Reminiscences of a Liverpool Shipowner, 1850-1920

The Government control has taken ships out of the long voyage trades and placed them in the Atlantic trade, where they are required as transports and for the conveyance of food. This policy, which was perhaps inevitable, may involve far-reaching consequences. The long voyage trades have been built up by shipowners at a heavy cost, and are also the creation of generations. These services involve costly adjuncts in the shape of docks, piers, barges, repairing shops, branch steamers, and through traffic arrangements. It may be said all this will be recovered after the war; but this loses sight of the difficulty of regaining a trade once its associations and connections are severed; and also of the probable competition of America and neutral countries. Certainly, the Blue Book rates give no compensation for such a disturbance.

The Government are making huge profits out of shipping, but what becomes of these profits we have been unable to discover; they do not appear in any returns we have seen. But the time has arrived when the “Blue Book” rates require to be revised – this, in view of the heavy cost of the repairs which will be necessary when the war is over, and the necessity of placing the shipowner in a position to replace his tonnage at the enhanced prices which will prevail.

3. – Problems to Come with Peace

We can now proceed to consider what will be the position of shipping after the war. This involves much clear thinking, and the discussion of several questions upon which no definite statement can be at present made.

We start with a tonnage deficit as compared with 1914 of approximately 3,000,000 tons. The output of new tonnage at present falls short of our losses; last quarter to the extent of 367,296 tons. This is serious, but we are gradually overtaking it. We built last quarter 320,280 tons, and other countries did still better, turning out 864,607 tons, and it would appear as if we might now claim with some confidence that while the curve of the destruction by submarines is decreasing, the curve of the output of tonnage is increasing, and we may reasonably hope that at the end of the year our gains and losses of tonnage will balance. This will leave us still to make good the losses by submarine prior to this year. We have also to keep in mind that our shipbuilding yards are still much occupied with Admiralty work and with the repair of ships damaged by submarine attack.

After the war the Government will have to demobilise, and the repatriation of armies comprising 5,000,000 men, with their munitions and impedimenta, can scarcely occupy less than two years, and will engage probably one-third of our available tonnage.

Europe will be very short of raw materials of every kind; the importation of them will be very urgent, and food will also be short for some time.

With the heavy weight of taxation which we shall have to bear, an increased output of manufactures will be necessary if the prosperity of the country is to be restored. This will not be possible without an abundant supply of raw materials.

The repatriation of our armies and the urgent need for raw produce would indicate that the Government will retain their control of shipping for some time after the war.

The British and American Governments are building standard and wooden merchant ships, but they will not last long, and will have to be replaced by more substantial and suitable vessels.

The prospect before shipowners, therefore, is that there will be a prolonged period of Government control and of high freights, which will greatly benefit neutral shipowners. And the serious question arises, how is the British merchant service to be built up again? The position is one full of difficulty. Prices of new ships will probably rule very high, and the Blue Book rates afford no encouragement to build. In America, France, and Germany the difficulty will probably be solved by the granting of subventions; but in this country we have a profound distrust of subventions, as they are invariably associated with Government control, which has always been destructive of enterprise.

Nothing could be more unfortunate than the prolongation of the shipping control one day longer than is necessary. It is undoubtedly paralysing the industry, and any attempt, such as has been fore-shadowed, to nationalise shipping would be most disastrous. How could a State department administer the shipping industry of this country in competition with foreign private enterprise?

The national control of our shipping and other leading industries may be expedient in the present war crisis, but it has taught us that the nationalisation of any industry penalises it with so many restrictions, and surrounds it with so many unnecessary difficulties that it is foredoomed to failure, and would inflict infinite damage to the prosperity of the country.

Advances of money by the Government at a low rate of interest would no doubt be an encouragement – and those shipowners who can afford to be bold and accept the position will probably be rewarded; but to go on building ships at the very high prices may be beyond the prudent reach of the average private shipowner. This rather points to the creation of large companies.

In shipowning, as in every other department of industrial life, “scale” may be the dominant factor, and the shipowning companies who, during the war, have been able to lay by large reserves, will find themselves in a position of great advantage. In view of the necessity for strengthening the hands of shipowners and enabling them to carry on in the difficult times before them, the Government is making a mistake in not giving more encouragement to shipowners.

