh beef, pork, mutton, and fowls for the entire trip, as well as fresh eggs and milk. And of course there was a liberal supply of “salt horse” and other sea fare in case the livestock gave out or were washed overboard. In addition, there was a selection of the best wines and liquors, as well as the most noted mineral waters in bottles.
The cabin passenger, at sea, was likely to find his life a bit restricted, although comfortable enough. In fair weather he had the run of the deck; in foul, when he had to remain below, there were well- stocked bookshelves and musical instruments with which to while away the time. The quarters being very limited, few passengers could be carried and those aboard were more than likely to be drawn into close companionship. Singing being, at that time, an almost universal accomplishment of the educated, “singing parts” was a favorite pastime. No doubt the rendition by captain and mates (when they had a bit of leisure time) of sea chanties (expurgated) was popular with the ladies.
The most popular of all amusements, however, was gambling. Bets were made on the daily run of the ship, on the identity of approaching vessels, and on almost every other conceivable matter. The meeting with another ship at sea was always a great event, especially if the stranger were a steamer being overtaken!
The staterooms were small, but adequately furnished. Rules about smoking and lights therein were necessarily strict, as fire on such a ship was to be dreaded. Ventilation was not of the best, of course, unless one were so fortunate as to have a room with a stern window or one of the latter-day spar deck cabins with a window or porthole that need be closed only in the worst weather. The prestige attaching to such a cabin was so great that even in this day of forced ventilation and electric light there is a mistaken notion (fostered by the shipping companies) that the promenade-deck staterooms with their noise and lack of privacy are the most desirable.
Vastly different from the usually pleasant and comfortable life in the cabin was that of the immigrants in the steerage- The ’tween-decks was not much patronized when eastbound, but upon departure from a British or European port an astonishing number of unfortunates were herded under hatches. Even before they set foot on board the lot of these people was not pleasant, as while waiting for the ship to be ready to take them aboard they were the prey of boarding-house keepers and confidence men of every stamp, who as often as not contrived to separate them from the major part of their none-too- plentiful funds and belongings. It often happened that the very tickets sold to these unfortunates were fraudulent, and after disposing of most of their possessions in order to raise the passage money, they found, when they tried to board the ship* that they had been swindled out of their all with no chance of redress.
The price paid by the immigrant for his passage was about $25 in the forties, this price being reduced somewhat in the next decade. For this sum the ship undertook to transport him, provide him with a bunk or hammock, and issue him a ration. A place for cooking was also provided, but no cook or utensils. Bedding, etc., had to be furnished by the immigrant himself, and many an innocent came aboard pitifully unprepared to withstand the hardships sure to be encountered during a stormy yinter passage. The immigrant was subject to strict discipline, and for many years there were no laws requiring the shipowner to maintain decent quarters or 1o issue proper food.
The ’tween-decks was a completely open space, resembling the gun deck of a contemporary man-of-war. No attempt was made to segregate the sexes. There was absolutely no privacy. Light and air were conspicuously lacking, except in fair weather when the hatches could be left open. It was impractical and unsafe to allow the steerage passengers on deck except a few at a time and under ideal weather conditions; they had to be kept segregated from the crew as much as possible, lest they be induced to join in some scheme of mutiny.
Huddled for weeks together in a dark, damp hole jammed with boxes, trunks, household goods, babies, and unwashed human bodies, and half the time in mortal terror for their lives (quite often with good reason), the immigrants must indeed have welcomed their first sight of the Promised Land.
It is not surprising to note that, in the steerage, births were not uncommon occurrences. As might be expected, these events had a way of happening at the precise moments when the captain (who was supposed to officiate on such occasions) was least able to attend. Sometimes a small compartment was set aside for use in such emergencies, and as a rule expectant mothers were allowed a ration of milk and eggs from the cabin livestock. This dispensation was always a matter of annoyance to the more bellicose element in the steerage, who thought that the fresh provisions should be given them as well. Among them were often revolutionaries and agitators fleeing justice in the “Old Country,” and the steerage was often as much a hot bed of incipient mutiny as the forecastle.
It was a group of just such characters that in August, 1859, joined the crew of the Red Cross Liner Dreadnought in an uprising. The Dreadnought, the most famous of all the packets, is said to have been carrying a particularly bloodthirsty crew which had shipped for the express purpose of “getting” Captain Samuel (“Bully”) Samuels. These gentlemen, aided by their allies from the steerage, rose and attempted to seize the vessel, but the captain was fully equal to the situation. While the officers and loyal hands held off the mutineers, Captain Samuels routed up from the ’tween-decks a platoon of veterans of the German Army whom he armed with capstan bars and with whose aid the mutiny was suppressed in good old Prussian style.
