Sailing Away on the U.S. Brig Niagara
U.S. Brig Niagara (photo by Mat Pundt)
I was a member of the Niagara League and eventually helped develop an Erie School District curriculum focused on the ship.
An opportunity to sail aboard our wonderful
Erie treasure, the Niagara, as a crew member, a “green hand,” from
Philadelphia to Boston was too good to pass up.
I could enhance my knowledge, learn my inner strengths, and have time
for reflection. At least that is what I
thought in April 1996.
Before I knew it, I was cheerfully headed for Philadelphia in the “crew van,” armed with a sea bag of suggested gear, the experience of day sails, and the knowledge of reading Richard Dana’s Two Years Before the Mast and Herman Melville’s White Jacket. The Niagara looked so proud in the Philadelphia harbor. It had already represented Pennsylvania to thousands of people along the eastern seaboard. Now I was anxious to be a part of this Atlantic Ocean tour. On the evening of July 7, 1996, we motored 130 miles down the Delaware River under a red sky, “a sailor’s delight.” Captain Walter Rybka and the professional crew patiently explained our duties and how we would serve the needs of the ship. Take orders and keep your mouth shut. Don’t talk to the captain unless he talks to you.
A
Few Journal Excerpts:
July
8, 1996 Delaware
River Philadelphia to the Atlantic Ocean
Last night, just before
midnight as I lay sleeping on the top deck between carronades, I heard a bustle
(my developing sailor’s ear) and then the shout, “Dead on!”
Suddenly there was a thud,
a scraping sound, the crack of splintering wood, a flash of white light. Just before this moment I sensed we were
motoring quickly. I was terror-stricken. I thought we had hit a large sailboat
–a collision like that would have killed people on such a boat hit
dead-on. Soon we realized the Niagara had hit an ocean/deep water buoy
on the port side. The captain could not
completely assess the damage, but we knew harm had been done. All hands were ordered to stand watch. The
ship was being guided by a person who knew the river channels and their depths.
We had to motor for
several hours before we could anchor the ship. By 3:00 a.m. we were setting the
anchor. My duty with my division was “anchor watch.” I had to take bearings on
four points with a compass: a light house water tank, a point on the breakwall
and the last rock on it, the anchor buoy, and the bilge below to make sure that
the ship was not moving unexpectedly and that we were not taking on water.
By 6:00 a.m. we were able
to drop a cutter overboard to examine the exterior of the ship. Since we were
just the crew, we did not know what damage was done until later. As it turned
out, the bowsprit and its rigging were damaged and the thumb cleat had to be
replaced, the bower anchor was pushed back and gouged the ship’s side, and one
of the cutters now had a 12 inch by 4 inch hole in its side. This cutter was one of our lifeboats.
At about 8:00 a.m. we were ordered to heave up the 1800-pound anchor using the capstan and we proceeded on our way to the Atlantic Ocean.
We were
not taking on water. Now that we were motoring down the Delaware River again,
the captain took this time to REALLY express his DISPLEASURE to the crew on
watch the night before. All crew were
reminded severely that our lives depended on the watchmen. No one should have
missed seeing the ocean buoy. We were told that if we saw ANYTHING unusual in
our path when we were on watch, we were to inform the officer on deck long
before the ship was anywhere near it. He was very angry.
Eight hours of unexpected
labor all night. In other words, no sleep.
Last
night we had a frightening experience.
My division (starboard) had watch from 8 p.m. to midnight. We had set sails earlier, but just before
midnight we were given orders to take in some of the sails. Because there was no moonlight, we could not
see what we were doing and had to feel our way. There were so few of us on duty
I was handling the fore royal sail and clew lines by myself. Finally, our
division was relieved and sent below deck to sleep. About 1 a.m. a thunderstorm kicked up and the
turbulence was even more intense. I was
lying below deck about five feet from the main hatch starboard ladder and I
could see the lightning and feel the rain on my face. Finally, the hatches had to be battened
down. Port watch had to go aloft in the
storm to haul in the remaining sails and the shouting and the thuds above deck
were terrifying as we listened and prayed silently to ourselves down
below. The ocean was tossing us around
mercilessly and again I did not sleep much. [Note: Now I know exactly what the
phrase “batten down the hatches” means.]
Today
was extremely foggy, for almost 24 hours.
We had to keep forward watch very intensely and blow the foghorn every
two minutes during that entire time. We
were about 15 miles off Long Island in the New York shipping lanes at one point
and the threat of much ship traffic was very dangerous according to the veteran
crew members. Others spotted big fishing
trawlers.
Meals Because hard work
makes one very hungry and because we had Pierre on board, an especially good
cook, with us, the food, cooked or baked on the wood-burning stove, was
delicious. Examples of our fare
included pancakes, French toast, oatmeal, breakfast tacos, cinnamon rolls,
eggs, bacon, sausage, salads, biscuits, zucchini bread, wheat bread, pasta,
roast chicken, roast beef, red potatoes, gravy, cabbage, and onions, fruit, and
other vegetables. Despite the great
food, I lost ten pounds during the voyage.
My division “mess” consisted of six others, and we took turns putting
the heavy, well-built table up, setting the table, taking the table down,
cleaning up, and washing the dishes three times a day.
