A clipper ship and a steamer at Portland, Victoria, not far from where Schomberg was wrecked. Even in the 1850s much of the Australian coast was poorly charted and local knowledge was very important.
The Lightning arriving in Hobsons Bay, Melbourne. She continued to make fine passages in the Australian trade under the steadier command of Captain Anthony Enright. Nevertheless, she never bettered her performances under Forbes.
CHAPTER FOUR
MARY PATTEN’S BATTLE
WITH CAPE HORN
The clipper Neptune’s Car had been beating into the teeth of the Roaring Forties for several days when the terrifying apparition appeared. At the time the ship was labouring into a particularly savage gale, which had lashed the great grey waters into a fury. As the lookout peered into the brooding nothingness ahead, spray and hailstones pinged against his body like buckshot, making him wince with pain and gasp with shock. The Cape Horn greybeards had made a mockery of his oilskins and he shivered uncontrollably as he stared into the gloom. He barely had the will to continue his vigil, yet fear of icebergs and a sailor’s sense of duty kept him squinting out over the savage waters.
Suddenly, emerging out of the smoking remnants of a squall, he perceived the ghostly outline of a ship. ‘Sail ho!’ was the cry and all hands crowded to the rail to make out the intruder into their own private corner of hell. She looked eerie, partially dismasted and running pell-mell before the gale. On deck, there was precious little sign of life, the sails hanging in tatters and her salt-stained hull badly neglected.
She was not a comforting sight to the crew of the Neptune’s Car. If anything, she simply underlined the loneliness and danger of their position. Her mizzen mast still stood complete, and from this flew the Stars and Stripes. However, the ensign hung upside down, a desperate final call sign of distress. As the two clippers drew closer, four men could be seen at the rail of the crippled ship, desperately gesticulating for help. Yet the Neptune’s Car never wavered from her course, ploughing on and leaving this terrifying vision in her wake.
Men aloft handling sail off Cape Horn. The photograph gives a fine impression of how bleak things could get down in the Southern Ocean.
Seas inundate the decks of a tall ship as she wallows in heavy seas off Cape Horn. In such conditions, it was try difficult for the men to keep warm and dry.
The Rapid’s turnaround
The southern winter of 1856 was a particularly brutal one off the pitch of Cape Horn. For days on end the wind shrieked out of the west, sometimes at hurricane strength, bringing with it ceaseless snowstorms. Down in that savage wasteland of darkened seas and jagged rock, the clipper fleet laboured to get clear of the dreaded cape as they battled out to San Francisco.
No ship was tried more severely by the weather than the clipper Rapid, commanded by Captain Winsor. She had left New York in May 1856 and had made good speed until she reached Cape Horn. Here, all progress had ceased. For weeks on end, she butted into the great grey rollers which marched relentlessly across this lonely expanse. All this time her crew were brutalised by the cold and oppressed by the gloom of this dark corner of the world. Rarely did the sun show its face and darkness closed in only a few hours after dawn. Ice formed in the rigging so thickly that it threatened to affect the clipper’s stability and the crew was compelled to struggle up the slippery ratlines to chip it away. The wind constantly roared through the rigging with a baleful howl. All of the elements seemed to be their enemy; all had forsaken them in their hour of need.
In the midst of this hell, men died. Some fell from the rigging, others simply retired to the fo’c’sle and collapsed from privation, relieved to shuffle off the earth without enduring any more suffering at the hands of this merciless tormentor. After several weeks off the Horn, ten men were dead and another ten completely incapacitated. This only left four more men to run the ship: an impossible task. Reluctantly, Captain Winsor decided to turn back to Rio. This was the only time that a clipper ever turned her back on the battle with the Horn, but Winsor was left with little choice.
