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One of the toughest courses ever run by sailing ships was the sea route from North Atlantic ports to San Francisco by way of Cape Horn. Under normal conditions it was a run of more than seven­teen thousand miles. One hundred and thirty days sailing was regarded as a fair passage. But those gold-seekers born and bred in seaports, the sons of men who had outrun British blockades and traded from L'Orient and Havre to the hongs of China and the islands of the South Pacific, were not to be terrified by gales and high seas. Men who could name every tag of rigging and each plank in a hull would be the last to entrust their fortunes to the unknown vagaries of mules and wagons.
The Cape Horn route had been well advertised (see pages 18 and 19) . Many adventurers booked single passage, but the stories of the long road by sea which have come down to us are stories of the "Companies" which banded together for the run, much as did the overland groups. There were, however, interesting points of difference.
A supposed financial advantage was one of the principal motives behind company organization for the long voyage. Many sea-going companies bought their own vessels and paid for them by subscribing cash. Each member received participating shares in return for his money. It was the belief of the promoters that the ships could be sold on arrival at San Francisco, or else used for trading ventures in the Pacific or along the coast. The return on these ventures was estimated sufficient to finance the company's mining operations, and any excess profit was to be paid as dividends to the shareholders.
Under the articles which the members of these companies signed, a strict division of labor was to be enforced on arrival at the gold regions. The men would work for the common good, and the golden yield would be divided on the basis of the number of shares held. An almost Puritan code of behavior was made obligatory on the members of the company. They sailed in most cases with the echoes of earnest farewell sermons ringing in their ears. One Boston company was given a handsomely-bound pulpit Bible as a collective gift at parting, and in addition each man received a small Bible. With these went the admonition that the members "were going to a far country where all were in ignorance and sin." The men were told that it was their duty to go with the Bible in one hand and their good New England civilization in the other; thereby to conquer wicked­ness and implant their principles on the soil of California.
Alas and alack! Stout ships were already going begging at San Francisco—the days of the coast­wise trade were over—sick men and idle men could not or would not do their share of work—and the highest principles were not always proof against the social conditions to be found in the mining camps. Yet the monotonous and often trying voyage in crowded ships taught lessons of self-reliance and self-control to the stouter-fibred. When the disappointments and failures encountered at jour­ney's end broke up and dissipated the companies, many individuals rose out of the wreck to win success and leave their mark on the law, the politics or the commercial life of the emerging state.
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