The Dreadnought was a Newburyport- built craft of 1,400 tons. Captain Samuels supervised her construction and commanded her throughout her entire career as a packet except for the last year. Her design was that of a modified clipper, combining the best points of the type with good carrying capacity. She was 200 feet long and had a beam of about 40 feet. Her pictures show her to have had her sides carried up fore and aft to form a very short poop and topgallant forecastle, a type of construction more commonly met with in modern steam freighters than in sailing ships of that or any other period. All three of her masts sprouted from the spar deck itself—another noteworthy feature, as the poop of the packet was usually carried forward of the mizzen and sometimes to the foot of the mainmast. The entire hull, including the raised portions, was painted black, there being no attempt to preserve the sheer-line by painting the latter in another color, as was the practice in later ships. She is shown to have had along deckhouse extending from foremast to main and well provided with circular portholes, or she may have had instead— and more probably did have—two separate houses with a space between through which the crew could pass quickly from one side of the deck to the other. Abaft the mainmast was another small house or “caboose.” She carried a gilded dragon figurehead reaching from the cutwater almost to the end of the bowsprit, said to have been most effective.
The fame of the Dreadnought is based principally upon her reputed passage of 9 days and 17 hours from Sandy Hook to Fastnet Light, the quickest ever made by a sailing vessel. Speed being the factor which controlled popularity, the Dreadnought became a very popular carrier and gave the steamers more competition than they cared for. Her sailings were arranged so as to coincide with those of the steamers, which she usually managed to beat to the other side. It was a very clever notion, as in case she should be delayed nothing was thought of the matter, whereas when she won the race there was sure to be a great hullabaloo.
The vessel’s record passage was made in March, 1859, a few months before the famous mutiny. Her success was due to several factors; her design, her unusually sound construction, and the skill and personality of her commander. Captain Samuels was not only one of the best seamen of his day—he looked the part, a matter of considerable importance from the standpoint of “advertising.”
In the winter of 1862 the rudder of the Dreadnought was carried away in a gale, the captain’s leg being broken by the same wave. He had his leg set by a tackle, had a jury rudder rigged over the bow, set the sails aback, and navigated the ship 300 miles into Fayal stern first! He resigned the command the following year and retired to his home in Philadelphia. He attained some renown as an author of hair-raising yarns, and died in 1908 at a very ripe old age.
The Dreadnought herself was withdrawn from the North Atlantic run in 1864 and was placed in the California trade. She was lost on Tierra del Fuego five years afterwards, all hands being eventually saved. The end of her career as a transatlantic flyer marks the close of the glorious era of the Yankee Packets. Their end, foreshadowed in 1838, had become a certainty sooner or later when the Cunard Line entered the field in 1840. The steamers naturally got the mail contracts from the very outset. Among the first of the packet companies to give up the fight was the pioneer Black Ball Line, and the name and insignia were taken over by James Baines and applied to his McKay-built fleet running from England to Australia.
The packets held their own manfully against the encroachments of steam on the North Atlantic all through the forties. Then came the Gold Rush, and many of the best of the packets were sent off around the Horn loaded with gold-seekers. A decade later many others were taken into the Union service as transports or gunboats. Whatever they became, they continued to render capable service; some are no doubt still afloat, doing patient duty as hulks in obscure ports. But the great majority of them died in harness as befits fine ships. For them there was no ignominious rusting away in idleness. Some were listed as “missing,” others ran ashore or burned. And if ships have ghosts, the shades of the gallant, smart, sturdy little Yankee Packets must look down with a bit of contempt upon the proud steel 30-knotters with all their modernistic “streamlined” topsides and their garish show of surrealist decoration within, but which are doomed, after a brief 10 or 15 years of glory, to be converted into razor blades, or automobiles, or into munitions of war to be hurled back at their former owners.
ALBION, BLACK BALL PACKET
She ran between New York and Liverpool, starting in 1816. (See page 389.)
From “The Western Ocean Packets by Basil Lubbock
RACER, A YANKEE PACKET
A fast ship of the old Red Cross Line, lost after a few Atlantic crossings on the Blackwater Bank in the Irish Channel. Her foremast is reported to have been 84 feet in length, her fore-topmast 47 feet, and fore-topgallant mast 26 feet. (See page 389.)
DREADNOUGHT, SAILING PACKET OF THE RED CROSS LINE
Called the “Wild Boat of the Atlantic,” she became famous under Captain Samuel Samuels, who, it is told, came casually on deck one day during a heavy fog, encountered on a passage from Liverpool to New York. “Well,” he remarked, “we ought to be thar or tharabouts.” Just then the Dreadnought gently ran alongside her pier in the East River. (See page 389.)
QUEEN MAB, PACKET OF THE UNION PACKET LINE
She plied between New York and Havre, France. Francis Depaw operated the line and was succeeded by his sons-in-law, Fox and Livingston. (See page 389)
PALESTINE OF BOSTON, PACKET OF THE BLACK CROSS LINE
(See page 389.)
CITY OF MOBILE, ONE OF THE LARGEST OF THE SAILING PACKETS
She displaced 1,750 tons. (See page 359.)
JOSHUA BATES OF BOSTON, PIONEER PACKET OF THE WHITE DIAMOND LINE
She was built in 1844 by Donald McKay at Newburyport, Massachusetts. (See page 389.)
FLYING CLOUD, FAMOUS AMERICAN CLIPPER SHIP, BUILT BY DONALD McKAY
The photograph is horn a painting by Mr. Charles R. Patterson. (See page 390.)