THE DOVE FILLS UP

Holding on by our toenails while the Dove bucked was bad enough but now we had to hold on and bring up the end of a large line and attach it to the mast underneath the crows nest. Once we were in place and everyone had stopped puking, we tried to talk through what was to be done. We decided that it was time to climb back down and go get a beer. Really we did. We knew though that this was not an option, the boat and crew where in danger, especially the three idiots trying to hold on to the mast. W just had to do it. I backed up in my approach and tried to tackle it one part at a time. First the end of the line needed to come up, for that we had brought along a long piece of small stuff to use as a messenger. We fed them our line and they tied on the fore stay and we began hauling away. It was heavy and we each could only afford one hand for the task so two would haul while one got lower handhold. This went on for eternity. The movement of the mast was not even or steady so we had to constantly stop concentrate on holding on for a moment, then go back to hauling. By the time we got our end up we were exhausted and still had no plan as to how we were going to get the fore stay back in place. We had to tie off our messenger, rest and try to figure it out. I realized that one of us (me) was going to have to go back down and work while trying to hold on to the ratline. The hard part was that the lower end of the fore stay was still attached so we only had enough line on our end to wrap- around the mast and come back to itself. The line had failed because it was not tied to begin with, the line had been lead around the mast, laid beside itself and then lashed together with a type of twine. Originally this was done while the other end was loose and the boat was tied up at the dock. I climbed down and realized that we needed to manhandle the end of the fore stay around the mast then pass down the messenger to the crew on deck. The fore stay sat in a cradle so once we had everything in place , the crew on deck could pull down and tighten the fore stay while I reached out and began to lash the intersection. That was the theory. We were just barley able to get enough tension back into the fore stay to begin to lash them. The problem was that the mast was still swaying back and forth. Just as we would get some tension, the mast would jerk away and pull out a bunch of slack. After a few attempts, I had to regroup and tie a slip not of sorts over the larger lines, then wait for the mast to sway forward while the crew on deck pulled for all they where worth, at that moment I closed up my knot and it held. The mast was surprisingly tight. Now I frantically lashed the two together using only one hand. It held. The mast was no longer banging like a telephone pole falling and in fact it was very stable. The three of us wasted no time hustling down the ratlines. We were exhausted, we could barely stand. I was ready for some medicinal brandy and was about to ask the captain if there was any on board, I knew for a fact there was some on the towboat, when suddenly one of the crew yells from below "I think we're sinking" with more then a touch of panic in his voice. This did not overly concern me at first. This was a wooden vessel and wooden vessel often leak. I thought I would find two inches sloshing in the bilge. What I found was two feet and rising quickly, I could see it flowing in and it looked a bit like whitewater rapids. The water was coming in many places. I was flabbergasted. One leak is a leak, you plug, you bung it, you even have a junior member of the crew hold a rag against it. You slow it down and pump. We had two pumps, one electric and one manual. But this was not a leak, it was a disaster and I could not imagine what had gone wrong so quickly. We were sinking and quick. I have been aboard one other vessel as it sank and it is not a good feeling. We were sinking and I was afraid for my crew. Shore was close and we had a tow boat along side yet I knew that man and mice panic when they see the water coming up. Instincts kick it and the noblest of man turns into a jello head. All logic, all thought, all reason can leave a man at the sight of a hull filling up and men can become crying children in search of their mother at the drop of a hat. We were sinking damn it.

A SEA STORY

Enough of the heavy, heavy talk of the universe. It's time for a good old fashioned sea story. This sea story begins as good sea stories should, on top of a mountain. I was working as an iron worker at plant construction site on top of a mountain, 40 miles outside Evanston, WY. The season was over and I returned to Maryland to my wife at the time, Susan. She was attending college at St. Mary's College and I was unemployed. I answered a want ad for a first mate aboard the Md. "Dove", an historical replica of one of the vessels used to first colonize Md. I not only got the job but was offered a place for us to live as well. The Dove was docked on a beautiful cove on the St. Mary's River. It was situated at the base of a tall bank which led to a replica of the first statehouse for Md. The Statehouse was surrounded by the campus of St. Mary's College. Right beside the Statehouse was the last of the private homes in the complex, a rambling old house called the Brohm-Howard House. This was soon to me moved off campus and I was given the honor of being the last resident before the house was moved and turned into a restaurant. Now my wife had a two minute walk to class, I had a one minute commute to work and my dog came to work with me each day. Life was sweet. The purpose of the Dove was to provide an educational tool as well as a promotional tool for St. Mary's. We had almost daily bus loads of school children and trips to festivals and the like up and down the Chesapeake Bay. As first mate, I was responsible for seeing that all the captains orders were fulfilled, quite an responsibility for a young man. This was a true square rigger that carried 7 sails and took a crew of 12 to operate. When I first stepped on board, there was a new hire already there. A salty old dog, Abe, who was to operate a rather small chase boat that would accompany us on trips. Abe was not a sailor, he actually had more sea time at a nautical theme gift shop his wife had owned, then he had on the wheel of a vessel. I must say though, he proved himself he fine handler of a boat and his experience was to save us more then once, besides he wore that captains hat so well that no one questioned his post. We had no captain for the Dove and we had no crew. A major shake-up in personnel had happened just before my arrival and we were starting from scratch. The first task was to take the Dove around to the yard for maintenance, about a 20 mile tow, really an easy task. For a captain, the head of the St. Mary's City Commission was standing in. We drafted some college students as line handlers and we were ready. Her I must mention that up until this day, my experience on a square rigger was...well none. I had skippered a 40 footer for a living on these very waters and thought the conversion to the Dove would be seamless. I was wrong, the Dove was 90 feet at the waterline and built of solid oak. Trying to stop the Dove was like trying to stop freight train. Handling her was a whole new world for me, well for both of us, me and the stand-in captain, Mr Evers. We left the dock with high hopes, a beautiful spring day, a fresh breeze and a crew with a couple of Quick training sails. We were towed a few miles and Mr. Evers decided that conditions were right to sail. Just as we were preparing to drop our towline, the mainmast began to move violently and the fore stay, a line nearly as large around as my arm, a line that held up the mast, came loose and one end dropped on deck from a height of about 40 - 50 feet. The mast was now beating back and forth so that the top swayed some 20 feet and threatened to topple all together. The easy tow became a life or death situation in the blink of an eye. Someone had to go up to the crows nest and reattach the fore stay, not a pleasant thing while the mast was bucking like a horse, but it had to be done, the law of the sea is that you must risk live and limb to save the ship, and a dismasting on this scale can be devastating. I picked two volunteers and up the ratlines we went. By the time we had reached the crows nest, it took all of our strength to hold on. Crossing over from the ratlines to the crows nest was the worst, we had to reach up and leave the relative safety of the ratlines for a platform , the edge of which was above and behind you. You had to wait for the right time and heave yourself up and over. As soon as all three of us were up, the volunteers began to puke and seeing how there was nowhere else to puke but down, the crew below was treated to a shower of barf. About now the crew below was distracted by something else and no one was looking up. All we could do was laugh and puke as those on deck were covered by lunch. Finally someone on deck noticed a piece of green pineapple on their shoulder, looked up, took notice of our laughter and puking. Suddenly everyone was running for cover. We were safe in the crows nest but had yet to even try to reattach the fore stay and little did we know that we were sinking at the same time. It was going to be a long day. More tomorrow.