The Rebirth of the Rose

By Mary Grady

Published in the Providence Sunday Journal Travel Section, September 7, 1997

When I reach the dock in Antigua, it's two in the morning. Dark hills surround a quiet bay, the air is warm and spiced with wood smoke, tropical flowers, and the peeps of frogs - all stirred by a light breeze. And here is the Rose, her tall masts looming toward the stars, the familiar tangle of ropes and rigging silhouetted in the night; and it's like seeing an old friend who was once on the road to ruin, redeemed and living a new life.

Twenty years ago, when I first stepped aboard the Rose, in Newport, her future was far from bright. A replica of an 18th-century frigate, she was called a "dockside attraction," but tourists mostly ignored her. Her wooden hull was slowly rotting, her decks were quiet and empty. She never sailed - she never moved except to rise and fall on the tide.

Now, after a short night's sleep, I'm roused for breakfast and meet the rest of the passengers and crew. The captain, Richard Bailey, is familiar enough: We were classmates, 20 years ago, at the University of Rhode Island, when he invited me to Newport to see this strange ship, the Rose - a museum ship in those days. His job then, as ship's carpenter, was to try to keep up with repairs.

A few of the 15 crew members I remember from New England, but many are new; and there are 24 passengers on this late-March trip. They range from a 14-year-old and her parents to a couple in their 80s. They hail from east and west - fathers and daughters, husbands and wives, single adventurers, a pair from the Netherlands.

After breakfast, we have a brief orientation, a quick lesson in line handling, and a first climb up the rigging - with a safety belt, and a crew member close at hand - to admire the view from the fighting top. These lessons are important, for the Rose, like all Tall Ships, is officially classified as a Sailing School Vessel, and the passengers function as part of the crew. Each of us is assigned to a watch -- four hours on, eight hours off -- and matched with a deck hand, who will literally show us the ropes.

Before setting sail, we have time for a short stroll ashore; the Rose, appropriately enough, has found her Caribbean home at Nelson's Dockyard, a national park with an 18th-century theme. Then we climb back aboard to lend our muscle to turning the capstan, a giant winch that requires lots of human power to raise the giant anchor - 1,200 pounds of it, plus 90 feet of chain.

As we motor out of the narrow harbor entrance, we get our first taste of real life on the Rose. Heading north, with a fair and steady breeze, we novices pull on the lines we're told to pull, scramble aloft to help free the sails from their gaskets, and watch as the Rose comes alive, her tall white sails unfurling under the bright sun.

We're starting off on five days of sailing, wandering with the wind from one island to the next; our final destination is St. Thomas, the last stop for the Rose before heading north to Miami, and on up the East Coast for her summer season.

We sail all day on gently rolling seas, passing by the volcanic island of Montserrat (the highest peaks are obscured by clouds, but the volcano seems quiet); whales breach in the distance, and the sea and sky are saturated in tropical hues. All night, we sail on under a full moon, and we spot the comet Hale-Bopp, with its fuzzy tail, low on the horizon.

All this is worlds away from the ship's early life. The Rose was born from a dream: As the nation's Bicentennial approached, John Millar, a Newport historian, wanted to create a replica of an historic ship for the City-by-the-Sea. He chose the H.M.S. Rose, a British frigate that in 1774 had harassed Newport's smugglers, angering the colonists and feeding their revolutionary fervor. The new Rose was built in Nova Scotia, from the original plans of the original Rose, and arrived in Newport in May of 1970.

But the ship was never a moneymaker: She couldn't be licensed for charter because of her foreign-built wooden hull; plans for a theme restaurant never materialized; and a career as a dockside museum just didn't pay the bills.

Over the years, the Rose fell into disrepair, and changed hands several times, until in 1985 a new owner started the ship on a new odyssey. Kaye Williams, of Bridgeport, Conn., joined forces with Richard Bailey, who had since his days at URI become a professional master sailor, and they created a nonprofit foundation to restore the Rose and fit her out to meet the Coast Guard's brand-new Sailing School Vessel regulations.

