The Blind Yacht Designer Attributes His Conquests to His Mother’s Early
Cares.
Thus with the year
Seasons return; but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn,
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer’s rose,
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;
But cloud instead, and ever-during dark,
Surround me! * * * *
So much the rather thou, celestial Light!
Shine inward, and the mind, through all her powers,
Irradiate; there plant eyes; all mist from thence
Purge and disperse; that I may see and tell
Of things invisible to mortal sight. —MILTON.
“SHIPSHAPE and Bristol fashion,” a hundred years ago, more or less, was
a phrase often heard on every sea plowed by American or English keels.
Sailors everywhere applied it only to vessels in perfect condition,
with bright paint, clean bottoms, spars well scraped, rigging taut,
spare ropes neatly coiled, sails without mildew and of perfect set,
pumps free, and all the thousand-and-one details that tell of ideal
seamanship properly attended to. Those four words paid the highest
tribute of the craft to the skill of the hardy mariners sailing from
the tidy little port near the head of Narragansett Bay.
Bristol’s long streets, bordered from end to end with wide-spreading,
aged trees, and lined with great dwellings of the colonial era, savor
of a delightful antiquity which has not had time to grow musty, but has
been well cared for by successive generations and has a sufficiently
close relation to modern life to kindle a real affection in us of
recent growth, not unlike that felt by the toddling urchin for his
white-haired and gold-spectacled grandmother. These big, old houses
suggest comfortable bank accounts, stored up by ancestors who built
ships or who sailed away in them to the Indies—East or West—and
returned with rich freights that profited much.
They built well, those ancestors, and their handsome dwellings seem
as sound to-day as the everlasting hill which is known in history as
Mount Hope. What eight-foot clocks and brass-handled bureaus, and
bulky, shining chests, capable of hiding away mountains of housewifely
linen; what high-backed chairs with fantastically carved legs; what
large four-posters; what cavernous fireplaces; what wainscotings and
curling balustrades; what mantel shelves with under ornaments of sturdy
filigree; what yawning closets, as big as bedrooms of this year of
grace; what sets of unimpeachable china, brought home by those same
nautical ancestors; what attic stores of spinning-wheels and old
books, and revolutionary papers, breathing vengeance against his
majesty, King George; what thousand and one treasures of the keepsake
order do not these old mansions possess within their generously
proportioned walls, to say nothing of quaint porches and curious doors
and pseudo-classical piazza pillars outside of them! That Bristol
of the old, prosperous, gable-ended, ship-building, ship-sailing,
cargo-discharging and cargo-embarking days has gone; but this Bristol
lives on the memories and the proceeds of those happier, wooden-walled,
shiver-my-timbers times, draws on her bank accounts, and takes it easy.
Amid scenes like these, one expects to find men and women of culture
and general ability, but does not look for world-renowned specialists.
No one is surprised at a display of enterprise in a “booming” western
town, where everybody is “hustling”; but in a place which has once
ranked as the third seaport in America, but has seen its maritime glory
decline, a man who can establish a marine industry on a higher plane
than was ever before known, and attract to his work such world-wide
attention as to restore the vanished fame of his town, is no ordinary
person. Moreover, if such a man has laid his plans and done his work
in the disheartening eclipse of total blindness, he must possess some
qualities of the highest order, whatever faults he may have, and is
thus eminently fitted to instruct the rising generation.
Pursuant to this idea, I called at the office of the Herreshoff
Manufacturing Company, at Bristol. The building, formerly belonging
to the Burnside Rifle Company, is substantial, but unpretentious, and
is entered by a short stairway on one side. The furniture throughout
is also plain, but has been selected with excellent taste, and is
suggestive of the most effective adaptation of means to ends in every
detail. On the mantel and on the walls are numerous pictures, most of
them of vessels, but very few relating directly to any of the great
races for the “America’s” cup. The first picture to arrest one’s
attention, indeed, is an excellent portrait of the late General Ambrose
E. Burnside, who lived in Bristol, and was an intimate friend of John
B. Herreshoff.
Previous inquiry had elicited the information that the members of
the firm were very busy with various large orders, in addition to
the rush of work on the “Columbia” and the “Defender”; so it was a
very agreeable surprise when I was invited into the tasteful private
office, where the blind president sat, having just concluded a short
conversation with an attorney.
“Well, sir,” said he, rising and grasping my hand cordially, “what do
you wish?”
“I realize how very busy you must be, Mr. Herreshoff,” I replied, “and
will try to be as brief as possible; but I venture to ask a few minutes
of your valuable time, with a view to obtaining suggestions and advice
from you to young men and women at the threshold of their careers.”
“But why select me, in particular, as an adviser?”
This was “a poser,” at first, especially when he added, noting my
hesitation: