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Ten miles seaward of Sydney Harbor, 1 boarded the Eagle at her anchorage in Manly Cove two days after the magnificent Parade of Sail that climaxed the Australian Bicentennial. The ship had dropped anchor there to stage for sea and give her crew a final shot at Australian liberty before starting the long voyage home. She was a lovely sight swinging to anchor a few hundred yards off Manly’s ferry terminal. Sailboats were tacking close around her, like Indians in a war dance; power boats and launches awaited turns at her accommodation ladder; visitors crowded her decks. Though Australia Day was two days gone, the Eagle was still at center stage. Australians had taken this U. S. goodwill emissary into their hearts.
As we waited to board, an incongruous scene developed on the barque’s forecastle head. A young lady in white began singing and dancing, microphone in hand, blond hair flying. A crowd of cadets around her swayed to the beat with upraised arms, then swarmed into the rigging before a whirring camera.
“What’s this?” I growled to the boat coxswain. “That’s Olivia Newton- John,” he replied. “She’s on board for a visit. They’re filming it for TV.”
I had heard rumors that the modem Eagle had become something of a showboat. 1 was not happy with this initial impression.
It was a different scene the next day. Olivia and her gang had cleared away; liberty parties had returned; visitors had gone ashore. Water and fuel barges cadets fell in at quarters in working uniform for presailing muster, then scurried off to take anchor and specw sea detail stations. I was reassured. This was the Eagle 1 had known.
But what’s this? A female voice ^ from atop the pilot house was shouts? orders to the forecastle with a megaphone. “Heave in the anchor to shod stay!” she called in clear soprano. « was Lieutenant Christine Quedens, tne ship’s navigator. She had drawn the first watch and was going to take the Eagle out. I watched with interest. 1 knew that women had been integrate into the seagoing Coast Guard, but 1 hadn’t expected to see one taking the Eagle to sea.
Again, I was quickly reassured. 1 lady manifestly knew what she was
Australians took the visiting Eagle and her crew into their hearts (above). The skipper lets the barque soar free on her sails when the winds allow, but tight timetables for training and ambassadorial duties force the Eagle to resort often to her diesel engine, “Max” (facing page).
were alongside, a scrub down was in progress, the ship was being readied for sea. In mid-afternoon the U. S. Ambassador to Australia, Lawrence W. Lane, Jr., was ceremoniously piped on board; he would ride with us to an Australian offshore island, then fly back. As sailing time approached, the crew hoisted and rigged in boats, raised and secured the accommodation ladder;
about. Though the captain was up 1 with her, he did no coaching. She .j heaved the anchor in to short stay, there until a fleet of racing sailboats cleared the crowded cove, then bros1- out the anchor and started slowly 1110 toring out, sounding long farewell blasts on the horn. Her signal was al^e swered by deep-throated blasts fron1 Manly ferry and a cacophony of wh
§IVen those Sendi
Aussies a great show by
Cadets
.after end of the waist below me.
es> bells, and horns from the congre- c^tl0n of yachts and small craft in the ^°ve. The sun was setting behind the J ney skyline as we motored seaward r^ugh “the Heads.” hough 1 admired the way Chris 0;edens had taken the Eagle out, the sailor in me still found cause to nible. A fresh breeze was blowing lr f°r the Heads. We could have
'ng hands aloft to loose sail, sail- her away from the anchorage.
we cleared the Heads, I could "'by we hadn’t. Our course was j eetly upwind, and darkness was fall- S|® ^ast- It would have been a brief at best—a lot of work for tired $ cts- I thought back to a time in ^Jttander, Spain, in 1963, when again ^ could have sailed out but didn’t. aets were so zonked by late hours Spanish hospitality we figured it I Sa*e to send them aloft. “Back off,” £r°Wled to myself, “these guys know at they’re doing.”
