USA > Wisconsin > Milwaukee County > Milwaukee > Early Milwaukee : papers from the archives of the Old Settlers' Club of Milwaukee County > Part 6
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Boylike, in my early rambles, I became familiar with many of
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the craft plying into this port and in my desire to retain a memory of them I kept a record of their movements in the season of 1854. This marine list I give verbatim with the following facts :
"Port opened March 2nd and closed December 15th. Number of schooners launched, 7. No other vessels built. Number of ves- rels arrived, 193, which shows an increase of 14 over last season. Each vessel is a different one." In detail these craft were 89 schooners, 26 brigs, 10 barks, 40 props., 17 steamers and 1 sloop.
My old yellow manuscript gives the full list of these ships with the name of their hailing ports and their masters.
You will notice that I called the season open when the first craft left. We didn't wait for the straits to thaw out for we placed considerable stress on the local trade. There were no eastern con- nections by rail. We have no opening now for our steamers run all Winter.
The brigs, barks, sloops and side-wheel steamers have all gone to their rest and the schooner or steam-barge now does the bulk of our work.
I cannot refrain from mentioning some of those old ships for you will be reminded of these jolly good craft as they are brought to mind.
The only sloop that hailed from here was the Ole Bull, Captain Larsen. She was a clinker built boat much like an overgrown double-ender Norwegian fishing boat. She broke from her moor- ings one gusty night and drifted into the lake and retired to Davy Jones' locker. Only two full-rigged brigs existed, the Robert Burns and the Algonah. They were black chunky craft, in all respects old style. Although not lost here, the Algonah went ashore here on the Third ward beach and laid high enough on the sand for me to walk around her dry-shod after the subsidence of old Michigan. The cause of her going ashore, according to legend, was the regular disappearance of the one candle in a designated shanty in the old Third. A jolly party in the said shanty could not get their "drop of the crater" except they went into the cellar to get at their source of supply, and such was the regularity of their trips below that the brig's master mistook the flashes for a revolving light and thus his misfortune.
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Among the schooners are Congress, Captain Doyle; Eliphalet Cramer, Captain West; D. O. Dickinson, Captain Lewis; Kitty Grant, Captain Johnson ; Fred Hill, Captain Adlam, and Norway, Capt. Tate. These three last were of nearly one pattern of a modern cut and were built on the site just north of Wolf & Davidson's. The C. Harrison was another familiar craft to me, and is yet in commis- sion. I saw her when she wedded Neptune. She was the first craft I ever saw launched. She dipped the water, stern first, at the east end of Oneida Street bridge, where the wood yard is now. The next craft I saw introduced to the water was the top sail schooner H. K. White, which slid diagonally into the river from the foot of Fowler street.
So closely united is the history of our marine with the men of those times that I mention a few more vessels. For instance, in my list I find the Josephine Lawrence, Captain Saveland ; Lewis Lud- ington, Captain McIntyre; Milwaukee Belle, Captain Lewis; Dan Newhall, Captain Waffle; Republic, Captain Cross; J. & A. Stron- ach, Captain Corbett, and the Napoleon, Bennett, master.
Captain Adlam, of the schooner W. B. Hibbard, died last month [June, 1888]. His craft was one I have on my list.
The Napoleon seems to have outlived all her consorts for she was in commission until last Summer when she went on the beach down the lake. The Republic was the first to adopt the patent double-threaded screw steering wheel. Previous to this steering was done with a tiller or at best with a wheel tackle.
All the three-masted schooners were called barks. The Badger State, Captain Shorts, was the most familiar to me. I saw her bap- tized in the placid Menomonee just west of Reed street where the sheds of the Western Transportation Company now stand. Many a time I have seen her burgee flying from her peak as she lay at anchor outside waiting for a tug as all the larger vessels had to do; and in referring to the larger class we must bear in mind that ship- ping has changed radically in thirty years. A good sized schooner in 1855 took aboard only 18,000 to 20,000 bushels of grain in con- trast now with 60,000 or 70,000 or even 100,000.
Another bark that attracted attention at this time was the Great West, possibly of 500 or 600 tons. At all events she looked big and
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her owner thought she was immense for she had a steam engine on deck to make sail and break bulk. One more man tried steam. He put a screw in and proposed to do his own towing, but it did not work. You may never have heard of this man, but it was "Old Kirb," and his ship was the Cream City. Although he only intended to drive her in port or in the rivers, by steam, yet I am not so sure but we might call him the father of steam barges. (I am the pos- sessor of her flag, given the Cream City Ball Club, by Captain Fitz- gerald, 1870.)
