On board the Flying Cloud on her maiden voyage around the Horn, was Sarah H. Bowman, who wrote the following ongoing letter to her sister, Kate, which is a splendid running commentary of the voyage.
EX FLYING CLOUD: A PERSONEL ACCOUNT OF THE JOURNEY
At Sea June 1851
Dear Kate:
The Flying Cloud is just passing the Equator. Pearl, Eddie and myself, together with the other passengers, have been on deck watching the lovely sunset. Long before rich colors faded from the clouds, the stars were out and our gaze was turned toward the southern cross. Ah! How strange it all seems. We are now going at the rate of eleven knots an hour, which Hartwell well knows is great speed at this latitude; we have been becalmed three days, the heat most intense; you can realize how we all are rejoicing in this fair wind. Such is the size of this ship the motion is scarcely perceptible. We have been only a few days seasick; this evening all are well and in fine spirits.
Mrs. Graham, a lady from New York occupies the stateroom opposite mine. She is extremely pretty, kind, and obliging, but reads yellow covered books with great relish. She is only twenty-three. Her husband has been in California three years; has been successful, and she expects to remain in that country. Mrs. Creesy, the Captain's lady, is a very social, gentle, kind-hearted women. I like her very much. The Captain is a most excellent officer, but is said to be brusque and tyrannical to the sailors. That is enough, if true, to condemn him. Two young ladies from Roxbury Mass., Sarah and Ellen Lyon and their brother are going to the Sandwich Islands. Both homely, homelike companionable girls, who read the Young Ladies Friend with serious faces, the brother meanwhile retailing stale puns and jokes, passing them off As his own. Francesco Wadsworth, a young, graceful, handsome, Italian from New York, who dances the polka and reads questionable French novels part of each day, sing snatches from Italian Operas in a rich mellow voice and playing the gallant and agreeable to each of us the rest of the time.
Mr. Coffin from Baltimore, a finished, traveling gentleman, well bread, (sic) well read, posted up on every subject, fine looking to boot, traveling for pleasure, has passed the Horn thirteen times, where he has become acquainted with my friend Judge Heydenfelt. He entertains me highly with pleasing reminiscences of travel and plays chess with the Captain.
A young merry faced fellow from New York, J. D. Townsend, is going the whole voyage to China, round the world, only think of it. Just for pleasure; claims to be a nephew of Albert Lawrence. He is not quite twenty; talks big of his fast horses, etc., drinks claret, champagne and cherry bounce as if he loves it; says Eddie is the smartest boy he ever saw. He is now with him on deck shouting Uncle Ned at the top of his voice. He sings, "I wish I were a boy again." capitally. Still I often wish it was a familiar voice I was listening to. I sometimes feel like a "lovelorn women" who things have gone contrary to. We have spoken a French ship, caught a shark, seen lots of flying fish, watch the little Portuguese Men of War go gaily past with their sails of purple gossamer; whales and dolphins we have yet to see. The Captain hopes to speak a ship bound for the United States so as you perceive I am jotting these things down hastily, that I may have something like a letter ready. You don't know how odd it seems of a morning when comfortably seated in my rocking chair on deck, gazing over the broad ocean, to hear roosters crowing, hens cackling, turkeys gobbling, pigs grunting and lambs bleating. There is an immense amount of livestock aboard, and our ice house is well stocked with fresh provisions, so no danger but we shall fare well enough, let the voyage be so long. We number, sailors and all, seventy-eight, quite a village. We had been but a fortnight out when we lost our main and mizzen to'gallant mast and discovered that our main mast was sprung. It is a pity of course it will not do to crowd on sail and we cannot make the voyage so soon as we otherwise should; besides the Capt. fears we may lose the mast in passing the dreaded "World's Corner" Cape Horn. I find I am the only coward among the company, isn't that too bad? Mrs. C. has been to China several times but never drempt (sic) of being afraid. Oh dear! Well I can't help it; I don't feel safe at sea. We have first rate steward and cabin boy, the latter a chinaman, named Ching, a perfect character; he amuses me much with his broken English. I am going to take his likeness and will send it to you some day if the mermaids don't get it. I have made three elaborate drawings; one from Scott of Melrose Abbey; another of Bernard Castle. The time passes quickly. Oh how I would like the daily papers. I want to know what is going on in Boston and vicinity. I want to see all the folks at Whitman's the Silsbys and hosts of others that I shall always remember so pleasantly. Shall I ever see their faces again? Yes, I believe so.
