“Steamboat Traffic on the Clyde

“Article II

“Our last article closed with a statement to the effect that in 1817 Mr David Hutcheson came to Glasgow as a clerk to the two luggage boats, the Trusty and Industry. When a boy at Port-Glasgow, Mr Hutcheson witnessed the building of the Comet, and remembers being present when she was put on the station in the beginning of 1812. For many years subsequent to this date steamships were propelled by two paddle wheels, similarly constructed to undershot water mill-wheels places on each side of the vessel. In some boats they were fitted at right angles to the sides of the ship; in others in a circular direction; and in a third class, in an oblique form.

An early Clyde steamboat from an “Essai” by Joachim Gilbert, published in 1820

Engine arrangement of the above steamboat showing oblique paddles

“The cabins and steerages were fitted up, according to the advertisements, with every convenience, the former being provided with “interesting books and all the various periodicals of the day.” Breakfasts, dinners, and all manner of eatables and drinkables were also to be had on board when required, although the prandial arrangements were in some instances a trifle primitive. Thus on one occasion the steward entered the cabin, where the passengers were seated, waiting impatiently for the advent of their dinner, and coolly said—“Shentlemen, they’ll be nae dinner here the day, for the plates were new washed yesterday.” The same official, on being reproached by a fastidious passenger on the dirtiness of the towel which had been supplied to him, remarked in indignant surprise—“Dirty, sir, dirty! *od man, that’s queer—mair nor a hunder shentemen hae dried themselves wi’ the same towel, and ye’re the first that has complained yet.” The usual fair to Greenock was 4s cabin, and 2s 6d steerage. A air idea of the value of one of these early ships may be had from the following estimate of the cost of a steamboat of 20 horse-power, built by Wood, and engined by James Cook, Tradeston, in 1816:—

Plan of the Albion (© CSG CIC Glasgow Museums and Libraries Collection:The Mitchell Library, Special Collections)

“The number of men employed to manage each vessel was eight, as thus:—

“Since those days, the character of the crew, and the relations in which they stood to the passengers, have greatly changed. Anyone who chose could be a captain, certificates and examinations being then unknown, and it was not unknown for men who had made a little money in trade to invest their savings in a steamboat, wherein to install themselves as captain. Skipper, pilot, engineers, deck hands, and steward were all on terms of the greatest familiarity with one another, and with the public who travelled by their respective boats. To use the words employed by an old river captain, “They were all Jock Tamson’s bairns.” In an emergency, every man on board, from the captain to the cook, threw off his coat and helped to discharge the cargo, their labours being sometimes seconded by the passengers. For many years, down indeed until a comparatively recent period, the steamers lay at the lower end of Clyde Street and westwards, none being allowed nearer the bridge. In the spring of 1824 a neat cast-iron lighthouse, illuminated by gas, was erected at the foot of Brown Street, containing a clock, its dial fronting the east, for the regulation of the traffic, in which place it remained, the observed of all observers, until about ten years ago, when it was removed.

The lighthouse at the Broomielaw

“The modern signal knocker is a comparatively recent invention, and the early captains merely bawled their orders down to the engine room. The first to introduce this improvement, in the shape originally of a rack-pin, was John Wilson, some thirty years ago, when captain of the Lochlomond, one of the “Dumbarton Steamboat Company’s” line which ran between Glasgow and Dumbarton. One of Wilson’s favourite modes of signalling was with a vigorous kick; but he kicked so vigorously that he soon kicked the toes off his boots, which led him to look around for a better and more economical mode of conveying his orders, and hence the invention of the rack-pin.

“As a rule, the early skippers were somewhat rough and uncultivated, and had rarely any practical or professional training before taking command of a ship. As to engineering, they were of course, altogether in the dark, which ignorance, or at least their consciousness of it, led to the exercise of a great amount of caution and care. To this circumstance, no doubt, is to be attributed the singular immunity from accidents which was enjoyed for so long a period by our river steamboats. One well-known skipper, who some forty years back, commanded either the Nimrod or the Kilmun—boats owned by a Mr Newlands and sailed at one time by Captains Currie and Clark—being better acquainted with horse-flesh than with nautical matters, was in the habit of shouting “Wo–o, wo–o, ye brute, wo!” and “Hup–hup, ge wo!” and the like, instead of the now conventional “Back her” and “Stop her,” &c.