As the vessel fled back across the forsaken ocean, throwing away every hard-earned mile gained over the last month of toil, Winsor perceived the sail of a clipper bound the other way. He ordered the helmsman to make a course for her and hoisted a flag of distress. Perhaps salvation was at hand. As they closed with the vessel, Captain Winsor inspected her through his telescope. Visibility was appalling and the bucking deck of the Rapid didn’t help matters, but he swore he could make out a lady in a long dress standing on the poop, conferring earnestly with an officer. He didn’t dwell on the matter, for his ship, running free, was flying past the stranger. He only noted with utter disgust that she made no attempt to stop and come to his aid. That night he wrote angrily in his log of the poor conduct of the vessel that had passed. He identified her as the clipper Intrepid.
The clipper ships Winged Arrow and Southern Cross in Boston Harbour. Both of these vessels were built in Boston and were contemporaries of Neptune’s Car.
The US ship Red Cloud drying her sails in harbour.
A contemporary map of Cape Horn, showing the Straits of Le Maire, through which clippers had to thread their way.
However, it wasn’t the Intrepid, it was the Neptune’s Car – and if ever a ship had reason not to heave to and help out, it was this one. Down below in his cabin, her skipper Joshua Patten lay prostrate, unable to see or move, his body racked from time to time by dreadful fits and seizures. In the hold, her first mate writhed uncomfortably in the heavy sea, his arms and legs clapped in irons. Up on deck, the captain’s wife, 19-year-old Mary Patten, had control of the clipper and her crew of 30 men. She had consulted with the second mate about the possibility of standing by to help this desperate vessel, but the decision was taken to carry on. They had enough troubles of their own, and the captain’s wife was completely focused on one thing: San Francisco and salvation for her ailing husband.
An unusual honeymoon
She had married Joshua Patten some two years before when she was only 16. Joshua was 27 and already captain of the Neptune’s Car. No doubt she was drawn to his lively, charismatic nature, for it took a man of real drive and ambition to gain command of a clipper at such a young age. They had honeymooned aboard the clipper as she raced out to California the previous season. How different that passage had been! There had been excitement enough on that trip, but it had been of a more positive nature. Joshua had raced against three ships: the Westward Ho!, the Greenfield and the Elizabeth S Willets.
The Neptune’s Car painted in Chinese waters. On her first round-the-world voyage, Joshua Patten had raced home from China loaded with tea and earned his owners a handsome profit.
Dropping off the pilot symbolised the final break away from land at the start of a long voyage.
Mary Patten was only a girl of 19 when she set off on her second rounding of Cape Horn aboard the Neptune’s Car.
The race had been confined to the Westward Ho! and the Neptune’s Car, and both had made passages of 101 days to San Francisco, but the Westward Ho! was a couple of hours faster and won the race. Hussey, the skipper of the Westward Ho!, was so elated that he offered to wager any sum on the next leg of the race, which took both vessels to Hong Kong. Luckily for him, there were no takers, since the Neptune’s Car beat him by ten days. On the strength of this performance, the Neptune’s Car had loaded tea for London and then returned to New York.
This was a lengthy and eventful honeymoon, but Mary had enjoyed it greatly and had taken to the sea like a duck to water. Joshua was a loving husband who cared for her well on the passage and took the time to teach her how to use the sextant. Mary was a sharp girl and picked it up very rapidly so that by the end of the round-the-world trip, she was as able as Joshua himself to gain a fix.
Mary was not the first clipper ship to carry a female navigator. Josiah Creesy of the Flying Cloud not only taught his wife to navigate, but also often relied on her to get a fix of the vessel’s position. It was
she who had helped him plot the Flying Cloud’s course on her record-breaking 89- day run to San Francisco in 1851. Nevertheless, in Mary Patten’s time, women were unquestionably at best tolerated aboard a ship. A ship was a man’s world and in 1855 a woman would definitely have known her place aboard. It is telling that after their honeymoon voyage Joshua noted of his wife: ‘She is uncommon handy about a ship even in weather and would doubtless be of service if a man.’
