Imagine.

Imagine losing your rudder out at sea and sending out a distress call. And then the largest ocean-going wooden sailing ship in the world comes to your rescue. Or in the words of the sailors on the sailing boat: "This moment was very strange, and we wondered if we were dreaming. Where were we? What time period was it?"

Re-Echoed.

Wyeth, N.C., Elizabethan Galleons, 1924

THE GALLEON

And at the last

They took the timbers next the old ship's heart,

And carved a stately chair, and set it up

By Oxford town, in Bodley's library.

Where some declare her spirit haunts the place

In gentle guise, so that if one should come

To seek for rest and wisdom, he shall find

Such treasure as he'd miss in many books

And going forth, renewed in faith and hope,

Prevail against a world of obstacles

As she prevailed, what time she strove, and set

A girdle round the earth.

She was launched in Merrie England, in a world ablaze with Spring,

And in brave and ancient fashion did they make her "hallowing."

Stretched her aching limbs, rejoicing in the freedom she had won.

And "I pray for happy guidance," cried the little galleon.

Now the lodestone lay and listened, who is old as he is wise.

For he whispers to the rudder where a galleon's pathway lies;

Swung him round, to give her comfort, looking North across the sea,

And "Your Ladyship," he answered," take a birthday gift from me.

"Doubt's a shifty kind of helmsman, and a rogue from truck to keel.

And he'll steer you to disaster ev'ry time he takes the wheel.

Follow fear and find a phantom, but to exorcise the wraith,

Take a fussy fogey's blessing, which the sailor men call Faith."

So she steered her to the South'ard as the lodestone bade her steer,

And behold, there soon beset her both the villains doubt and fear;

For, to wreck the great adventure and to bring her grief and shame,

As, in sooth it might be Judas, so the traitor Doughty came.

But by faith she held her purpose, and I pray such faith be mine,

Till she came to Port San Julian, far away below the Line.

And by faith she bare her sorrow, and by faith she fought despair,

Shadow'd by Magellan's gallows, and — she left the traitor there.

From a wet and weeping sunset to a rude and angry morn

Tramped the South Atlantic rollers, curled and crested by the Horn -

Gave her grey and gloomy greeting as they hove and hurried on ;

And "I pray for strength to conquer," cried the little galleon.

And the "roaring forties" heard her, and they gazed at her agape.

Where they bind the seas together, stretching taut from Cape to Cape;

Well they know the grey-backed rollers, crest to hollow through and through.

And "Your Ladyship," they hailed her, "we've a birthday gift for you.

"Never fear the old grey rollers, meet them boldly as you go,

They be sent to lift a galleon from the dreary troughs below.

For the purchase block is doubled when there's courage on the rope;

O'er the conquered crests of trouble gleam the rainbow rays of Hope.'

One by one each sullen roller passed her, stronger, to his mates

Till they left her, at the portals of the dread Magellan Straits,

To the mercies of the Island where the fire and demons be,

And Tierra del Fuego lit her through to open sea.

Then in faith and hope she struggled, where the Horn, beneath her feet,

Rules the riot in the roadway as the rival oceans meet.

Three and fifty days she battled — such a fight was never known —

Till the lodestone led her Northward and she came into her own.

Followed fast, in new-born wonder, and she got her wealth and fame.

Till the land was filled with laughter and the terror of her name;

All pursuing, left pursuers, mocked their bravest and their best.

And she cried ,"The world encompassed," as the lodestone led her West,

Now a rocky reef lay waiting, he whose falsehoods never cease:

"You have wealth and fame a plenty, come and wait awhile in peace."

And it may be she was weary, or was lulled by perils past,

For his wicked weedy shoulders caught and held the galleon fast.

But the mother sea was watching, who has pity past behef,

And her bosom heaved in sorrow where she marked the sunken reef.

''Faith and hope may sink to slumber when they sail with careless ease.

And I fain would give my daughter what is greater far than these."

So the old sea sang of England, Merrie England in the Spring,

Of the daffodils that garlanded a galleon's hallowing.

Till the voice of England, calling, waked — a galleon on a shoal

Who had held the world to ransom, but was like to lose her soul.