At the head of Wisconsin street the bluff was as high as it yet is at the Juneau statue and on the summit beside the brick light- house was a shanty where hotel runners, glass in hand, watched and waited for the appearance of passenger boats. The iron horse had not reached us and these steamers came with fair regularity and were watched for with interest, especially from below. When they hove in sight and were recognized, these watchmen took to their heels to advise the hotels, which in turn would scurry and bob away to the pier to solicit patronage from homeseekers and pilgrims bound for this great unknown country.
Those scenes are all gone now. Huron and Erie streets were the great thoroughfares then and they have improved but little in forty years, for the people who floated up and down those streets to see and do business with these wheezy puffing old steamers have other paths to tread now. Besides these piers the only other notable landing place was at foot of Washington street, where the old yel- low warehouse stood. This place was used especially in heavy weather when the swell was too boisterous in the bay.
Referring to these puffy old side-wheelers, let's recall just a few of them who hauled in here in 1854. For instance, the steamer Arctic, Captain Jones ; Cleveland, Captain Robinson ; Fashion, Cap- tain Newbre; Globe, Captain Pratt; Lady Elgin, Captain Chamber- lain ; Pacific, Captain McQueen ; Sultana, Captain Appleby, and the Traveler, Newbre, master.
In the propeller line, only one was built in this decade (date 1856), which was the Alleghency. Other screw-boats landing here in the year of my record, viz., 1854, I will mention only the Buffalo, Captain Conkey; Bucephalus, Captain Alexander; Dunkirk, Cap-
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tain Hathaway; Forest City, Captain Pheatt; Granite State, Cap- tain Cadwell; Illinois, Captain Dixon ; Milwaukee, Captain Mars- den ; Pocohontas, Captain Clark, and the Sun, Captain Anderson.
In 1856 we tried the experiment of shipping grain direct to Europe. Laden with wheat the schooner Dean Richmond sailed direct with considerable flourish of trumpets. One or two boats fol- lowed in a year or two with grain and products of the forest, but the ventures established no permanent trade.
Another epoch was the arrival of a tow-boat. The tug G. W. Tifft was the pioneer, putting in an appearance about 1853. Fre- quently I saw her with five or six and even seven little hookers toil- ing up the undefined course of the old river. She took her own time for sharp competition was yet to come. Soon after this the straight cut was opened, making it much easier for little craft to make port and sail, perhaps, directly to her dock. At this time came those wonderful creations, the steamships Detroit and Milwaukee, to do us duty across the lake, giving us close and comfortable passage across old Michigan. Simultaneously came the blast from an iron horse which had crept up from the south'ard and found a temporary stopping place at the spot now called Bay View, from whence pas- sengers came citywards across the marsh on scows towed by our one all-important tug which landed baggage and passengers at foot of National avenue where the Milwaukee & Chicago Railroad erected a station which was their only one for many years.
Shipbuilding progressed fairly with us, but our facilities for re- pairs were for many years decidedly limited. Away back in 1847 we had a floating dock and later a marine railway, but the first ap- proved dry dock was made in 1877 by our present ship builders, Wolf & Davidson.
Those were halcyon days, my hearcr. Mayhap a clear conscience, a sound stomach and a robust corpus of a lad in his teens has much to do in giving a roseate hue to the mazy past. Perhaps so, but we were not hampered with as many set forms and ceremonies in those good old days. Caste was not as apparent, we were all nearer to be- ing peers, and aside from these reasons who will reproduce our old and immaculate stamping grounds? Where are the fish and fish-
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ing, where the sloping grassy banks, where the diving holes and the spring-boards where we could disport unobserved in all hours of the day, up and down either of our rivers or on the lake front? Where are our boating parties and picnics on the limpid stream whose bot- tom could be seen on any clear day? Where are they? Go ask the gray-beard; go ask the sickly streams that smell rank to heaven. Seek your answer in our solid docks, and ask our omnipresent sewer and our contaminated lake and our forbidding sea-walls, and as your mind is of a retrospective bias, remember the old adage: True yes- terday, true today, true for tomorrow.
Milwaukee, July, 1888.
A Sailor's Narrative
Condensed from Papers Read Before the Club by Captain William Callaway.
