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their dazzling brightness reaches down to the ocean rim. The man at the wheel and the sec- ond mate are in a brown study. Their panoramic minds run off to Antwerp or Calcutta where at some time they have had a frolic in the Black Cat or the Bristol. A first voyage boy strikes six bells. The rest of the watch are caulking decks—sleeping on the soft- est plank which they can find under the long boat. Whir—a cats-paw shows its ruffles in the distance. Then it skims along the glassy surface of the sea and actually kisses the lady figure- head. Such audacity prompts the look- out man to break the spell of en- chantment, and just as a jibsheet block hits him on the shoulder he shouts “All aback for’a’d.” Then fancy meeting a square-rigged beauty as she bowls along between Cape of Good Hope and New Zealand. This is her testing region, “running the easting down.” Her flimsy wings are clipped—showing gaunt spars and sparse canvas. The wind-god howls incessantly from his western caverns, piling the sea into mounds which are driven against the stern of the good ship. One wave of this kind could smash a vessel to pieces but just as its foaming crest appears to drop on the fearless helmsman, up goes her stern into the clouds and the seething mass passes under her keel. When a windjammer lifts her stern in this manner her bowsprit and fig- urehead tumble into the abyss of the preceding wave, and for a moment the horizon ahead is hid by the rolling sea. Meantime a dollop of ocean weigh- ing over one hundred tons has dropped through her main rigging and filled the well deck flush with the topgal- lant rail. Listen to this gurgling brine spewing from the scuppers and ports as the vessel shudders under the on- slaught. Yes—and men and boys work at the ropes in such a turmoil. Should a hand be washed overboard in a gale with the ship hove to—he may be res- cued by a rope or washed back again in the lee water, but nothing can save him if the vessel is before the gale. Then stand on the cliffs near the Lizard lighthouse in Cornwall or look through binoculars from the Sandy Hook lightvessel and watch a square- rigged homeward bounder glide into port. Note how that passenger steamer runs across the windjammer’s bows with mechanical pride and pomp as if to say “Ha, ha, there goes an old windbag—all limejuice and barnacles.” While that may be the sentiment of the third officer and a few monocled travellers, a very different song enters the minds of the steamship com- mander and his bosun. These veterans are the only two souls on board the _ turbine driven hotel who eye the sailing ship with reminiscent joy and greet her with the words “Good old girl—that’s where I learned to be a sailor”. Mail-boat cap- tains are not in the habit of fraternizing with their bosuns but this is an occasion which throws rank aside and kindles the spark of as- sociation that draws men into each other's confidence and makes them _ equals. “What do you think of her bosun— isn’t she a beauty?” “Captain, that’s my old ship—the Hoocii—I could pick her out in a fog —she must be fifty years old. By the look of that white bone in her teeth she must be making 9 knots on the bowline. Her speed is 15 knots (17 miles) when running before a main topgallantsail breeze. Yes sir—she could throw a towline to a tramp steamer.” “Are you sure it’s your old ship?” asked the captain, with a critical eye on the vanishing vessel. “Nothing surer sir. Look at her fore and main royal yards—they measure 56 feet between the cliphooks of the braces. She is light on the mizen mast and never bends a crojak. Her mon- key gaff is there too, and that whale- back wheel-house ... . sure of her .... I have her picture painted on the lid of my chest.” And so the two sailors exchanged notes and commented on the lustre of the windjammers varnished teakwood, the glint of her brass binnacles and other signs of inboard cleanliness. The rust on her hull and the barnacles on her weather side showed that she had been a long time out of drydock. As the captain left the bosun’s side he added the significant words: “That’s going to sea—no wireless— no mechanical means of propulsion, and yet ships of that kind frequently cover 40,000 miles each year and in the same period carry an aggregate load of 12,000 tons of merchandise. And it’s all done with ropes, spars, canvas and a trained crew—yes, that’s going to sea.” The Suez canal, the tramp steamer, and later the Panama water-way have all dealt a blow at the windjammer. And now like great birds tired of their migratory travels and ousted from the seas by thousands of throbbing pro- pellors the square-rigged beauties have been disrated to coal hulks, tow bar- MARINE REVIEW—August, 1927 A FULL RIGGED SHIP ges, store ships and roadstead hospi- tals. What a fate for the fleet of mer- chantmen who carried the first cargoes of tea from China to London, the first cargoes of wool from Australia and the loads of jute from Calcutta. It was the square-rigged ship that hauled Pensacola timber across the North Atlantic and made that port a hive of industry. It was brigs and barques that built up the trade of old Quebec. And so the story runs—Chilian salt- petre, Brazilian coffee, Argentine wheat, Russian flax and West Indian rum and molasses. Even the whaling enterprise—the gold rushes and the colonizing schemes of the United States, Canada, New Zealand, Aus- tralia, South Africa and the West Indies were all carried on by the ac- tivities of the foreign-going windjam- mer. The historian and the economist haye never said much about the sail- ing ship and her work, but fortunately both the artist and the poet have giv- en us paintings and verse which will live to remind the future generations of the most beautiful structure that man has ever launched on the bosom of the untamed ocean, a square-rigged sailing ship. A picture of a square-rigged vessel should be hung up in every school in the United States and throughout the British Empire, for it was due to this type of craft and her indomitable crews that these nations became great upon the trade routes of the globe. Even should the rising generation for- get about her commercial status, they would be blind if they failed to note her beauty as a marine structure— and where beauty reigns the mind be- comes inquisitive. A report from Secretary of War Davis Jan. 6 stated that the war de- partment has turned back into the treasury $16,000,000 profit from the operation of the Panama canal dur- ing the last year. 17