To take charge of the ship Littleton, I was obliged to go overland
from Boston to San Francisco. She had recently come from Australia,
was partially dismasted, was leaking badly, and her commander, a
Captain Beck, was very sick. Instructions were given me by the owners
to examine the ship and report as to her condition. This was done and
it was estimated that $20,000 would be the cost of re-fitting her. She
was re-caulked, a new copper bottom put on her, and the balance of
repairs done by Coombs and Taylor, who were under bonded contract to
put everything in shape as per specifications.
I was accompanied on the trip by my cousin, Mrs. Percival, and her two
daughters, aged five and seven. Her husband, Captain Freeman Percival,
in command of the old New York ship Blue Jacket, trading between Frisco
and Puget Sound, had been away from home some years without seeing his
family, and had decided to have them go to California to settle.
I think this trip was made during the first week that trains had made
through connections from Chicago to San Francisco, and we were on the
road seven days.
While the riggers and carpenters were working on the ship, several
charters were offered me: grain and flour in sacks to go to Montevideo
and Argentine Republic, and another to go to Queenstown, Ireland, for
orders. One morning the king charterer of all the grain ships, a Mr.
Friedlander, a German, weighing over three hundred pounds and over six
feet in height, sent for me. This man was well versed in his business,
sharp, tricky, and as crafty as an Arabian trader. His character was
well known, however, and I had been told about him in Cape Town by old
Commodore Allen, the port captain.
At this time the Littleton was the only ship in Frisco ready to sail,
and there was an urgent demand for flour in Montevideo. Old Friedlander
fully intended that a cargo should be sent there at once, but hoped to
profit by chartering a ship to Ireland or other European ports. All
this was known to me, and as my owners had given me “carte blanche” I
was ready to talk business with him and prepared to beat him at his own
game. I met Friedlander at his office, and we talked and argued for
half a day, but without agreeing on any terms. At last he said, “Well,
there are plenty of ships due here, but if you will agree to close
charter party today the captain will receive fifty pounds sterling
as a gift.” We did not close any bargain, however, and I went aboard
the ship. An hour after he came down aboard saying he had a telegram
to close the charter at once if possible. I told him that my terms
were four pounds a ton to any South American ports east of Cape Horn
or ports down to the equator, preferring, however, to take European
ports at five shillings extra rather than South American ports. The
old champion was wild, had never heard of such prices; said he would
split the difference and call it three pounds fifteen shillings a ton.
I said, “Mr. Friedlander, yesterday you were sure you wanted to sign
charter for Europe, and I am willing to sign to that effect, but to any
South American ports it is four pounds or nothing. Also, I shall demand
thirty running lay-days for discharging cargo, the lay-days to commence
twenty-four hours after reporting to consignee, and will give you until
tomorrow to accept, as I have several offers to consider.” At last he
accepted the terms, and I agreed to have the ship ready in a week. The
next day all the waterfront had the news that Friedlander had been
beaten at his own game by the boy captain of the ship Littleton.
We proceeded to load at once with a cargo of flour in bags. It was a
busy time; stevedores, riggers and carpenters all were working at once,
and the ship was a regular beehive. My old friend, Commodore Allen,
who had come to California in the early fifties, was in the business
of a stevedore, and had been most successful and was now handling
three-fourths of all the ships that entered Frisco. He was very popular
with all the ship masters and entertained them in a royal manner. His
carriages and horses were at all times at our disposal, and you may be
sure the favor was appreciated.
The drive to the Cliff House was a popular drive at that time, even as
it is today, and thousands of people would flock to the Golden Gate on
a pleasant afternoon. The house stood on the western promontory of a
very big cliff, at the southern entrance of the Golden Gate. There was
a beautiful view of the bay and ocean from the verandahs, and one could
see sea lions and seals sporting around the rocks. A band was playing
on the piazzas, and everywhere men and women were enjoying themselves
lunching, drinking, card playing and dancing. It was said that the old
proprietor made his thousands. This famous hotel was later destroyed
by fire, built up again on a grander scale, and then destroyed again
by fire, and when I visited California again in 1908, the ruins still
remained, although there were many places of amusement nearby. At the
present time, instead of going to this place by carriage, as we did in
’69, one can take the electrics right to the Golden Gate, through a
country beautifully laid out with streets and beautiful flowers.