exawakened the next morning early, cued to feel the familiar motion of last sd'P- P was different from my j Ilrrie on board, to be sure. I was in the ate room next to the sick bay, not .cabin; I was a passenger, not the ^Wain, and I was 71, not 46. But it ‘‘D ®,reat t0 he back. My roommate,
. °c ’ Girard, remained asleep in the ^Per bunk while I quietly dressed and tty .; °ut on deck. It was early morning for —always a magic time at sea
He. The ship was pitching a bit in 3l0erate head seas. We were cruising stn8 quietly under diesel power with emails set to steady her. The South- IQvvtrr°ss and a crescent moon hung liti ln l^e west; the skies were begin- g to lighten in the east. Two helms- hoh 31 tde lar§e triP,e wheel were ln^ ^er on course easily, giving $htaking just a few spokes at a time. Ml i?Wy figures in the glass-paneled cha la°Use were checking radar and fis- The “watch on deck”—six the ” on call—was hunkered down in heh'neXPectedly’ a feminine voice was Qalnd me saying, “Good morning, dav >a,*n' ft s g0*ng t0 be a beautiful (](/. It was the cadet officer of the JC"~~another young lady, by God! I ched her checking helmsman and bjnnermaster, sweeping horizons with l oculars, and taking reports from the tin gain’s mate of the watch. Chat- I g With her between her duties, I j(,nrned she was a Coast Guard oCp'oc-—her dad a retired chief warrant lce|\ one brother a lieutenant, another a first-class petty officer. She s a bright and alert young lady—deserves to be here, I thought.
The ship came to life as the darkness faded. The watch on deck roused out and assembled hoses and scrubbers.
The messenger started polishing brass on the binnacle and engine order telegraph. The familiar call, “Reveille, reveille, reveille—all hands turn out, trice up, and stow,” sounded over the ship's public address system. Sleepy cadets came up from below and started the wash down. Twenty-five years evaporated. I felt at home.
1 drifted into the wardroom, hungry. Something new here, too—no more Filipino stewards and steward’s mates.
A commissary specialist was cooking in the pantry and cadets were serving. Decor had changed, too. The Eagle's wardroom was no longer the stark, functional officers’ messroom I’d known. It had become a tastefully furnished, well-upholstered dining salon, with lovely sea paintings, curtained portholes, and brass lamps. 1 joined other early risers at the table. A napkin ring labeled “Captain Earle” marked my place. Some class, I thought. These guys don’t miss a trick.
"Good morning, Captain,” said the cadet messman. “We have bacon, eggs, pancakes, and SOS. Waffles, too, if you want ’em. What’ll you have?”
I had a bit of everything. It was the start of a fat two weeks. Best food I have ever eaten on the Eagle.
After a second cup of coffee and a chat with the young officers in the wardroom, I returned topside. The sun was now well up, the forenoon watch in place, and ship’s work was everywhere in progress. A group of cadets was at the main fiferail, stripping it down to bare wood in preparation for revarnishing. Others were on the boat deck converting old line to bag- gywrinkle. Still others were up on the foremast, starting to unbend the 12- ounce dacron harbor sails and replace them with heavier cruising canvas. This was a process that would go on for the next week, as sailing demands permitted—something new to me. We didn’t have harbor sails in my day. We changed sails at sea only when they split or blew out. But this was good sailorman work—unbending huge squaresails and sending them down, swaying new ones aloft.
I noted that the cadet work details were led and directed by young boatswain’s mates. Something new here, too. ln my day young officers or up- perclass cadets did most of this. Our enlisted force—much smaller than the current one—worked in the background in maintenance and support roles. Another change for the better, I thought.
It’s good for cadets to learn firsthand about the high quality and capability of Coast Guard petty officers—and for the enlistees to see how quickly cadets catch on.