The Fourth of July: Willie Hall chosen the orator of the day. Behold us all on the clean deck dressed in our very gayest, gents and ladies with their faces beaming gladly; all determined to be happy. This bell rings for dinner. We descend to the richly furnished cabin. I must name the goodies that crowd our tables. Roast turkey and chickens with oyster sauce, roast pig, boiled ham, all kinds of vegetables, English plum pudding tarts, Blanc Mange, walnuts, filberts, almonds, raisons, oranges, apples, champagne, Madeira in abundance. Then came the toasts, some very good, but scarcely worth repeating. I hasten to give the lines composed by Willie for the occasion-you may be sure the poet was applauded and toasted again and again, but he wore his honors meekly. We spent the evening on deck, singing and telling stories. I must admit it was a merry and happy day, tho' on the great deep. We are continually seeing ships but they are going the same way as ourselves, bound for La Platte or Valparaiso. The Captains exchange a few words and wish each other success. We then shoot ahead and in a few hours not even the top of their proud masts are seen. The Captain nor anyone on board ever knew as fast a sailor as our proud Flying Cloud. I have read so much of the Rio that I was almost sorry we were not obliged to go in there, but we flew by on the wings of the winds. Ah me! How I long for the shady trees and the songs of the birds. Mrs. Creesy tells with what delight she has treasured a blade of grass. I can believe her. I wish you could see Mrs. C. such glorious eyes I never saw, large liquid and hazel soft as a gazelle's and always beaming with kindness on someone. I love her dearly. Today I painted a Moss rosebud. You may be sure I did it my best. This morning you should have heard an exclamation of delight at a lovely rainbow reflected vividly in the water. Imagine if you can the immense circle, brilliant, glowing. How we wished Kate and Mira and all friends to behold it with us. Not withstanding the monotony of this ocean life, many, many is the time that I wish you present to watch the towering crested waves follow each other, dashing the white spray against the vessel, or with us to enjoy the beauties of the tropical sunsets, but we are fast approaching a cold and gloomy region. I have no words to express the fear I have of passing the Horn. I try to banish all thoughts of it by pleasant conversations with Willie whose talk is as interesting As any book. A perfect Jean Paul I call him. His time is much occupied in writing a certain "Record of Impressions" which it is quite probably you will some day see. He can, if he will, acquire fame as a writer and I shall be much disappointed if he does not have published this work which eagerly I peruse in as he advances.
As you will perceive, I am very blue this morning (Blue Ink). we are off La Platte and have encountered a severe gale, the worst is now over but the remark from the Captain that this is but a taste of what we will get off the Cape sets me shaking with terror. I have been playing sick and kept to my stateroom the two last days ashamed to have them all know how frightened I was, like with what a remorseless sound the immense waves strike our proud ship, making furious but vain efforts to overwhelm us. To crown the whole, W. read me Melville's account of passing the Horn. You will find it in white jacket. You will not wonder at my dread. Eddie was a great deal alarmed and wished many times that he had remained ashore with aunt Kate. We talk about you every day and Ed carries your miniature about with him. I hope you received the little present he sent from New York to you and Mrs. Hall. That lovely ride to Monument Mountain and the delightful scenery along the Hudson I shall never forget; how much you would have enjoyed it. Then too, those superb paintings at the Dusseldorf Gallery. You must see them especially the martyrdom of Hesse. How many times we wished Kate with us. While at the Astor Hotel Eddie made the acquaintance of a Mr. Delvan, a great temperance man. He manifested great interest in E. and visited the ship with us and advised us which room to select near the center, as being steadier; on the day we sailed from New York we found in Ned's berth a large elegantly bound Temperance offering "Edward C. Delevan of Ballston Center, New York to his young friend Edward C. Bowman." No really that was quite a pleasant incident, wasn't it? Many of the best pieces are written by MR. Delevan. You know what an acquisition Eddie would consider it to his little library. While we were at the Howard, Jenny Lind gave us a concert at Castle Garden. I gave Eddie a dollar in order to go but he bought Pilgrims Progress instead. I was so surprised at his choice. When at the Delevan House, Albany, (so named in honor of our new friend) I made the acquaintance of Mrs. Wiley, one of the most social little women I ever met. She introduced herself to me when she found I was going to California; as her husband is in Happy Valley, about a mile from San Francisco and she is going out by way of the Isthmus. I shall be delighted to meet her there, maybe I shall see the mermaids instead. Our handsome Italian speaks French fluently as I speak English and very kindly gives Eddie a lesson every day. We smile at some of his stories. Can't believe too many of them, especially about being introduced to the Duke of Wellington, having a cozy little tete a tete with Louis Phillipe, being presented to Queen Victoria, visiting Eugene Sue at his splendid villa, etc., etc., not to mention his having a servant killed while traveling in Italy and also having fought two duels, though as Willie says, failing to exhibit any scars. He also lost two diamond pins since he has been aboard, but never mentioned it until we were admiring one which Mr. Coffin wears. So foolish to tell such silly lies. He constantly reminds me of a certain person at W.