Experience teaches us that shipowners may be trusted to quickly adopt every modern means to work their ships economically, and to adapt them to the trades they serve; but do our port authorities equally recognise their duties to provide the most up-to-date methods and machinery for the handling of our cargoes? We may economise in the working of our ships at sea, but if on their arrival in port they have to wait for berths to discharge and load, and if these operations are hampered by the lack of mechanical appliances or labour, the shipowners’ exertions are in vain. Nor does the difficulty end here: docks lose their value and attractiveness if the cost of moving cargoes from the ship’s side to the warehouse, or to the manufacturing districts, forms a heavy addition to the freight. In Liverpool we have, unfortunately, the costly, cumbrous, and old-fashioned system of cartage still prevailing. There is a lack of good road approaches to the docks and railway termini – a wholly inadequate means of conducting the cross-river traffic. Our trade has out-grown our railway communications with the interior, and our railways continue, as they have always done, to strangle our trade by their excessive charges, and thus to deprive our port of the advantage of its unique geographical position. We want cheap and abundant water, and cheap electrical energy to extend our local manufacturing industries. All these things point to a quickening of Dock Board methods, but still more to the awakening of the City Council to its responsible duties as the custodians of a great seaport, and the urgent necessity that they should do their part in its restoration and development, and make it ready to do its share in the revival of trade after the war.

Our City Fathers cannot rest content with carrying out what Disraeli, in one of his ironical moods, called “a policy of sewage.” We want a wider outlook, and a more generous appreciation of the fact that Liverpool depends upon her commerce. Every expenditure which the city has made in the past upon its development has resulted not only in its growth and prosperity, but in the well-being of her people.

The British mercantile marine has for long been the envy of neighbouring nations, who are watching the opportunity to seize the business which our ships have been compelled to abandon. We have lost a large proportion of our tonnage, and what is left is taken out of the control of the shipowner. The situation constitutes a serious national danger, and we may some day awake to the fact that we have lost beyond recovery the industry which is above and beyond all others, the great national asset, and shall rue the day when our Chancellor of the Exchequer became interested in four small vessels and drew conclusions from his experience which are not supported by the wider and more expert knowledge of the shipowner.

Such is the present position of shipping and its future outlook —

A considerable reduction in the available tonnage.

Government control for a lengthened period.

High freights and high cost of new ships.

The probability of a great increase in American and neutral shipping.

We cannot leave the subject without indicating that everything may be greatly changed by the attitude of labour. If the present “ca-canny” and “down tool” policies are to continue it is difficult to see how we can recover our prosperity. Labour will have to realise that it has its value, and that the receipt of wages carries with it the obligation to give an honest day’s work. And equally employers will have to recognise that labour must have a fuller share of the fruits of their labour and better conditions of life. Strikes will not settle these matters; they only serve to intensify distrust and ill-feeling. We must hope that our men returning from the front will have a wider outlook and altered views of life, and that employers will also generously recognise the changed conditions. We trust also that the Whitley report may be quickly followed by the establishment of Industrial Councils, and that these Councils will be able to promote confidence and good feeling and remove the friction and distrust which has too long existed between capital and labour. Meanwhile a propaganda might be started to instruct our people in those elementary principles of economic science which govern their labour, and about which so much ignorance unhappily prevails.

Chapter VII

THE “RED JACKET” A Reminiscence of 1857

We are justly proud of the development of our steamships – their size, speed, and magnificent equipment – and we are apt to forget that this has always been characteristic of British shipping. In the old sailing-ship days, about 1850-1860, a walk round the Prince’s Dock, crowded with clipper ships, was something to fill an Englishman with pride. The beautiful symmetry of the hull, the graceful sweep of the sheer fore and aft, the tautness of the spars, the smartness of the gear and equipment attracted the eye; but, perhaps, above all, the romance of the sea attached itself to the sailing-ship and appealed to the imagination in a way which does not gather round a steamer, however large and magnificent. We realised that the sailing-ship had to do battle with wind and waves in far distant seas single-handed, relying entirely upon her sails and equipment and the skill of her crew; whereas a steamer tells us at once of her unseen power which makes her independent of winds and weather, and enables her to make her voyages with almost the regularity of the railway train. All this, the achievement of the steam engine and the development of the screw propeller, is very splendid to think upon, but the old romance of the sea has gone.

