Battle sail!
Our two tall ships were passing within a few dozen yards of each other in broad daylight on the soon to be war torn waters of San Diego Bay.
The Californian, an 1850s vintage revenue cutter, flew seven sails and boasted a 100 foot tall main mast. The Amazing Grace, an American Revolutionary War era vessel, was rigged like brigantine with three square sails. Both ships were equipped with batteries of munitions on their port and starboard sides.
"Prepare to fire!" ordered our first mate.
I stuck my fingers in my ears, hunkering down amid a motley crew of tourists, tall ship volunteers, and professional sailors. A few feet away, two veteran gunners ignited a pair of so-called 6 pounders. On land, the six pounders might have been called cannons, but as our captain had noted, they were properly known as guns. Although there were no cannon balls in their cast iron barrels, they were loaded with plenty of black gunpowder.
"Fire!" hollered our first mate.
Two mighty shots resounded over San Diego Bay. A cloud of thick gray smoke enveloped the Amazing Grace. Those onboard let loose a cacophony of shouts, screams, cries, and giggles. Scrambling, their gunners fired a volley at us. Their gun shots resounded like ours, but we sailed swiftly beyond the concomitant smoke.
"Ya missed us, brigands," I taunted, shaking a fist in the air and then growling.
If my behavior was little bit over the top, none of my fellows aboard the Californian seemed to mind. In fact, the Maritime Museum of San Diego encourages passengers on tall ship cruises -- especially those that engage in faux sea battles -- to participate in operating the vessels alongside regular crew members. They won't let you fire the guns or climb the sail rigging, but you can do just about everything else as much or as little as you like during the three hour long excursion. (Tickets cost $55 for adults, $35 for children under age twelve.)
As a lifelong landlubber, my biggest challenge was trying to understand what the heck I was being ordered to do. The crew seemed to speak a foreign language. What I knew as "ropes," they called "lines" and "sheets." What I called "pulling," they called "hauling." What I called "folding" they called "dousing." What I called "turning around" they called "coming about." At first, I had no idea how to react when I was told to "man the bang." I discovered to my chagrin that it meant hanging onto a winch-like device threaded with rope -- I mean, line -- so it wouldn't bang me in the noggin. I got good at saying two words:
"Aye, aye!"
Some days hence, you may overhear me spinning swashbuckling yarns of buccaneers, mutineers, musketeers, mouseketeers, and deafened ears, telling tall tales about tall ships. I hope the grog does not make me fail to render the real point, to wit: the spiritually uplifting effect of my maritime voyage back into the past. Suffice to say for now that by the time the Californian headed victoriously to port, I was sunburned, squinty-eyed, and yet surprisingly at peace with myself, with the world at large, and even with those poor defeated brigands on the Amazing Grace.
