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Square Riggers and Seamanship A Tribute to the Sailing Ship-—Pioneer in World Trade—Made Nations Great— Fostered Skill and Daring in Personnel E LIVE in a mechanical age = W and the marine world of today has almost written finis across the voyaging records of the square-rigged vessel. Now and again one of the white-winged fleet may be seen poking her bowsprit into Nanai- mo or New York, but the younger generation of seamen and navigators would almost have her apologize for mooring alongside of a modern steam- ship. As one who served an apprentice- ship on a square-rigger, and later trod the poop deck of a main skysail yard- er, the writer desires to show that those same tall sparred vessels were net only the pioneer sea traders of the world, but that their beauty and their wild romantic voyaging held the essence of enchantment and adventure —an atmosphere almost unknown in ships propelled by machinery. Trusting entirely to the vagaries of wind and wave the square-rigged wind- jammer dropped the land below the horizon for months at a time. A pas- sage of 100 days was a common run between a North Atlantic port and Australia, while many vessels have The author, Capt. Geo. S. Laing, is a master mariner, sail and steam, now residing at 64 Ellsworth avenue, Toronto, Canada. > £18 aa By Capt. Geo. S. Laing been five months on the passage from London to San Francisco. After such a lonely trip, with sky and water the only relief to the eye, was it a wonder that the land looked magical to the seafarer as it took shape on his vessel’s bow? Was such a long run a nightmare to deep-water men? No, solitude had its lining of grandeur. The varied ex- periences of battle with the elements and communion with the calm added thrills to an acrobatic and qui vive life. Moreover, the vessels themselves seemed to be imbued with a conscious life. This was symbolized in a work of art known as the figurehead, which might be a carved and painted image of a lady or a Rajah. The mythical forms of mermaids and unicorns were the choice of some shipbuilders—but in all cases the in- ference seemed to bring out the thought that the ship was a living thing. Figureheads kept their peculiar vigil on the vessel’s stem just below the bowsprit—scanning as it were the waste of waters ahead of the ship. Meet one of the ocean craft as she sails towards the equator. The north east trade wind is well on her quarter. Every stitch is set from courses to skysails. Note how the yards are A FOUR MASTED BARQUE -16 MARINE REVIEW—August, 1927 trimmed with that slight difference in angle which would cause the upper sails to quiver in the weather leech should the wind jump out abeam. Her fore-and- aft canvas adds triangular figures to the spaces between the masts—which seem to tower into the clouds like the spires of a cathedral. Lurching to leeward in the puffs until the clew of the mainsail dips into the brine, then gradually rising to windward to the sound of groans from aloft where spars and running gear are straining —is she not a living thing—half bird and half fish? Watch her as she flaps her wings to the dying trade wind and enters the doldrum area. A great calm takes the wrinkles out of Father Neptune’s face and our good ship answers to the spell of Morpheus. She is asleep—becalmed. Look at her pose. The naval architect never copied those curves from a box- car. He was thinking of a swan or an albatross when he gave her that gentle rise from the waist to the knight- heads. The sheer towards the stern may be less pronounced but it is there until the full poop meets the taffrail. Glance at her comparatively slender waist—so low and near the water, and yet she can be trusted to rise on waves which literally tower above her rails and sheer poles. The rake of her spars and the roach or curve in the foot of the sails gives a geometrical balance to the picture. The ocean resembles a huge mirror in which can be seen the reflection of her entire superstructure. A slight eddy plays around her fore-foot and rudder trunk—a mere pulsation to remind one that the mighty deep still retains the breath of life. But the ship is as motionless as the pyramids. As the tropical sun drops into the ocean, shafts of light fall on the vessel’s white sails and she appears as a glit- tering gem resting on a field of blue silk. In a dead calm everything is at peace—a man’s voice or the noise of the ship’s bell seem to intrude with undue harshness. The darkness of the equator steals over the scene and the firmament changes into a dome of pitch. Then here and there the stars appear like diamonds on the yard arms, between the sails, near the trucks and even on the bowsprit, for