LOG CHIPS: John & Mitchell Lyman's Newsletter lives On ''To preserve and disseminate in a concise form the researches of the Editor and his correspondents, and to serve as a means of communication among them. To present, in an extremely simple format, lists and tabular matter of slight interest to the casual reader, but of permanent value to the serious student." This, in part, is the way John Lyman described the purpose of the modest periodical Log Chips, when he founded it in July 1948. John, and his wife Mitchell Lyman, produced it as an unillustrated newsletter, twelve pages per issue, with typewriter and borrowed mimeograph machine. The masthead reads "A Periodical Publication of Recent Maritime History ,'' but the subject matter has always been almost exclusively 19th and 20th century sailing ships . The character of the periodical clearly reflected the interests of John and Mitchell and their circle of fellow contributors . The form its content would take was established with the first issues, and remains largely unchanged. There have been lists of sailing ship launchings by year, covering schooners and square-rig, for the United States , Great Britain, France, Germany , Holland and Denmark. There have also been histories of individual shipyards in this country, on both coasts. There have also been accounts of trips to points of maritime historic interest (the early ones by now make fascinating reading, in light of all the changes that have taken place, particularly in the area of marine museums and ship preservation). And there have been reports of sailing ship events, book reviews, and articles on research resources useful to maritime historians. Log Chips, in its original mimeographed form, lasted until 1959. Because of the wealth of information assembled, a complete set of these early issues has become an essential part of the library of any serious sailing ship historian . They are not easy to come by, as only originals will Xerox satisfactorily . The National Maritime Historical Society is continuing the publication of Log Chips, in the form of "supplements " edited by Norman Brouwer, historian of the South Street Seaport Museum. These are not produced on a regular schedule, but so far as possible at the rate of three or four a year. Persons interested are advised to subscribe for three or four issues by payment of $2.00 each. The Society seeks funds to re-publish the original Log Chips, along with the information in the supplements , in book NB form, re-edited and indexed. 28
The Himalaya, above, lies at her last mooring , in Noumea, where she was cut down to a barge. In her outward passage from San Francisco in 1926, young Jean Schoen was aboard as a passenger seeking adventure under sail. She knew the vessel was no flyer , but found the beauty expressed in the photograph above, and put it in a poem written aboard-the first we have ever published in SEA HISTORY.
THE LAST PASSAGE by Jean Schoen Smith
I am the Himalaya. Long years ago, fresh from the hands Of men who loved their work, I slid the ways of SunderlandA glad , proud ship with iron hull , Square-rigged masts, and a clean clipper bow To cleave the Seven Seas. For forty years I spread white sails Upon the ocean's shifting face. Cargoes of wool from the Antipodes, Or tea from China carried I, To ports that know the clipper trade no more. Men said that I was slow . Perhaps. But many a gallant ship That passed me by, showing the white foam Of a contemptuous wake, Failed to drop anchor in the quiet roads Where finally I came to rest, The voyage done. Their bones Lie whitening on some far coral strand Or foul with the slow slime of years Deep in an uncharted grave. And I? My place usurped by ships That scorn caprice of wind or tide, I turned at last from the broad highway Of commerce: never more to hear Above the blizzard 's whistling moan The bells of many a long-forgotten ship Tolling with ghostlike synchrony The resonant death-music of the Horn. No more to scud before a stiffening breeze Cutting blue water into far-flu ng spray, Or underneath the brilliant tropic moon Trail a wide blaze of phosphorescence, Running the easting down. All things pass. My proud days done, I joined the fishing fleet , And with the glory of departed times Went my identity. Star of Peru men called me now.
Jean as we shall always think of her, stepping off the pier onto the decks ofthe inter-island schooner Loyaute,for a voyage embracing some ofthe most niagic experiences of her worldwide travels.
Each spring we sailed beyond the Golden Gate And, turning northward , met the salmon run ; Each fall came back to rest in silent tiers , Our lofty spars and yards crisscrossed In an anachronistic silhouette Against the harbor sky of San Francisco Bay. Twenty long years. And now my usefulness Even among the fisher fleet is spent. Ships, like men, grow old, and one by one Creep silently into the past. I, too. A warehouse barge: to such a fate come I, Mastless and soulless in a far calm port To rot away, this time renamed The Bougainville. One last farewell! Manned by an alien crew , but Himalaya still , I turn once more my prow to westward , Know for the last time the salt surge Of deep water under a strong keel , The hiss of gray rollers licking my iron sides, The exultant list to leeward, running free . Through my worn rigging and the ancient spars That dip once more beneath the Southern Cross , The trade wind blows glad welcome, And my patched sails, in straining ecstasy, Full-bellied , lean a long last time Against the infinite loneliness of sea and sky. Farewell!