The commissioned officer of the deck of the forenoon watch was Lieutenant Steve How, son of Captain Barry How, who had relieved me as the Eagle's commanding officer in 1965. Steve was rehearsing emergency procedures with his cadet watch team, and I listened in to the skull-session stuff: man overboard procedures, under sail and under power; steering casualty action; action to take when caught aback; signals and alarms for fire and collision; station for stays—the square rigger equivalent of general quarters. After the briefing, he held some walkthrough watch drills. Good stuff, I thought. Forchandedness is alive and
Cadets today spend less time on the Eagle than their predecessors, but when they are on board they train continuously—whether sailing or motoring—in meterology, navigation, oceanography, shipkeeping, and other seagoing skills. Ship’s navigator Lieutenant Christine Quedens (with Captain Ernest Cummings, facing page, center) illustrates the Coast Guard’s complete integration of women into officer and enlisted ranks.
well on the Eagle.
The quartermaster’s call, “CO on the bridge!” interrupted Steve’s discussion. His little group scattered as the solid figure of Captain Ernest Cummings appeared from aft, sniffing the wind, looking aloft, and taking in his ship in sweeping glances. The captain had been a cadet when I last sailed the Eagle—one of the best, 1 remembered. His enthusiasm, good judgment, and quickness in the rigging had won him the top spot on the cadet sail-handling team that year. Now he was a seasoned captain of 24 years’ service, in his fifth year as the Eagle CO. I noted his easy interaction with his people as he drifted about the quarterdeck and waist. He was clearly “the Old Man,” someone treated with deference. But it was clear, too, that his crew liked and respected him. Here is a humane, capable CO, I thought, not the austere type who strikes terror in his people.
1 was suddenly choked up to find myself back on this ship I had known and loved so well some 25 years ago, with a skipper who had been one of my cadets. There is a continuum here,
I thought. The Eagle remains in good hands. She’s still doing her thing— perhaps better than ever.
I soon learned that the Eagle was indeed in far better material condition than the Eagle I had known. She underwent a massive $11 million, three- year rehabilitation and overhaul eight years ago, miraculously without interrupting normal cadet cruise schedules. Steel decking from the main deck up had been removed and replaced. Compartments below had been completely roused out and taken down to bare metal. Hull-plating thickness had been carefully gauged and new plates added in areas of weakness. Existing bulkheads had been beefed up and entirely new ones had been added. Old ventilation, wiring, and piping runs had been torn out and replaced. The ship’s watertight integrity and damage-control capabilities had been greatly improved. A modern 1,000-horsepower diesel engine had replaced the aging Elmer, the uncertain German U-boat diesel engine I had suffered with. Compressed-air and blower capacity had been increased, new generators installed, and a 7,500-gallon-per-day evaporator added. A new array of the finest electronic equipment was in place in the pilothouse and chart room—two independent collision avoidance radars, Omega, Loran C, satellite navigation. Masts and yards had been radiographed, and doubling installed around masts at deck penetrations. Stays and shrouds had been destruction-tested and renewed where indicated. The living quarters had been compartmented and upgraded. Best of all, perhaps, cool, clean air now circulated through all messing and berthing areas. I remembered those vast, ill- ventilated midships compartments where cadets lived and worked by d ; and swung hammocks by night. You could cut the air with a knife when ship was in the tropics.
On the surface, however, the new Eagle appears much the same as the old. She has sleeker lines, finer teak decks, fewer encumbrances, perhaps and no weeping rust—none. There have been improvements in paints an epoxies. Electrical winches have replaced walk-around capstans; the oW canopy-covered captain’s gig is g°ne from the boat deck. A pod of hydrostatically released emergency flotati°n rafts have replaced the old cork abandon-ship rafts. Amber floodlight are affixed to mastheads to illuminate sails and decks at night. No longer does the CO have to sweat out his sailing-ship privilege in darkness; be need only flip a switch, and every°ne for miles around can see his square- rigger under full sail.
That, however, brings up a differ' ence between the old and new EaS^eS' The modem Eagle does sail less. Sb® must average at least seven knots, 0 more, to maintain her schedule. If tn winds aren’t there, she’ll motor. One this leg from Sydney to Pago Pag0’ had little wind. We motored 90% 0 the time.