The inspiring and wonderful sight of the Liverpool docks, a forest of the masts of English and American clippers; the river Mersey at high water, alive with splendid sailing vessels leaving or entering our docks, and at anchor in a line extending from the Sloyne to New Brighton, or towing out to sea, or may be sailing in from sea under their own canvas – all was activity and full of life and motion. I remember seeing one of Brocklebank’s ships – the “Martaban,” of 600 tons – sailing into the George’s Dock Basin under full canvas; her halliards were let go, and sails were clewed up so smartly that the ship as she passed the Pierhead was able to throw a line on shore and make fast. It is difficult in these days to realise such a thing being possible. It was skill supported by discipline.

When I was young I was a keen yachtsman, and had the good fortune to make a voyage to Australia in one of the most famous of our clipper ships, the “Red Jacket.” Some account of the first few days of my voyage may be of interest, and bring into contrast the ease and luxury enjoyed on board an Atlantic liner, with the hard life on board a first-class clipper ship. It is not too much to say that on board an Atlantic liner the weather does not count; on board an old sailing-ship the weather meant everything.

The “Red Jacket” was built in Maine, in 1854. She was 2,006 tons. Her length was 260 feet, and her beam 44 feet. She was an extremely good-looking ship. Her figurehead was a full-length representation of “Red Jacket,” a noted Indian chieftain. She had been purchased by Pilkington & Wilson for £30,000, for their White Star Line of Australian packets. On her voyage from New York she had made the passage in thirteen days one hour – on one day she logged 415 miles.

On the morning of the 20th November, 1857, I embarked by a tender from the Liverpool Pierhead. It was nearly the top of high water. The crew were mustered on the forecastle, under the 1st Mate, Mr. Taylor. An order comes from the quarter-deck, “Heave up the anchor and get under way.” “Aye, aye, sir.” “Now then, my boys, man the windlass,” shouts the Mate, and to a merry chantie:

In 1847 Paddy Murphy went to heavenTo work upon the railway,A-working on the railway, the railway, the railway,Oh, poor Paddy works upon the railway.

A good chantie man is a great help in a ship’s crew. A song with a bright topical chorus takes half the weight off a long or a heavy haul. The chain cable comes in with a click, click of the windlass falls. “The anchor is away, sir,” shouts the Chief Officer. “Heave it a-peak and cathead it,” comes from the quarter-deck, and the tug “Retriever” forges ahead, and tightens the towrope as we gather way. Bang, bang, went the guns, and twice more, for we were carrying the mails, and good-bye to old Liverpool, and the crowds which lined the pierhead cheered, for the “Red Jacket” was already a famous ship, and it was hoped she would make a record passage.

Next morning we were off Holyhead, with a fresh westerly breeze and southerly swell. We were making but poor headway, and shortly the hawser parted. “All hands on deck” was shouted by Captain O’Halloran, and a crew of eighty men promptly appeared on deck, for we carried a double crew. “Loose sails fore and aft; hands in the tops and cross-trees to see that all is clear and to overhaul gear; let royals and skysails alone.”

The boatswain’s whistle sounded fore and aft as the men quickly took their positions and laid hold of the halyards and braces. “Mr. Taylor, loose the head-sails.” “Aye, aye, sir.” The topsails, courses, and topgallant sails were all loose and gaskets made up. “Sheet home your topsails.” “Aye, aye, sir.” “Now, then, my men, lead your topsail halyards fore and aft, and up with them.” Away the crew walk along with the halyards, and then with a long pull and a pull all together the topsail yards are mastheaded to the chantie: —

Then up the yard must go,Whiskey for my Johnny,Oh, whiskey for the life of man,Whiskey, Johnny.

“’Vast heaving – Belay there. Now brace up the yards, all hands on the lee fore braces.”

So handy my boys, so handy,

sang the chantie man. “Pass along the watch tackle, and have another pull. That will do. Belay there, and man the main braces. Down tacks.” The jibs are run up and the spanker hauled out, and the good ship “Red Jacket” like a hound released from the leash, bounds forward, and runs the knots off the log reel.