The Captain is an able seaman no doubt, but I will not wrong my conscience by calling him a gentleman. He is overbearing and jealous of every attention bestowed by the passengers upon the mate. He is at this moment saying "In '38 I was in the Java Straits" but I won't listen for the other day I almost laughed in his face on his describing a cave he had seen, "most splendid all being hung with putrifications." I don't think Mr. Lyon improved upon it much when speaking of that wonderful cave at Capri as being covered with "chrysalis," true upon my word. W. was on deck and heard it as well as myself. Little Pearl shares his stateroom. Only think of her sharing a den with such a lyon. Eddie is on deck most of his time, conversing with the second mate (Mr. Smith) a very intelligent man who seems very fond of Eddie. He was with Wilkes in his famous South Sea expedition and of course has many stories of his exciting adventures by land and sea. All the sailors like to have Eddie for'rd and he declared that none of them use foul or vulgar language before him so I allow him to go. You would smile at his collection of precious things, tarred rope, balls of twine, wings of flying fish, lignum vitae blocks, whales tooth, a sharks jaw, a leather strip with sheath for a knife such as all sailors wear, sail makers needles, marlin spike made from elephants tooth, pieces of tortoise shell, and mother of pearl, all of which relics are of untold value in his eyes. He has been up aloft repeatedly and knows every rope on the ship, tell(s) of seeing land on the larboard bow, etc., etc. There seems a charm to him in everything about a sailor, wears nearly all his shirts outside his pants, affects even their careless, swaggering gait and you may be sure sings all their songs, one of which ends "clear the way, let the Flying Cloud come."
There are sad complaints of hard fare. Many a cake I have smuggled from the table and given to the men at the wheel when the mates are not looking. Ed feeds the men up whenever he can. It gives me more satisfaction than anything else to meet the grateful pleased faces of the sailors. They are all friends to me. The Captain speaks of them as if they were dogs, I hate him cordially. Every man of them will leave at San Francisco and by so doing you know they forfeit their pay (except a month allowed in advance.) Even the second mate and third mate will not make the entire voyage, they consider the Captain so mean. However matters may be exaggerated. I hope so in all events. Mrs. Gorham and Townsend have got up a flirtation. Well I should judge it might be a pleasant way to pass off the long evening. She is always most tastefully dressed. In fact, her Irish maid says she puts on her back the top of her trunk. She is always sailing gracious to everyone. Her husband is twenty years older than herself. She married at fourteen, never had any children and does not hesitate to tell me that she never had any feeling other than respect for Mr. G. Ellen M. is engaged to Mr. Bois, a young lawyer in Oregon. She is delighted with the idea of living there. How strange these short, dark days seem, the sun only mounts a few degrees above the horizon. Lamps are lighted soon after three in the cabin. We all gather around a stove and have pleasant chats about different places we each have visited. The weather is much warmer than I anticipated. We are at this moment passing the straits of La Maire. Now we are gazing at the land on both sides, cold snow tipped cliffs rise barren, forbidding, and abrupt from the sea. Little charm has such land for me. Green turf overshadowed by graceful elms, like those at Beaumont Villa. Ah! The tears will come when I remember the fruits and flowers, and shade trees and bird notes, we enjoy there. The all too pleasant walks you are having in the warm moonlight, or sitting in your cozy room, the heliotropes, and roses that Curtis gave you all in blossom. I certainly am homesick for I can't stop crying. I want to see Charlie Bowman. The time very long since I have had a letter and I am imagining all sorts of gloomy things.