July
10, 1996 Major Galley Atlantic Ocean
Major
Galley duty was extremely demanding. Two
crew members had to set the officers’ and the petty officers’ tables, serve the
officers’ food, divide the food for the other crew members, wash all officers’
dishes, and all the cook’s pots and pans three times during the day. This may not seem like a big job, but there
was no dishwasher. After pumping
the water, my crewmate Dale and I carried the huge, galvanized pans, the water,
the dirty dishes, and the cook’s pots above deck. The pots and dishes were washed, dried,
carried below and put away three times, after each meal. Because we were under
sail in the evening, this routine took until 9 p.m. There were, however, two advantages to major
galley duty. First, when crewmembers had
this duty, they were able to sleep the night through with no other duty. Second, the afternoon I had this duty we were
motoring through the Cape Cod Canal. I
could wash the dishes and watch the beautiful quaint Cape Cod pass by through
the gun port. Not very many people can
say that!
My
watch that night would have been: 8-10 p.m. 11-12
midnight 3:45-7:30 a.m. Lucky
me!
Ocean
Showers On this tall wooden ship, there are no showers. Two different days we were given the chance
to take an “ocean shower.” Veteran crew members rigged a hose from the ocean to
the top deck and the salt water was siphoned up and sprayed on us so we could
have a sort of shower. This seemed like
a good idea until I realized my sticky salty clothes would never dry and I was
a saline mess. The other alternative was
jumping into the ocean, a choice enjoyed by others.
July
11, 1996 Atlantic Ocean
Last
night we were in sight of Boston, our destination, yet the Captain had us set sails
at night to go in the opposite direction. He said we needed to practice night
sailing. This morning the port of Boston was nowhere to be seen. When we finally docked just aft of the U.S.S.
Constitution, there was so much shore preparation to do that we did not
get off the ship until 9 p.m. Securing
the moorings, rigging the fenders, placing the brow (the “bridge”), the
awnings, and the pier side exhibit all took time. We also had to drop all three auxiliary
boats. We lifted the damaged cutter from
port side to starboard side across the mid section of the ship to shore with a
pulley block and tackle system. One
cannot imagine how difficult that is. By
the time we were able to go ashore to take a real shower at the Charleston
Naval Yard, it was dark.
Another
great event aboard this ship was the “turnaround” with the U.S.S. Constitution,
whose main mast is twice the length of the Niagara. This three masted frigate, which will
celebrate its 200th year in 1997, was pulled through the water by tugboat, but
we sailed smartly on the Niagara. We gave the Constitution a gun salute as hundreds of people watched from
shore.
The
entire experience was humbling, but good for the soul. I learned inner strengths and felt an inner
calm, a sense of being able to do things I did not know I could do, yet there
was a dependency on all others aboard ship, forty souls practicing
responsibility and self-discipline. The
work was intense, perhaps the hardest work I had ever done. Amidst the work was the aura of the ship, the
feeling of a shared experience with my own ancestors who crossed the ocean not
knowing their destination. The sky so
full of stars, the pods of whales, the phosphorescence of the sea at night, the
camaraderie of sailors, all contributed to my experience. This adventure not only made my classes at
school more vibrant and meaningful, but the ship and the sea gripped me in a
cheerful acceptance of whatever comes, hardship or pleasure.
My
husband called me a “sea hag” when I returned home. I was quite bedraggled and in need of a real shower.
One
of the professional crewmembers is a former student of mine, Michael Kamholz,
whose devotion to the ship is legendary; he was part of the crew since his
junior year in high school. He was my division leader and was quite kind to me
despite a previous history….
Weighing
the 1800-pound anchor (my most dreaded duty) and heaving it up using the capstan.
My
intention is not to exaggerate circumstances, but sometimes things happened
that I did not understand, and I tried
to assimilate as quickly as possible. Veteran sailors might have thought the circumstances were
ordinary.
The
24 hour fog while we were in the NYC shipping lanes was daunting
The
night sailing—I thought we sailed all the way to England
No
sleep
Using
the head
No
privacy
I
was in the 3rd Division, Starboard Watch. Duties included main
mast/spanker, spotter for man overboard,
Lifeboat 3, Fire drill-life jackets, handling the royal sail by myself, and
standby on the main mast.
Forward
lookout duty meant doing a constant forward sweep and reporting anything
seen by “points.” (this duty
lasted for two or four hours, depending on the watch)
The weather was temperate until my last day aboard. Hurricane Hugo hit Boston and the rain was incessant. Of course, I was on duty and had to stow many items away by myself while pleasantly greeting visitors to the ship.
This is not me, but I became an expert at coiling lines
See how neat they are?
Another time on the ship, but this image shows that at 5'4" I still have to stoop below deck
Gear
Sleeping bag, jeans,
t-shirts, sandals, sweatshirt, sweatpants, rain gear, rain boots, sun lotion,
insect repellent, bathing suit, camera, notebook, pencils, flashlight, all gear
must fit in the canvas sea bag provided.
Portions of this journal were
published in the Northwest Pennsylvania Council of Teachers of English Journal,
Spring 1997.
Mary Jane Koenig taught
English, French, Writing, Newspaper, and the U.S. Brig Niagara/Erie
History, A Maritime Experience, at East High School, Erie City School District,
Erie, Pennsylvania from 1976-2006.