Mary was happy to join her husband for another trip around Cape Horn, and on 1 July 1856 the Neptune’s Car made her departure from New York. She was in company with the fine clipper Intrepid, while the beautiful McKay-designed Romance of the Seas was a few hours ahead. The race was on. Yet, this time the passage down the Atlantic was punctuated by a number of unpleasant incidents. Captain Patten had been compelled to hire a new mate, William Keeler, at short notice and things were not going well.
Captain and mate
Patten was a racing sailor who loved to drive his vessel hard and, time after time, he was exasperated by Keeler’s reticence in making sail. Many times he would come on deck and find the ship jogging along under shortened sail, when she should have been crowding on canvas to make the most of a favourable slant. This reticence to make sail could have been due to fear or may have simply been down to laziness. Sail carrying requires constant vigilance, and this can be wearing on the nerves day in, day out.
Port Stanley in the Falkland Islands was a shelter for storm-battered vessels running from Cape Horn. Those deemed too expensive to repair were simply abandoned as these wrecks still in existence attest to. Mary Patten chose to ignore this isolated haven and face the Horn.
Whatever the reasons for Keeler’s slackness, it caused a great deal of friction between the captain and his mate. A poor relationship between these two generally leads to an unhappy and poorly worked ship. The mate is the hub of all work that goes on aboard. In Two Years Before the Mast, which narrates a passage to San Francisco in 1844, Richard Dana describes how the men suffered when the relationship between the strict skipper and rather lax mate broke down. He explained: ‘If the chief officer wants force, discipline slackens, everything gets out of joint, and the captain interferes continually; that makes a difficulty between them, which encourages the crew, and the whole ends in a three-sided quarrel. But our mate wanted no help from anybody, took everything into his own hands, and was more likely to encroach upon the authority of the master than to need any spurring.’
Dana continued: ‘Our captain gave his directions to the mate in private, and, except in coming to anchor, getting under way, tacking, reefing topsails, and other “all-hands-work”, seldom appeared in person. This is the proper state of things; and while this lasts, and there is a good understanding aft, everything will go on well.’
Thus, captain and mate needed to work in harmony for the ship to run smoothly. Yet aboard the confined environs of a clipper, with all of its many demands, this relationship was tested day after day and even the most tolerant skipper and mate would chafe against each other’s will from time to time. Usually this relationship could be patched up, but sometimes the damage was irreparable. So it proved with Keeler, and things came to a head as the clipper dashed down the South Atlantic, plunging headlong towards the Horn. Patten had taken to keeping a close eye on his recalcitrant mate and one night he stepped on deck to check that all was well. It was Keeler’s watch, but he was nowhere to be found. A thorough search of the ship revealed him to be sleeping in the cook’s quarters, and Patten decided to deal with the malingerer by busting him right back down to able seaman and moving him into the fo’c’sle with the rest of the crew.
Whether the two came to blows is unrecorded, but Keeler certainly reacted angrily to this move and the decision was taken to put him in irons until the ship arrived in San Francisco. Captain Patten now stood the mate’s watch and the second mate, Hare, was promoted to first mate. Hare was an excellent and able seaman, but he had very limited navigational ability. This was not a problem as long as Joshua stood watch, but the aggravation over his mate had left him not only over-worked but also overwrought.
Even on a benign day Cape Horn still looks intimidating.
Mary’s dilemma
As the vessel neared Cape Horn, Patten began to complain of blinding headaches. Within a matter of days he was completely incapacitated and had to retire to his bunk while fever and pain racked his body. Mary nursed him as best she could, fretting all the while about what was to become of her husband and the ship. She had other problems, too. For some time she had been feeling nauseous, particularly in the mornings, and over time she deduced that she was pregnant with their first child. The Pattens were in a tight corner, and so was the vessel. She was approaching the most deadly and notorious stretch of water in the world with no skipper or mate. Her second mate could not navigate and all hands were fearful following the numerous unsettling incidents on passage.
