PART THREE - ANTIGUA TO ST. LUCIA

We stayed at Antigua until our friends on the sloop Nona Rosa left for Bermuda and from there to Portugal. The crossing to Guadalupe only a few hours on an overcast day with the trade winds blowing its usual twenty knots.

ANTIGUA TO ST. LUCIA

5/4/92 Lat. N 16 18.3' W 61 48.5' Dieheis, Guadalupe, France

MISSING FRIENDS

One of the easiest things to do while cruising is to make friends. Judy's greatest fear when we set out from Beaufort was that we would not be able to find friends. However, we have been surrounded by friends for the last ten months. Not just acquaintances, but really good friends, a hard commodity to find these days anywhere.
It is a hard to leave them, not knowing if you will ever seen them again.

It may be "unmanly" to cry, but I've been so sad all day after leaving our friends who are headed across the Atlantic, that tears have formed and run down my cheeks.

I try to remember that we didn't say good-by, but "see you Down Island."


5/15/92 Lat. N 15 32.8' W 61 29.9' Portsmouth, Dominica

Ghost Fleet
I heard the rippling of the water –like little wavelets lapping against the side of a ship. I was rowing across the Prince Reupert Bay, heading for a dock on the north side. I'd been told I could leave my dinghy there and explore the fortress at the top of the hill.

I was half way across the bay and pulling at the oars when I heard the sound again. Definitely water lapping. Were there rocks ahead I hadn't seen? I twisted on the thwart to look ahead, but the water still looked deep. The sound of water lapping continued.

Every so often I could hear what sounded like the creak of ropes through blocks and the voices of men talking in hushed tones. But there was nothing around me. I told myself it must be an echo or some freak of nature and continued rowing toward the dock.

I arrived at the dock and tied up the dinghy. When I looked out over the bay I could see nothing except the few cruising boats at anchor and a small coastal banana boat anchored halfway across the bay.

On the path I met an old man who showed me the trail up to the old fort. It was not steep, but it continually wound upward through a forest. I stopped every so often to watch the large lizards stare at me and then scamper back into their hiding places. The air was still damp from the rain earlier that morning.

I felt great. Alive. I love forts and had visited them in Antigua, Guadalupe, and the Ils des Saints. The trail became steeper and I began breathing hard. Soon it made a switch back and I came out on the top of the hill.

There were no trees here, just a few ruins where a couple of batteries had stood. But I could see for miles in the rain-cleared air. I saw the Saints, only about ten miles away, quite well. In the distance, looming up in the purple haze, lay Guadalupe.

I turned back toward Prince Reupert Bay, and to my astonishment it was full of ships. Not just ships, but frigates and ships of the line. I could make out the English ensign flying from them. There must have been well over a hundred.

"What in the world are all these tall ships doing here?" I thought. "A tall ship parade? No. They couldn't have gotten in and anchored that fast. Anyway they don't use frigates." I rubbed my eyes and looked again, but they were all still there.

Just then I heard the ringing of ships bells. I looked at my watch; it was noon — eight bells. Then a cannon fired from one of the larger ships. As I watched, a hoist of signal flags went up on one of the ships of the line, and all the ships began to raise their anchors, with officers yelling, and bosens' pipes calling, sending the men up the masts and on the yards. There was the rumble and cracking of flapping canvas, although there did not seem to be a breeze on the hill.

Soon, one after the other, the fleet moved out to sea and headed toward the Saints. I looked over toward those islands and saw other sails, a number so great I could not count them.

I heard a loud roar and the sky darkened. There was lightening and a rumble which I recognized as thunder. A squall was coming fast through the island's mountains. I looked back to see how this great fleet would prepare for the squall.

But they were no more.

Not one sail.

The sea was as empty as before.

A few drops of rain preceded a downpour. I was soaked by the time I reached the dock again. The old man, who had earlier shown me the trail, gave me a piercing look, which chilled my blood.

"You look sick, mon," he said, moving closer to get a better look at me. "Did you see something up there?"

I remained silent for a while staring at the bay. "Ships," I said at last.

"Ah yes," he said, "Sometimes you can see the English Fleet as it leaves to smash the French Navy. You’re lucky. Not everyone gets to see them, mon. They hid here in this bay for months waiting to sight the French sail. They built that fort so they could see what's happenin' over there." He took the stub of a pipe out of his mouth and pointed toward Guadalupe.

"Beat them up pretty good and chased the rest all the way to the channel, they say. You lucky, mon, you get to see them."

I nodded to him and clambered down to my dinghy. As I rowed back to Butterfly, I thought about the experience. I was only sure of one thing: I was not going to say a word to anyone.