Captain O’Halloran was hanging on to the rail to windward, munching, not smoking, his cigar, with an anxious eye to windward, asking himself, “Dare I do it? Will she carry them? Yes, I think she will. Mr. Taylor, stand by the royals, haul on the weather braces, steady the yard while the youngsters lay aloft – up boys”; and half a dozen or so youngsters scampered up the rigging, over the tops, and through the cross-trees, and quickly were the royals loosed and sheeted home. “Well done lads – tie up the gaskets – clear the clew lines and come down.” But we not only wanted all sails, but every sail well set, for we were close on the wind. Jibs and staysails, courses and topsails, topgallant sails and royals must be braced sharp up at the same angle to the wind, and every tack and sheet pulling doing its work. The good ship felt that she had the bit in her mouth, and bounded along, throwing the seas in sparkling cascades to port and starboard. The man at the wheel kept his eyes upon the weather-luff of the fore royal, and kept the sail just on the tremble, so as not to lose an inch to windward.

As evening approached, the wind increased with squalls, the Captain looked anxious, and shouted to Mr. Taylor, “See that all the halyards are clear, run life-lines fore and aft, sand the decks, and see that the lee scuppers are free.” So the good ship plunged along, occasionally taking a sea over the bows, and in some of her lurches pushing her lee rail under water and throwing spray fore and aft; she was just flirting with the weather, romping along, seemingly enjoying every moment, and revelling in her element. “Keep her going,” shouted the Captain to the man at the wheel, “full and bye; just ease her a few spokes when the squall strikes her.” A loud report like a cannon – the second jib is blown clear out of the bolt ropes. “Hands forward – bend a new jib” – not an easy matter with seas coming over the forecastle; but with the sail was mastheaded.

Haul in the bowline, the bowline haul

“Mr. Taylor, heave the log.” “Aye, aye, sir.” “What is she doing?” “Eighteen knots, sir, on the taffrail.” “Good, we shall make over 400 knots by noon tomorrow.” And we did.

We need not say that passengers under these conditions were not at home, or, indeed, wanted on deck, and the fifty saloon passengers and 600 steerage were on such days kept below in an atmosphere which was stifling; but this was rather an exceptional day. We had also soft, bright, sunny days, when life was a delight, a luxury, a dream, and the sea heavenly, but we had something exciting almost every day – sail splits, spars and gear carried away, albatross circling overhead, Cape pigeons, icebergs off Kerguelen Land, and finally we made Port Philip Heads in sixty-four days – the record passage. Bravo, “Red Jacket.”

I leave my readers to mentally compare a passenger’s life on the “Red Jacket” – with its spirit of sport and adventure, its romance, its daily happenings, and its hardships – with the luxury on such a ship as the “Aquitania” or “Olympic” with all their attractions of a first-class hotel, bridge parties, dancing, and entertainment of every kind, regardless of weather – with everything, in fact, but that spirit of adventure which appeals so strongly to the imagination of the Britisher, and which, after all, has built up his character and made him the doughty man he is either on land or at sea.

Chapter VIII

THE “QUEEN OF THE AVON” A Reminiscence of 1858

The old-fashioned sailing-ship was handicapped by her inability to contend successfully with strong head winds. After the continuance of a succession of north-west gales the river Mersey and our docks became crowded and congested with outward bound ships waiting for a shift of wind to enable them to get away, and when this took place the river was a wonderful sight. I remember, as a boy, standing on the shore at Seaforth and counting over three hundred sailing vessels of all sorts and sizes working their way out to sea on the ebb tide between the Rock Light and the Formby Light ship, and interspersed among them were also a number of sailing-ships towing out to sea. This crowd of shipping was not only very picturesque, with their divers rigs and tanned sails, but was interesting, as it contained many types of vessel now extinct. The “brig,” square-rigged on both masts, was a good-looking, weatherly craft; the “billie boy,” carrying a square sail forward and a jigger aft; the sloop, which did most of our coasting work, had a big square-cut mainsail and jib; and the old Dutch galliot, with her bluff bows and paint of many colours; all these have now practically disappeared.