I was born at Portishead, England, near Bristol, on the banks of the Bristol Channel, and was attracted to the free life of the sea as far back as I can remember. My father was an officer in the British customs service, and three of my uncles were pilots on the Bristol Channel. While I am unable to vouch for the truth of the report, it was said that my great uncle, a certain Edward Callaway, piloted John Paul Jones into the Bristol Channel during the Revo- lutionary War-at the point of a pistol. My father died when I was but ten years of age, and at fifteen I informed my mother that I was going to sea, threatening to run away unless she granted her permission.
I made my first voyage in the Spring of 1846 in the bark British Queen, bound from Bristol to Quebec, with railroad iron. She was a ship of perhaps five hundred tons register. The voyage out was un- eventful until we reached the Gulf of St. Lawrence, where we got into a field of ice. After getting free from the ice we ran into a gale of wind blowing down the gulf, and were obliged to take a reef in our topsails. During a dark night we collided with another bark, and you may imagine with our cargo of iron most of us thought our chances of getting to Davy Jones' locker were pretty good. The two ships were thrown together by the sea, and we broke our stud- ding-sail booms ; the yard-arms came tumbling down about us, and our shrouds on the port side were carried away. During the excite- ment which prevailed at the time, I jumped on the rail to get aboard the other vessel. A big sailor caught me by the seat of my pants and threw me back on deck. We got clear of the other vessel finally, without further damage, and were one man ahead; for while we were rolling together one of the men from the other ship got hold of our ropes by mistake and was drawn aboard.
We reached Quebec in about eight or ten days, and found the ship we had collided with ahead of us. One of their boats came alongside, and their men were overjoyed to find their shipmate in
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safety. We were in Quebec about three weeks. Our cargo was un- loaded into barges to go up the river, and we loaded timber to take back. After leaving Quebec, we had a safe passage home, but at the end of the voyage I had an accident which nearly finished me. I fell eighteen feet into the hold of the ship, and was picked up for dead, but recovered in a few days. It was rather a strange coinci- dence, as my father met his death by falling in the hold of a ship at the same dock. I made several trips to Quebec after this one, but will go on now to my trip around the world.
In the early 50's I shipped from Bristol on a little bark called the Kyle, bound for Melbourne, Australia. She was of five hundred tons burden and carried a crew of twenty men. We had on board 120 passengers, most of them bound for the gold diggings, discov- ered about this time, and two stowaways who were found after we had got out to sea. There was the usual ceremony of receiving a visit from Neptune when we reached the equator. After crossing the equator we ran into St. Paul's Island. The ship was then put in course, running down the southeast trade winds. Our supply of drinking water got so bad at this time we were compelled to hold our noses when drinking it, so our captain coneluded to run to the island of Tristan Da Cunha, south of Cape Good Hope, for fresh water. When we neared the island the wind was blowing a gale, so we had to put off for Cape Good Hope. I was taken ill at this time with a serious fever, and had to have my head shaved.
We ran into Table Bay at Cape Good Hope and took on fresh water. The first land we sighted after leaving the Cape was St. Paul's Island and Amsterdam Island, both of them very small- apparently about ten miles long-and I do not think they were in- habited at this time, as I saw no houses or smoke. The food we had to live on was sufficient warrant against dyspepsia. On Monday we had pork and pea soup for dinner; Tuesday, salt beef and rice; Wednesday, salt pork; Thursday, salt beef and duff; Friday, pork and pea soup; Saturday, salt beef and rice; Sunday, salt beef and duff. We also had all the sea biscuits we wanted. When we were in the tropics maggots got into the biscuits, and we were obliged to break them over our knees and shake out the maggots before eating. We were served with tea and coffee as long as the supply lasted, and
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got lime juice every day as a preventive of scurvy. Our food was brought to us by the boys whose duty was also to keep the forecastle clean. We did not have table linen and silver knives and forks. Each man had his pannikin, tin plate, tin spoon and knife and fork. The food was brought down to us in kids, and each man helped him- self, our forecastle floor answering for table and tablecloth.