At this point, Keeler, locked away down below, got word of the captain’s predicament and sent Mary a note asking to be released so that he could take the ship to a safe haven. No doubt, Mary would have at least partly held Keeler to blame for her husband’s illness; it had coincided with the stress of deposing the mate and taking on his burden of work. With this in mind, she sent word back, informing Keeler that ‘if her husband did not view him as fit for work, neither did she’.
Thus galvanised, Mary and Hare agreed to push the ship on to San Francisco. Mary was to be in charge of the navigation, Hare responsible for the ship handling. So the 19-year-old girl and the inexperienced young officer prepared for any sailor’s stiffest challenge, Cape Horn. Mary summoned the hands and explained the situation to the scared men; she appealed to them to help her get the ship to California. The men had taken Mary to their hearts and had little liking or faith in the bullying Keeler. They answered her with three resounding cheers of support.
It took them 18 days to weather the dreaded cape and it was during this part of the passage that the Rapid was sighted. It was decided that it would be almost impossible to render assistance to the stricken vessel and while the Rapid eventually made her way to the warmer climes and gentler waters of Brazil, the Neptune’s Car battled on bravely. Mary rarely left the deck and, when she did, she tended to her husband.
William Keeler was hoping to pull in to Valparaiso in Peru in order to escape. At the time, the town was a sleepy port, as can be seen by this illustration.
Navigation was especially challenging as a sight of the sun, required to fix their position, was rarely possible in the overcast gloom. Mary would have relied for days on end on dead reckoning, calculating the distance travelled every day and guessing at drift and leeway. This method of navigation tested the nerve of even the most experienced captain, for after several days of guessing, you can’t help but feel helplessly lost. For Mary, a novice navigator with no one to reassure her, it must have been an especially testing time.
Yet she stuck to her task doggedly and eventually the relentless flogging of the vessel to gain a bit of westing ended, the yards were eased and the helm rattled down onto a more northerly course. With the wind on the beam, the big ship started to reach away at a good clip, running at full speed from those dark, desolate waters into the friendly deep blue rollers of the Pacific. All through the dark times off Cape Horn, the men had stood by Mary and believed in her abilities. Now their faith was rewarded.
Keeler’s second chance
Down in the main cabin, things were looking up, too, for Joshua was starting to show signs of recovery. He was able to eat a little and, after several more days, was even able to walk about, though he was still weak. The headaches seemed to have passed and Mary was gleeful as she noted his improvement. Joshua had no memory of the nightmare at Cape Horn, but he was deeply impressed by the conduct of his wife and his second officer. He was also concerned; he now knew that his wife was pregnant and was aware of the immense strain that had been put upon her off the Horn. It was likely this concern t
hat persuaded him to summon Keeler to his cabin and seek a reconciliation. Keeler willingly went to speak to him and agreed to return to duty, promising good behaviour and no more trouble until they reached San Francisco. Patten agreed, although he assured Keeler that he would still face the whole weight of the law once in port.
The American clipper Starlight in harbour. This vessel was built in 1855 in Boston and was considered a very beautiful ship.
The wharfs of San Francisco in the age of sail. The vessel in the foreground is very heavily rigged with skysails on each mast.
The US clipper Abner Coburn anchored in Bristol Bay off the coast of Alaska, where she was used in later years in the salmon industry.
The 1849 gold rush transformed San Francisco from a sleepy settlement to a bustling port. Here, you can see the outer approaches to the port with a tugboat and schooner in the foreground. To the extreme left, you can see a mass of shipping, a hangover from the gold rush, when many ships were simply abandoned.
The bustle of San Francisco’s docks in the age of sail is captured in this photograph.
For a few days, all seemed well. Keeler took custody of the sextant and Mary took up the role of full-time nurse to her husband. Joshua continued his recovery, and there was hope in the air. After a couple of days, however, Mary became uneasy. Some instinct told her that all was not as it should be and she eventually pinned it down to the position of the sun in the sky. Her many weeks as navigator had given her an instinct for where it should be relative to the ship’s course. It seemed to her that the ship was heading not so much north as north-east.
Clipper Ships and the Golden Age of Sail Page 6