July 22. Now Kate I know you will rejoice with me for we have passed Cape Horn. I have been on deck all morning making a sketch which I will send. Contrary to all expectations the weather was mild, a steady ten knot breeze wafted us safely by. All hands were gay and I was never so happy in my life. We were about six miles distant but the jagged, and stormy point seemed much nearer. We had no ice al all, only a little hail and snow, none of which was visible when morning dawned. The sun shone more brilliantly than it had for several days before. The Captain said that we should not have had such luck once in 500 times. Mr. Ward Townsend made drawings as did Willie. W's was much the best, I think better than my own, but the Captain had done me the honor to request a copy of mine, which of course I shall give him tho I cannot grant him a favor with so good grace as I could that best woman in the world, his wife. Terra del Fuego, I little thought, say five years ago, ever to be looking upon its desolate, frozen shores. In the distance that snowy mountains and frost covered rocks look like turreted, castle forts and battlements, a soft, blue haze descends and gives really a charm to the scene. Occasionally a stern dark rock rises abruptly from the ocean in strange contrast with the snowy background. I am glad to have seen all this, shall sleep better tonight as usual.
* * * * *
On July 22nd, the Flying Cloud approached the Strait of Le Maire and ran head-on into a heavy gale accompanied with rain and sleet, and Captain Creesy was forced to bear off and wait out the storm. Off the starboard bow, Creesy spotted Cape San Diego fifteen miles away just before the storm got worse. The Strait of Le Marie, while treacherous in foul weather, offered a shorter passage to Cape Horn, so Creesy tacked back and forth, east to west, through the night as Ellen consulted her charts, along with Maury's Sailing Directions, and fixed the ship's position. She also figured out where she wanted the Flying Cloud to be the next day and navigated a course to take through the night that would position them near the entrance of the strait in the morning.
In the early hours of July 23rd, the storm petered out and the clouds had lifted by 6 a.m. The entrance of the Strait Le Maire lay dead ahead of them and Cape San Diego was off to starboard ten miles away and the crosscurrents and tide were running in their favor. Creesy immediately called for more sail for the fore and mizzen spars, but he had already taken down the mainmast's upper yards because of the mast's weakened condition. Fearing that the stress might be too much if they ran into any screaming westerlies, he would take the Flying Cloud around the Horn before returning the upper yards to their proper place.
The Flying Cloud ran through the strait in 12 hours, most excellent time, and soon entered the open sea running through the head tide currents south of Cape Horn. Under clear skies, Perkins decided to take a chance and tack for the northeast that would bring them close to land, rather then tacking to the southwest, in hopes of catching more favorable winds. Off the starboard bow, Perkins saw off in the distance the rocks and the snowy cliffs of Cape Horn that crashed down into the sea and could well imagine the heavy rollers smashing up against the rocks.
The Flying Cloud was 50 days out of New York that July 23rd, as Perkins noted in his log: "Cape Horn N 5 miles at 8 A.M., the whole coast covered with snow-wild ducks numerous."
The clipper tacked again and made for the open sea and soon encountered a series of snow squalls. Suddenly, the screaming westerlies tapered off and the cycle reversed, just like Maury said it occasionally would, and now the easterlies came on and filled the sails of the Flying Cloud and she raced around the Horn to the Pacific, never going below 56° 04' south latitude. The westerlies did not return until July 26th. The Flying Cloud had only taken seven days to make it from "Fifty to Fifty," from 50° south latitude in the Atlantic to 50° south latitude in the Pacific and set the record. On July 27th, Creesy "set all possible sail" and caught the stiff breezes up the Pacific Coast of South America, bound for California in bursts of amazing speed.