On our ship "Grog-O !" was always called when we got through shortening sails. The next land we made after Amsterdam Island was Cape Leeuwin, Australia. A few days later we made Melbourne Heads, and then dropped anchor in the bay. There were no docks for ships to go alongside of and not enough water in the river for large ships to go up, so we were obliged to unload our cargo into lighters. The people were coming to Melbourne so fast there was not room enough in the town. Tents were pitched on the hill across from the city and the hill called Canvastown. The town had its liquor stores, butcher shops and stores of every description. It was a grand sight on a sunny day to see Melbourne on the one side and Canvastown with its sea of white tents on the other. Our crew got the gold fever, and all but the carpenter and myself ran away. Run- away sailors were arrested when caught. There were so many mis- creants there was not enough room for them in the prisons, so the authorities bought a ship called the Deborah and anchored it in the bay for a sailors' prison. It was the custom to shave the heads of the prisoners, and I had a rather unpleasant experience one day while in a butcher shop. A man greeted me and offered to shake hands, and when I said I did not know him, he said: "Of course you do; you were in the Deborah when I was there." My hair was still short, and I suppose this accounted for the mistake.
We shipped a new crew at Melbourne and went to New Castle, about ninety miles north of Sydney, on the river Hunter. There was only one small mine there at the time, but I understand now they are shipping coal from there to San Francisco. The mine had a capacity of only 600 tons per month, and as there were ships ahead of us we had to wait six months for a cargo. All hands but the carpenter and myself were discharged, and I acted as cook and steward. We lay across the river opposite the little town, and there was a tribe of natives close by. Whenever the carpenter or myself
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wanted amusement we would give the chief and one of his head men a few glasses of grog and have them get the tribe to dance. When I visited the town I would tie the boat at the dock, and when I came back it would be filled with natives waiting to cross with me. I al- ways made them welcome.
I made three trips to New Castle. On the last trip we got into a hurricane, or southerly buster, as they call it there. The canvas was blown away and we sprang a leak. When the gale was over we bent extra canvas which we had below and put into Sydney for repairs before going on to Melbourne. Sydney is the most beautiful har- bor in the world. After leaving Sydney we encountered a strong head wind and ran into Botany Bay for shelter. The two years I had signed articles for were now up, and I got my discharge and sailed for home on the ship Seringapatam. Our homeward voyage was around Cape Horn. We arrived safely at Bristol, thus ending my voyage around the world.
My next trip was on the ship Petrel, bound with passengers for New York. While we were lying in New York harbor, two sailors from the Great Lakes who came aboard to spin yarns, told us what good things they had to eat on the lake vessels. They said they had ham and eggs for breakfast, two kinds of meat and pie or pudding for dinner, and hot biscuits and cake for supper. They also said that when they wanted a drink, all they had to do was drop a bucket overboard and draw it up full of fresh, cold water. I thought they were awful liars, but found when I came to the lakes, after making three more voyages from England to this country and Canada, that they were about right. I came to the Lakes in the year 1857, and started my career as a fresh-water sailor.
In the Spring of 1857 I had shipped from Bristol in the ship Jane, bound to Quebec with passengers. I worked my passage out, rather than follow the usual custom of securing a month's advance in wages when shipping and then running away after reaching this country. Nothing of interest occurred on my trip to Quebec, and we landed our full load of passengers in safety. I stayed with the ship and helped unload and reload with timber, and secured as much money that way as I would had I taken the month's advance and run away. I then went to Kingston and shipped on a vessel named
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the Liverpool, bound for the river St. Clair to load timber. I went across the river to the vessel in a boat, and was surprised when I got on board to see two horses secured forward. I was informed that they were used in loading timber and also that the vessel steered so wildly when loaded that it was necessary to have their assistance at times in steering. I made up my mind that that kind of sailing would not suit me, and left the ship at Detroit. I shipped there on a little schooner named the C. L. Burton, which carried only about three thousand bushels of grain. We went to Sandusky, and carried grain from there to Buffalo until October. I then shipped in San- dusky on the revenue cutter A. V. Brown, and came to Milwaukee.
The Brown was one of six revenue cutters built by the govern- ment in 1856 for use on the Great Lakes. There was one for each lake. They were built in Milan, Ohio, and when finished were all taken to Sandusky and moored close together. I was one of the first sailors. In the Spring of 1858 they were ordered to ship their crews and go to their stations. I stayed on the Brown two seasons, and was boatswain before I left. I believe she was the first government vessel stationed in Milwaukee. Her commander was Captain Mitchell. The lieutenant's name was Underwood.