Then she saw what it shall profit, and she cast into the deep

Wealth of silver, silk and spices, "as would make a miser weep."

And the gentle sea, rejoicing, took her daughter to her breast

With a love past understanding, and she found what men call rest.

Knew the joy that's all-abiding, which may come to these alone

Who, in perfect self -surrender, find a strength beyond their own:

Spread her snowy wings in gladness at the secret she had won,

And "His mercy aye endureth," cried the little galleon.

There's a sturdy seaman's statue, and it stands on Plymouth Hoe,

Where the bowling green re-echoed to his message long ago;

And his eyes are lit with laughter, and his hair is crisp and curled,

As he gazes out to seaward with his hand upon the world.

And if fortune find you worthy to be with him, heart and mind.

Safely anchored off his Island, you shall see the Golden Hind.

Admiral Ronald A. Hopwood

Will.

Last of all you old sea dogs

Who travel after whale

You'd storm the gates of hell itself

For the taste of a mermaid's tail

Who come from long lines of skippers

Whose duty was fulfilled

In the words of a warrior's will

And protocol

Gordon Lightfoot, from "Protocol"

Pendulumlike.

Leaped.

Mighty.

de Maus, Rigging and Sailors, 1903

TRIANGLE (A poem in waltz time)

Oh the gist of it all is the first day of fall 

Is the day when my ship will set sail 

The best of all friends will say good-bye again 

There's still time for one last glass of ale 

We'll sail away proudly, our backs to the wall 

On a southwind and lots of good cheer 

And when we've looked over the white cliffs of Dover 

We'll be in Bahama next year 

From Bermuda on down the Triangle around us 

Will teach us a lesson or two 

There's many a mate who unevenyly stated 

The course he had charted was true 

Don't worry 'bout me, he said "Go down below 

Give a certified sailor a turn 

Just sip on your rum or I'll give you my thumb and say, 

Son you got something to learn" 

It's a mighty hard way to come down 

And a mighty fine way to be found 

So hand me my grip from an old sailing ship 

Put the kiss of the dawn on my lips 

With some luck tonight I might have her at my fingertips 

Oh the best of all things is the first day of spring 

When when the water runs heavy and fast 

The mermaids have all gone to Davy Jones' Ball 

And it seems their first trip was their last 

They had so much fun they don't wish to return 

To the beach where they lay all day long 

They'd rather stay under and boy it's no wonder 

When all the rock lobsters roll on 

It's a mighty fine way to be found 

Triangle Triangle, oh see my ship dangle 

We're bound for Bahama my friend 

Like lovers like danger like babies like mangers 

But that's where my storybook ends 

Like soldiers of fortune, believers in God 

And all kings without crosses to bear 

All sweepers and cleaners with no misdemeanors 

Should try the triangle out there 

It's a mighty hard way to come down 

And a mighty fine way to be found 

So hand me my grip from an old sailing ship 

Put the kiss of dawn on my lips 

With some luck tonight I might have her at my fingertips 

When she took her last tumble the sea bottom rumbled 

There was no confusion or blame 

The captain said "Men we must answer again 

To the sea so ye may not complain" 

And as they lay sleeping down there in the deep 

With their faces turned up to the stars 

A tuna fish turned to a mermaid in bed and said 

"There goes another sandbar" 

It's a mighty hard way to come down 

And a mighty fine way to be found 

So hand me my grip from an old sailing ship 

Put the kiss of the dawn on my lips 

With some luck tonight I might have her at my fingertips 

Gordon Lightfoot

Victory.

The History Channel's "Battle Stations" examines Nelson's legendary flagship HMS Victory ...

Longitude.

Longitude, the story of John Harrison's development of the marine chronometer, featuring Dumbledore and Charles Ryder ...

Fascinating.

What a fascinating modern age we live in ...

Funny.

A song to learn and sing ...

Oh they call me Hangin' Johnny

Away, boys, away

But I never hanged nobody

And it's hang, boys, hang

Well, first I hanged me mother

Away, boys, away

Me sister and me brother

And it's hang, boys, hang

Well, next I hanged me granny

Away, boys, away

Well, I'd hang the holy family

And its hang, boys, hang

Well I never hangs for money

Away, boys, away

It's just that hangin's so bloody funny

And it's hang, boys, hang

Oh they calls me Hangin' Johnny

Away, boys, away

But I never hanged nobody

And it's hang, boys, hang

Conspicuous.