The steady northeasterly winds swung around on July 31st and filled the Flying Cloud's sails from the southeast. Perkins noted in his log:
July 31.--Fresh breezes and fine weather. All sails set. At 2 P.M., wind south-east. At 6 squally, in lower and topgallant studding sails. 7 P.M., in royals. 2 A.M., in foretopmast studdingsail. Later part strong gales and high sea running, ship very wet fore and aft. Distance run this day, 374 miles. During the squalls 18 knots of line was not sufficient to measure the rate of speed. Topgallant sails set.
The Flying Cloud, by Ellen's calculations taken that evening, had sailed faster and farther that day than any other ship in the world up to then. The Creesys were most jubilant that night.
Gale force winds forced Captain Creesy to reef down his foretopsails and mizzentop sails for a while, but they soon went up again and the Flying Cloud ran unleashed to the north, catching the powerful steady winds from the east-southeast. The sailors were able to relax on deck and take in the sun during their free time as the helmsman steered a steady course.
The only problem that Creesy had to deal with was that of his First Mate Thomas Austin whom he still had pegged as a shirker. Creesy solved his problem by suspending his First Mate from duty. His log notes of August 3rd spelled it out:
August 3.--Suspended first officer from duty, in consequence of his arrogating to himself the privilege of cutting up rigging contrary to my orders, and long continued neglect of duty.
On August 4th, the cape pigeons that had been following the Flying Cloud for the past month departed as the ship approached the tropics. Soon, the Flying Cloud encountered flying fish, porpoises, and a wide assortment of tropical birds that accompanied the ship as she crossed the equator on August 12th "at 4 p.m. 71 days 1 1/2 hours from N.Y., 20 days, 7 1/2 hours from C. Horn."
The next 12 days were glorious and Creesy repeatedly wrote "Fine Weather" in his log. The 13th day was unlucky for the Flying Cloud with "fine at intervals" and "Light squalls of rain" recorded in the log. But the squalls out of the southeast filled the clipper's sails and pulled her across the equator through the calm belt of the doldrums in good time. Creesy kept his crew busy aloft with all his frequent tacking in his efforts to catch every puff of wind.
Soon, the winds shifted again and came out of the northeast. The winds steadily increased sending the Flying Cloud roaring to the north over the next two weeks on a course that Ellen had carefully plotted following the advise of Maury's Sailing Directions. She had taken the Flying Cloud on a steady course far out to sea some 1300 miles west off the California coast, where Maury said they would find the winds they so eagerly sought. As they crossed the latitude parallel with Santa Barbara on August 24th, the Flying Cloud began an easterly tack for the Golden Gate.
The spirits of all aboard were high with thoughts of San Francisco and lasted as long as the winds, which unfortunately began to drop off and soon completely died leaving the Flying Cloud to ghost along as best she could.
To escape the calm, Creesy sought to bring the yards around from the deck by hauling on the braces. They were so distracted that they did not even see at first the barque Amelia Paquet as she slowly approached. The passengers of the British barque lined the rail to marvel at the spectacle of an American clipper ship with her figurehead of an angel holding a trumpet leading the way.
The two captains had time to lift their speaker trumpets and exchange hails. Those aboard the Flying Cloud heard that the Amelia Paquet was 180 days out of London. The Amelia Paquet passengers were astonished to hear that the Flying Cloud was only 84 days out of New York. No one aboard the Amelia Paquet ever forgot the sight of the Flying Cloud. For when the late afternoon winds finally came, the clipper soon overhauled them and flew on past with her skysails set, flying the red, white, and blue swallowtail house flag from her raking mast as she knifed her way through the waves. Eventually, the Yankee clipper disappeared on the eastern horizon.