The restoration, in Bridgeport, was a tremendous undertaking. Engines and generators and pumps were installed; heads and a galley built; space was found for bunks for both crew and passengers; rigging and sails were made ready for action. Then a crew had to be hired and programs developed. Finally, in 1992, the Rose began her new life as a sail-training ship, with Bailey as her captain - almost 20 years after he began his nautical career as the Rose's carpenter, at the dock in Newport.

The next day, under fair Caribbean skies, about 15 dolphins come to play. They speed along with the ship, then dive into the bow wave, circling and leaping and splashing. Two of them jump in unison; another flips in the air and slaps the water with his tail. They're almost close enough to touch, and they keep up the show for nearly half an hour. Captain Bailey climbs down the bars beneath the bowsprit, and reaches out a bare foot to touch their wild hides.

But the dolphins seem oblivious to the humans on board. It's the ship herself they're happy to see, as if the Rose is a bigger sort of dolphin, come by just to play with them - as if the Rose herself is alive.

Late that night, we drop anchor near a small volcanic island surrounded by coral reef: a bump of parkland off the coast of St. Croix, in the U.S. Virgin Islands. The next morning it's drizzling as we go ashore in the Zodiac (the ship's inflatable dinghy); we climb over black rocks to a fine white-sand beach.

Trails cut through the scrubby brush and prickly cactus; tiny lizards rustle in the undergrowth as finches peep and flit among the bushes. Gradually the clouds move off and the sun comes out, and the water is clear and green and warm. Nobody else is here. The ship seems like a magic carpet, taking us places we could only imagine.

The ship sails on for three more days, as we explore the seas and islands. We shop in St. Croix's boutiques, and a dozen of us share dinner in an open-air restaurant under tropical trees. We take turns at the helm, check the bilges and the engines, set and store the sails, work together to tack the ship into the wind. We practice nautical knots and splices, and we get to know our fellow passengers -a lawyer and a judge, retirees and college students, a masseuse and an Internet entrepreneur.

We drop the Zodiac over the side and go for a swim in a quiet cove; we watch sunsets and stars. Some love the adventure of climbing aloft with the crew, others prefer to stay on deck, but all do their part to help sail the ship.

Into the harbor

Since the Rose's new life as a sail-training ship began, hundreds of people have learned her ropes, hoisted her sails, stood on her fighting tops, and covered their ears when her booming cannon announce her arrival at port. She has traveled in the Great Lakes, to the Canadian Maritimes, and up and down the East Coast. In the summer of last year the ship made her first Atlantic crossing, visiting Ireland and England and Spain. Last winter was her first time in the Caribbean, and she'll be back next winter, sailing out of Nelson's Dockyard.

It's our last day aboard the Rose. I'm taking my turn at the helm as we sail into the harbor at Charlotte Amalie. The third mate fires four cannon shots as we approach the dock, a long-standing Rose tradition, to let everyone know we're coming.

Once we are tied up, it begins to rain, and our bunch of passengers - now seasoned square-rig sailors - grab raincoats and climb down the ship's side for a farewell dinner ashore. And we all turn to admire the Rose - tied at the dock for tonight, but ready to come alive again when the trade winds blow.

If You Go:

There's a reason you won't see any deck chairs on the Rose: She's a hard-working ship. Expect to be roused for watch in the middle of the night, to help raise the anchor and coil down the lines, and to take a turn at dishwashing and cleanup duty.

Nobody has to climb aloft who doesn't want to. Think camping out, not cruise ship, and the Spartan bunks in crowded cabins below are adequate for a week at sea. Each of the passenger compartments holds up to 12 bunks; each bunk has a privacy curtain and reading light. The galley serves three meals a day, the food is homestyle and plentiful.

For more information, contact the Rose Foundation