“In place of the modern bell, which warns all concerned that time is up, each boat was provided with a horn, the tooting of which gave the required summons. The horn-man, indeed, was a person of considerable importance, as on his energy and activity depended, to a large extent, the number of passengers. Half-an-hour, in some cases more than that, before the time advertised for starting from the Broomielaw, “Cornutus,” as we shall take the liberty of calling the gentleman, perambulated the streets in the vicinity, calling aloud the name of the ship, the hour of starting, and the innumerable advantages which would accrue to all and sundry from sailing in his boat, and in no other. Sometimes the steamer started at the time advertised, and sometimes it didn’t; the latter, indeed, being the rule, the former the exception. They were not so experienced in engineering in those days, and at times had difficulty in getting the steam up. At others, the skipper was absent in a neighbouring public, drinking half ones to the success of the voyage, or the engineer was being treated by admiring friends, or the pilot had disappeared mysteriously up a close. Frequently, too, the cargo was slow of arriving, and no captain thought himself called on to sail without a decent complement of passengers. Over and over again were steamers known to wait for considerable periods for the arrival of one man, and the idea of starting so long as a single individual, who looked like an intending traveller, was within sight was not dreamed of. Nor was the journey the commonplace and monotonous affair into which it has now degenerated. The Rothesay boats and the Largs boats went either to Rothesay or Largs and no more, such a thing as a return journey on the same day being unknown. consequently, persons who sailed from Glasgow to the coast had always to wait over the night, not infrequently on the hill-side, on the place where they had gone to. The first person to inaugurate the double journey in the same day was Captain Duncan M‘Kellar, whose name has been familiar to everyone connected with the Clyde and its traffic for upwards of half a century, and who, although retired, is at this moment a hale and hearty man. Some time in or about 1833 Captain M‘Kellar performed the extraordinary feat of running to Largs &c., and back on the same day, which wonderful daring, and the exceeding swiftness of the passage, filled everyone with astonishment. About this time it was that the Millport pier was built, and also the piers at Gourock, Dunoon, and Largs. Up till then the only wharf at Gourock consisted of a pile of stones—a sort of fisherman’s quay; and the one at Largs was an insignificant erection of wood. At these, and most of the other places of call, passengers were conveyed ashore and brought on board by means of ferry boats, which rumour has it, were a source of great profit to the various skippers. These honest skippers, or at least one or two of them, although for our own part we only give the story for what it is worth, looked upon the people who came in at the ferries, as a sort of irregular freight, for whose passage money they were not accountable to the owners of the ship. Accordingly the odd shillings derived in this way went into the skipper’s own purse, as perquisites, or nautical godsends, to be expended in drinking the owner’s health. A common question which was put to the captain by his friends on meeting him, either on board ship or after the journey, was—“Well, captain, many ferries to-day?” coupled with the significant hint, “What do you stand!” But these be stories told by the scandalous, and not to be credited by decent people. As to the drinking, however, there can be no doubt. Each steamer had its own particular patrons—jolly old nine-tumblers-of-toddy men—who looked upon the ship as their club house, and the captain as their senior member, or sort of spiritual and gastronomical father. From the time of departing to the arrival at their destination, they drank their punch right on, and discussed the topics of the day—it might be the great Reform Bill, or the Chartist riots, or the Continental wars—and made themselves generally cozy and comfortable. It is even reported, and that on authority the most unimpeachable, that not unfrequently, on coming to a watering place, the captain called to “let go the anchor,” while he went on shore with some of his cronies, and spent an hour or more in Widow M‘Clusky’s over the gill-stoup. “Let doon ye’r treple and let her stood where she wash as she wash,” was a common cry with a well-known Highland skipper, long since dead and gone.”