Around this time, passenger Laban Coffin found himself confronted with a dire predicament and dealt with it in a unique way, as the following passage will attest:
Laban was challenged to a duel by another passenger. The challenge arose out of their rivalry for the attention of Sarah. The Flying Cloud carried chicken coops to supply fresh meat for the voyage which were, in fair weather, slung outboard over the gun'ls. Every time the ship crested a heavy sea the chickens would stick their necks out between the slats. Laban was reluctant to fight the duel but love and honor prevented him from backing out. He therefore resolved to intimidate his rival by demonstrating his marksmanship. He would ask the cook how many chickens he needed for supper and then with deadly accuracy shoot their heads off as the ship went into the trough of the sea and the chicks stuck their necks out. The rival, not being willing to stick his neck out, soon reneged and, presumably, stayed in his cabin for the remainder of the voyage.
On August 27th, Creesy had found the "fresh breezes" again, along with some squalls that sent the Flying Cloud romping along with all sails flying, with Creesy now anticipating that he was going to set the record for the San Francisco run. The winds were gusty on August 29th and the topgallant mast toppled over, but despite the "heavy squalls with high sea," Creesy swiftly cut away the wreckage and reset the topgallant mast in 24 hours. He would not be denied his record.
The Flying Cloud continued to the north, pushed on by the squalls along the California coast. Over the nighttime early hours of August 31st, Ellen calculated that there was a danger that they might run right past the Golden Gate in the predawn darkness and told her husband to hove too till daylight.
In the early hours of morning, they were in the vicinity of South Farallon Island, and within an hour a pilot boat arrived alongside to escort the Flying Cloud through the Golden Gate for a record voyage of 89 days, 21 hours. They had eclipsed a week off the previous record of 96 days, 21 hours set by the Surprise on March 19, 1851.
The three-month barrier was shattered and the San Francisco waterfront went wild with excitement. Creesy was strangely low key about his accomplishment, recording in his log: "Came to anchor in five fathoms water off North Beach San Francisco Harbor."
On top of nearby Telegraph Hill, there was a two-story house with a tower extended from the roof that housed a semaphore that signaled the arrival at the Golden Gate of every approaching vessel to the harbor along with its class. Whenever a clipper arrived from the East, swarms of small boats soon converged upon the ship from shore, all the runners aboard the boats most eager to lure the sailors off to the saloons, gambling halls, and bordellos of the city. Anxious auctioneers and traders would shout out inquiries to the officers on deck as to the cargo in the hold in hopes of acquiring merchandise that had been scarce in the city as of late to sell at a profit.
The Flying Cloud's arrival caused quite a stir among San Franciscans, even though many clippers, over 100, had come and gone over the summer and 100 more were expected over September and October. It was a Sunday and great crowds of people gathered throughout North Beach to take in a glimpse of the Flying Cloud and to marvel at this latest wonder of the American shipping world that had come around the Horn and was now anchored in the bay. Many in the crowds were anxious to hear the latest news from the East.
The following day, September 1st, the Alto California called the Flying Cloud a "skimmer of the seas." On that day the pilot, Edward Palmer, a member of the Opposition Pilots, brought the Flying Cloud around Telegraph Hill to Cunningham's Wharf "from the sea to her moorings," at the foot of Vallejo and Green Streets. He moored the Flying Cloud to the 375 foot wharf north of Yerba Buena Cove for a charge of $160 that was figured by her twenty foot draught at $8 per foot. Another fee was paid to the Harbor Master, George Simpton, that was figured out by a tonnage rate of 4¢ per ton computed out to $71.35 as the Flying Cloud's registered tonnage was 1783 tons.
Upon departing the Flying Cloud in San Francisco, Sarah Bowman wrote her sister the following letter:
San Francisco
September 1. We arrived here yesterday in fine health and spirits. Found Charlie well and oh so happy to see us. Everyone here is talking about our passage, the quickest ever known, 89 days, 20 hours. I have a fine suite of rooms, the parlors and our chambers, very elegantly furnished. Charles has three stores, one of them very large, is more than satisfied with his success, notwithstanding his loss by fire in May which was great. David is well content etc. and making money fast. I am sorry to close so abruptly but I have no time. Caddie T. is fine and having a great time flirting with all the gents. I see many familiar faces, on the whole am better pleased with the city than I expected to be. Will write you at length when I see more of it. Eddie has written you a letter too long to send with this. I hope you will excuse me for preferring to send my own.
Your affectionate sister,
Sarah H. Bowman
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