In the Fall of 1858 we laid up in the Menomonee river, about where the Sixth Street bridge now is, alongside a clay bank on the south side of the canal, and the pilot and myself were left on board to keep ship. The others were discharged, and the officers went to their homes. Elevator B was built then, and the Hans Crocker was moored at the dock. Captain W. Fitzgerald was her master. We became quite well acquainted. About the first of April, 1859, the Brown shipped a crew and we lay to anchor in a little bay just inside the piers, somewhat to the south. We used to go from here to differ- ent ports on Lake Michigan-Racine, Kenosha, Chicago and St. Jo- seph-and stay a few days in each port.
On one occasion we left St. Joe, bound for Grand Haven. The wind was from the south. We got out into the lake two or three miles, then wanted to set the squaresail in order to spread the sail. We had two swing booms, which, when not in use, would lie one on each bow. I told the men to square them, which they were doing with lifts and guys, but were so slow that I jumped on the rail, one
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leg on each side the boom, and was lifting it square, it being two- thirds out over the lake and one-third in. Someone had taken the nut off the gooseneck that went through the saddles on the mast. While I was at work the boom let go, unshipped, took me between the legs and pitched me into the lake. As I was going down my arm caught on one of the guys. I grabbed it, but had all I could do to hang on, as the vessel was going about five miles an hour. I was hauled on board all right. I stayed on the revenue cutter until Fall, and then shipped on the brig David Ferguson, owned by William B. Hibbard and commanded by Captain Adlam.
On March 1, 1860, I married. In April I shipped on the schooner William Case, before the mast, to go to Oswego. I had a salary of sixteen dollars a month-small wages on which to keep a wife. I left the Case at Oswego and shipped on the schooner Morn- ing Light, bound for Saginaw, to load lumber for Chicago. I then came home and shipped on the schooner George Barber, with Cap- tain Nelson, at twenty dollars per month. In those days the crew had to load and unload. Sometimes we would leave here at night and be in Muskego the next morning, alongside the lumber pile, load, and get out again at night. I stayed with him until Septem- ber. I then shipped in the schooner Whaling, with Captain Kynas- ton. My old friend Andrew Boyd was mate. We loaded grain at Higby's elevator, foot of Chestnut street. The captain told us to go home, as the weather looked bad and he would not go out. The ris next night the schooner lady Elgin was lost. We made one trip to Buffalo. After our return I shipped in the schooner Robinson for Buffalo. I was taken sick with fever and ague, left the vessel and came back to Milwaukee. Then I went to work in Mr. Trusloaw's wholesale fruit store on East Water street, next to Greene & But- ton's drug store. In 1861, while fitting out the schooner Barber, I was again taken sick, and could not sail all Summer ; so I worked in the store.
In the Spring of 1862 I shipped on the schooner Stella, owned by Mr. Goldsmith of Port Washington and commanded by Captain Smith. We loaded at the pier, carried wheat to Buffalo and came back to Milwaukee. Charley Millett, the mate, said: "Bill, let you and I buy a vessel of our own." I asked him how much money he
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had and he said: "A hundred dollars." I had the same amount. Our united resources did not seem a sum that would go far toward the purchase of a vessel, but "where there's a will there's a way." We started out, got as far as Division Street bridge, and there saw a small schooner called the Mariner. We asked the captain if he knew of a small vessel for sale, and he told us the Mariner was for sale for $850. She carried twenty-one hundred bushels of wheat. The owners were Peter Hansen and Mr. Backet of Sheboygan. My father-in-law kept a store on Wisconsin street, and as we thought he knew more about business than we did, we sent him to Sheboy- gan to see the owners. The owners came to Milwaukee the next day, and we bought the vessel for $850, paying $200 down and giv- ing our notes for the balance-$100 to be paid each month for five months and $150 in the following July. It looked rather risky, but we paid the notes as they came due, supported our families and saved money besides, after which we sold the Mariner.
When I was in the store I became acquainted with Otto Wer- muth. In July, 1862, I met him on Wisconsin street, and he said he was going to have a vessel built to go to the old country, and asked me if I would superintend the building, fit her out and take her across the ocean. I thought he was only "blowing," but an- swered "Yes." When he told me to go to Ellsworth & Davidson's shipyard and tell them what kind of vessel was suitable for crossing the ocean, I wanted to back out, but he would not listen to it. I had never superintended the building of a vessel, and was not thorough in navigation, but after I had.consented was determined to "see it through." I went to Ellsworth & Davidson and asked them to make a model, which they did. I made another lake trip, and when I came back the contract was signed, and the vessel was to be finished by November 1, 1862. I then stayed on shore and fitted the rigging, having it ready to slip over the mastheads as soon as they were stepped.
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