Unknown, Greenwich Pensioner Saluting Bust of Nelson, 1905

History, of all the literary productions, is the most important, pleasing, and instructive, as it is the record of the manners and customs of nations, with their religion and policy, and all their relative transactions.  It also represents to us the actions of all of those who have made themselves conspicuous on the theatre of the world.  In short, everything calculated to interest us in life is contained in history.

George Watson, from A Narrative of the Adventures of a Greenwich Pensioner Written by Himself, 1827

Age of Sail

Tall.

Tall Ship Fleet Tracker, HERE.

CONNECT

Line.

Making four-strand line from tarred hemp ...

Ildefonso.

Flag flown from the Spanish man of war, San Ildefonso, at the Battle of Trafalgar, 1805.

Happy birthday, de la Salle.

Edward Teach, better known as Blackbeard, was killed off the coast of Ocracoke, North Carolina on this day in 1718.

This Beard was black, which he suffered to grow of an extravagant Length; as to Breadth, it came up to his Eyes; he was accustomed to twist it with Ribbons, in small Tails, after the Manner of our Ramilies Wiggs, and turn them about his Ears: In Time of Action, he wore a sling over his Shoulders, with three Brace of Pistols, hanging in Holsters like Bandaliers; and stuck lighted Matches under his Hat, which appearing on each Side of his Face, his Eyes naturally looking fierce and wild, made him altogether such a Figure, that Imagination cannot form an Idea of a Fury, from Hell, to look more frightful.

CONNECT

Singing.

TOM DEADLIGHT

During a tempest encountered homeward-bound from the Mediterranean, a grizzled petty-officer, one of the two captains of the forecastle, dying at night in his hammock, swung in the sick-bay under the tiered gun-decks of the British Dreadnought, 98, wandering in his mind, though with glimpses of sanity, and starting up at whiles, sings by snatches his good-bye and last injunctions to two messmates, his watchers, one of whom fans the fevered tar with the flap of his old sou'-wester. Some names and phrases, with here and there a line, or part of one; these, in his aberration, wrested into incoherency from their original connection and import, he involuntarily derives, as he does the measure, from a famous old sea-ditty, whose cadences, long rife, and now humming in the collapsing brain, attune the last flutterings of distempered thought.

Farewell and adieu to you noble hearties,—

Farewell and adieu to you ladies of Spain,

For I’ve received orders for to sail for the Deadman,

But hope with the grand fleet to see you again.

I have hove my ship to, with main-top-sail aback, boys;

I have hove my ship to, for to strike soundings clear—

The black scud a’flying; but, by God’s blessing, dam’ me,

Right up the Channel for the Deadman I’ll steer.

I have worried through the waters that are call'd the Doldrums,

And growled at Sargasso that clogs while ye grope—

Blast my eyes, but the light-ship is hid by the mist, lads:—

Flying Dutchman—odds bobbs—off the Cape of Good Hope!

But what’s this I feel that is fanning my cheek, Matt?

The white goney’s wing?—how she rolls!—’t is the Cape!

Give my kit to the mess, Jock, for kin none is mine, none;

And tell Holy Joe to avast with the crape.

Dead reckoning, says Joe, it won’t do to go by;

But they doused all the glims, Matt, in sky t’ other night.

Dead reckoning is good for to sail for the Deadman;

And Tom Deadlight he thinks it may reckon near right.

The signal!—it streams for the grand fleet to anchor.

The captains—the trumpets—the hullabaloo!

Stand by for blue-blazes, and mind your shank-painters,

For the Lord High Admiral, he’s squinting at you!

But give me my tot, Matt, before I roll over;

Jock, let’s have your flipper, it’s good for to feel;

And don’t sew me up without baccy in mouth, boys,

And don’t blubber like lubbers when I turn up my keel.

Herman Melville

Ship.

Unattributed, A Ship of War, 1728