The ship had finished loading, and with all fitted aloft we took a
tug down to the outer bar, as wind was light from the S. W. Many of
my friends, old sea captains, came to see me off. Captain Lunt of the
ship Sacramento, Captain House of the Agbar, Captain Knowles of the
ship Puritan, and Captain John Taylor of the ship Imperial, besides
Captain Purdington of the Westward Ho. After crossing the bar, the tug
came alongside and they all left, bidding us a hearty good-by and a
prosperous voyage.
We made sail and stood off on shore on the wind with the port tacks
aboard. Pleasant weather followed until we reached the latitude of Cape
Horn, about 800 miles to the westward, when thick weather set in and
strong winds, increasing to violent gales from W. S. W. to W. N. W. We
ran under bare poles for forty-eight hours, no sun, and with terrific
seas. At four p.m. on the forty-second day out from Frisco the ship
was laboring heavily and the seas were running so high that they broke
completely over her stern and filled the decks completely. The only
choice was to risk bringing her to on the run, or to founder; all the
sail we had on at the time was foresail and lower main topsail. We
watched our chance for a smooth time and took in all sail and hove
the wheel hard down, and then with the head spanker eased. She came
to flying, but unfortunately, when abeam to the sea, an old roller
came and we all jumped for the rigging. It struck us full force,
filled her fore and aft, and she careened over on starboard side and
fairly trembled, her lower starboard yard arms in the water, starboard
bulwarks washed away and everything moveable about decks gone.
We finally got her head to the wind on the port tack, yet she lay very
badly and shipped much water until we placed a piece of No. 1 canvas in
the mizzen rigging. Then she lay easier, but the sea still ran so high
that it was like being on a ledge. Our cabin was flooded, trunks and
everything moveable was awash and a sorry sight things were. This, I
believe, was the only time in my career at sea that I felt the end was
nigh. By dead reckoning the great rocky promontory of Cape Horn was not
more than 75 miles away, and the heavy gale was blowing us right on to
it. There was no indication that the barometer would rise; the night
was as black as ink, and things looked very dubious.
About eight bells, at midnight, the gale abated nearly one-half, and,
being exhausted from long hours on duty, I went below for a sleep. It
seemed scarcely ten minutes when Chief Officer Wessel woke me and said,
“Captain Taylor, we are very near land; come right up on deck.” It was
only too true; the ship was ahead of my reckoning, and the big, dark
rocks loomed up dead ahead. Like a flash I sang out, “Hoist up the jib
and heave your wheel hard up.” The ship answered like a charm, and
there on our port quarter rose the high rocky cliffs 1000 feet high,
with the breakers dashing up against the sides, and not over a quarter
of a mile away. All hands made sail and the ship headed south without
any but the deck watch realizing the danger we had been in. Now the
land tends more easterly, and with clearing weather we were in a safe
position. Good luck had certainly been with us, and I shook the hand
of Mate Wessel, whose watchfulness had saved us from a watery grave.
Those who have rounded Cape Horn can more than others realize our
danger and narrow escape.
The next day was fine and clear, with a good breeze from the N. West,
and with all sail set we headed east, passing Cape Horn inside the
islands called the “_Diego Ramirez_.” After running an easterly course
for a while, we shaped our course for Cape San Antonio, at the mouth of
the River Plate.
We arrived safely at Montevideo, anchored as near the city as we could,
and reported to my consignee, a Mr. Costello, that I was ready to
discharge cargo on the following morning and that my “lay days” would
commence from that date. He said, in the old Spanish way, “Manana,
Capitano, Manana,” meaning tomorrow. Now, two barques had arrived just
before we did from New York, loaded with flour, so they had plenty and
wanted to use our ship as a storehouse until they had disposed of the
other cargoes. So our “lay days” expired and they had taken no cargo
out of our ship.
I now went to the American consul and reported these facts to him,
so he went with me to Mr. Costello and demanded my demurrage as the
charter specified, but Costello only laughed, refused to pay, and said
it was not the custom of the country. The consul told him he would
protect me and would begin to discharge and warehouse the cargo, and
the cargo, according to law, would be responsible for freight and
demurrage. This brought Mr. Costello to terms, and rather than incur
extra expense he paid the demurrage daily. At the end of 17 days I
had received my freight money and also $1700 demurrage, and learned
afterwards that it was the first ever paid in that port for years.
You may be sure Mr. Costello got sick of seeing me; he could speak no
English, and I always greeted him with, “Bon Diaz, Senor, Manana,”
which made him very angry.
We now loaded for Boston with a cargo of wool and hides, which ended
most profitably for the owners.
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