Great Republic Volumes have been written about the Great Republic, in that it dwarfed all other clippers of its time. Christened after a poem of the same name by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Great Republic remains to this day the greatest wooden clipper ever built. The massive ship had four decks and was designed to carry 45,000 square feet of canvas on fifty sails, set on four masts. The fore, main, and mizzen masts were approximately forty-four inches in diameter and 130 feet long. Her size was daunting, especially compared to what the maritime world had been accustomed, and she required an enormous amount of manpower to operate. “She was a perfect wonder in naval architecture, being the largest merchant vessel ever constructed in this or any other country.”1 No wonder her loss was considered a “national calamity” as many headlines proclaimed. The ship had berthed on a wharf at the foot of Dover Street, just south of where the Brooklyn Bridge would eventually be built. In the third week of December, she was opened to the public for viewing. For one week, New Yorkers could pay 12.5 cents to come on board and get an up-close view. Approximately 40,000 people took advantage of the opportunity. The Great Republic was to put to sea with the largest cargo ever carried across the oceans. Literally adding fuel to the fire, once pieces of the tarred rig began to drop 30
library of congress
sight, and many were destined to be household names. Such was the era of the midnineteenth century in a port town. The fire had started in the rear of a building at 244 Front Street, which was occupied by Mr. Treadwell and Sons. The bakery was incinerated, as was a ship supply building and other businesses nearby. In total, nine buildings were destroyed and many more damaged. Yet it was the destruction of the ships on the waterfront that gripped the nation, and for which it mourned. The fire would have long been forgotten, perhaps never making it into history books, but for the loss of two ships in particular, McKay’s pride and joy and Jacob Bell’s White Squall. To say the loss of the Great Republic was mourned nationwide is not an exaggeration. The country grieved, despite the fact that there was no loss of life.
Clipper Ship Great Republic docked at the Wall Street Ferry terminal, Brooklyn, New York City, ca. 1860, after she had been rebuilt and put back into service. to the deck, the cargo below—cedar wood, wheat, corn, flour, cotton, beef, lard, teas, rosin, tobacco, and argols—was just as flammable and fed the inferno. “Owing to the immense height of her masts, it was impossible for the engines to play upon the flames,” read a New York Herald report the next day. As the ship was fully loaded, the cargo provided one benefit in that the hull was sitting low in the water. Even today the inferno would have been difficult to extinguish and the outcome the same: all cargo lost and the 335-foot-long ship burned to the water line. Despite the gallant efforts of the fire crews, the flames could not be extinguished and the decision to scuttle the ship came late in the morning of the 27th. Its maiden voyage would have to be postponed. Postponed? The ship was sent to be rebuilt at the Sneeden and Whitlock shipyard in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, and two years later, she successfully completed her maiden voyage, departing New York Har-
bor on 25 February 1855. She was relaunched under the same name. Although she had lost one of her decks, the gunwale was rebuilt to exact specifications, keeping her lines almost intact. As testament to how well the ship was originally constructed, the rebuilt ship had a long and productive life, and reached speeds that were the envy of many. On one occasion, she was reported to have overtaken McKay’s other masterpiece, Flying Cloud. White Squall I return to the story that inspired this article. Brooklyn—not yet then part of New York City—had a long tradition of separating itself from the Isle of Manhattan. Across the river from the conflagration that winter night, its residents had a front row seat to the tragedy and would refer to the calamity by another name. Then as today, life is a matter of perspective, and the perspective of Brooklynites in the early morning hours of 27 December was decidedly different SEA HISTORY 168, AUTUMN 2019