The most trying winds, however, were the easterly gales, which prevailed in November and December, and also in the spring. With easterly gales blowing I have known Liverpool to be a closed port for weeks together, few or no vessels entering it; and more than once this blockade of our port by easterly gales had a serious effect upon our stocks of cotton and produce. The inward-bound fleet was caught in the chops of the Channel, and was there detained until the wind changed. It is of such an experience I wish to write.

I had gone out to Australia in the celebrated clipper “Red Jacket.” At Sydney I took my passage home in a small barque of 400 tons, called “Queen of the Avon.” I was the only passenger, and selected this little ship purposely that I might learn something of the practical working of a ship at sea. I told the Captain of my wish, and found him quite sympathetic, and he offered to teach me navigation; but when I showed him the log I had kept on the “Red Jacket,” and the many observations I had taken and worked out, he said he felt he could not teach me much. He, however, agreed to my taking my trick at the wheel, and going aloft when reefing or making sail.

When the ship was ready for sea the police brought off our crew, for, in consequence of the lure of the goldfields, it was only possible for a ship to keep her crew by interning them with the police while she was in port – in other words, placing them in gaol. The police and the crew soon set our topsails and foresail, and with a fair wind we quickly passed down Sydney’s beautiful harbour. When we reached the entrance the police, getting into their boat, left us, and we started upon our long voyage to Valparaiso. From Valparaiso we proceeded to Guayaquil, where we loaded a cargo of cocoa for Falmouth for orders.

Our voyage was uneventful. I obtained the knowledge of seamanship I desired, for we were fortunate in having in our small crew an old man-of-war’s man named Amos. Amos was a splendid man, a stalwart in physique, and most estimable in character. He quickly took the lead in the forecastle, and exercised great moral influence. No “swear word” was heard when old Amos was present. When reefing he had the post of honour at the weather earing, and when he got astride the yardarm the weather earing was bound to come home. He taught me my knots, bends, and splices, and looked after me when aloft.

At the end of ninety days we sighted the Wolf Rock off the Land’s End. In the afternoon we were off the Lizard, and stood off shore to clear the Manacle Rocks. The crew were busy hauling up the cables from the chain locker, for we expected to be in Falmouth before sunset, and all hands were bright and gay at the early prospect of being on shore once more. The wind, however, became more easterly, and when we again tacked we failed to clear the Manacles. Standing out again we were blown off the land, and thirty days elapsed before we again made the Manacles, during which time we battled day after day with a succession of easterly gales. We were blown off as far west as the meridian of the Fastnet; then we got a slant, and crawled up as far as the Scillies, only to be blown off again.

It was monotonous and weary work; standing inshore during the day and off-shore at night, mostly under double-reefed or close-reefed topsails, or hove to with a heavy sea running. Indeed, we met many ships which apparently had given up the contest, and remained hove-to waiting for a change of wind. We had some bright sunny days, but mostly drab grey Atlantic days, and an easterly wind always. At the end of ten days H.M.S. “Valorus,” a paddle sloop, came within hailing distance, and offered to supply us with fresh provisions. This offer our skipper declined, much to the disappointment of his crew, for our hencoops had been empty for weeks, and our one sheep and two pigs had been consumed long ago, and we were living upon hard biscuit and salt tack, boiled salt beef and plum duff one day and roast pork and pea soup the next. There was no variation; our food had become distinctly monotonous.

The crowd of ships thus weather-bound increased day by day – ships from Calcutta and Bombay, deeply-laden rice ships from Rangoon, and large heavily-laden American ships with guano from the Chinchas. Some we met almost daily; others came upon the scene now and again, and we welcomed them as old friends. The only vessels that got through to their port of destination in spite of the easterly gales were the fruit schooners conveying cargoes of oranges from the Azores. They were smart brigantines – perfect witches of the sea – well handled, and they never missed a chance. They seemed to have the power of sailing right into the teeth of the wind. At the end of a further ten days another relief ship hailed us, but our Captain again declined any supplies, arguing with himself that the east winds could not last much longer; but another ten days had to pass before a gentle westerly swell told us that westerly winds were not far away, and before twenty-four hours had elapsed we squared away before a westerly breeze. We soon passed the Lizard, and the Manacles, and dropped our anchor in Falmouth, making the passage in 120 days, of which we had spent thirty in the chops of the Channel.