Though it seems incongruous f°r square-rigger to motor, it is not all bad, really. In earlier years, we W°U|| spend days drifting in calm waters, a sails set, rolling in the swells, ever^0 thing slatting, and getting nowhere- break the monotony we would sometimes douse staysails and headsails- haul headyards on opposite tack to 1 mains, get over boats, rig scramble nets, post shark watches, and pipe swim call. Great fun! But mostly We would nurse her along through occasional puffs to gain a few miles the hard way. It was a matter of pride t0
cross the ocean without cranking up Elmer. Maybe more than pride. Elmer was obnoxious. He puffed and stank and used too much fuel. His replacement, Max, is a gentleman—quiet, strong, and economical. There is really no reason to drift idly around for days on end with Max there to move you along. There are people to see and promises to keep where you are going. And maybe there is even some wind over the horizon.
The training on the Eagle today is less dependent on sails. Sophisticated professional training programs are pursued continuously at sea, whether the ship is sailing or not. Some cadets are below decks on engineering watches— lighting off, securing, exercising pumps, running “evaps”, and learning how things work. Others are in organized classes in such subjects as meteorology, oceanography, and officer-of- the-deck duties and responsibilities. Those studying navigation are taking sun and star sights, fixing position by Omega or SatNav, or studying chart and pilot-book material on upcoming islands or ports. The meteorology/ oceanography group is identifying cloud formations, observing and recording sea-swell conditions, measuring seawater samples for salinity and pH levels, launching bathythermographs that measure temperature versus depth down to 700 meters below the surface. Communicators are drafting and transmitting PIM (position, intelligence, movement) reports by satellite relay. Cadets below are doing shipkeeping chores—cleaning compartments and heads, cooking, running the laundry and scullery, preparing watch lists, and performing master-at-arms and inspection duties. A lot goes on regardless of the wind. Even sails are not necessarily idle. The watch on deck can run up and douse headsails and staysails, and set and furl squaresails. Yards can be braced in or up, or fanned. Buntlines and leechlines can be overhauled and stopped off.
Sails can be changed over. The ship is full of activity, even when motoring.
When the wind does come, however, it is just as great now as in earlier days. On this passage it arrived on the fifth day out. The built-in light head wind that had plagued us finally hauled and freshened, bringing the captain to the bridge. He sniffed, checked the anemometer, examined the wind on the water, then smiled broadly. “Let’s get some sail on this ship,” he said to the officer of the deck.
“Sail stations! Sail stations! All hands take sail stations!” The strident
call over the public address system brought cadets rushing up from below. They were ready! They scurried up the shrouds, out on the yards, and cast off the gaskets. To cries of “Let fall!” they pushed off the squares to hang in their gear under the yards, held up by clewlines, buntlines, and leechlines. Then it was “Lay in and down!” to set sail from deck, loosing staysail gaskets on the way. Yards were braced sharp to the wind, halyards hauled with a will. Squaresails unfolded like giant window shades and were sheeted home. Headsails and staysails rattled up their stays. Cadets ran away with spanker outhauls, stretching that huge fore and after proudly between gaff and boom. A cheer went up at the finale, when the small gaff topsail blossomed between spanker gaff and mizzen truck.
A stop bell silenced Max’s throbbing. Heeling slightly, the Eagle began to forge ahead under sail, slowly gathering speed. Cadets were now happily squaring away—adjusting sheets, trimming in braces, leveling yards, and boarding tacks. The now freewheeling prop throbbed gently underfoot on the quarterdeck, signaling our increasing speed. The Eagle settled into full and bye sailing at a steady eight knots, about half the speed of the wind. Everyone stayed topside, enjoying the scene long after sail stations were secured. Voices were animated and happy. The Eagle was sailing free!
1 had noted differences in the way these cadets worked aloft, however. In my day, they scurried up the ratlines exuberantly and moved quickly and fearlessly out on the yards, without safety belts. Though the rule was one hand for the ship and one for yourself, it was often ignored. They worked aloft confidently and swiftly and slid down backstays to the deck when finished. Now they work more slowly and deliberately. They clip in safety belts when handling sail, return via shrouds when finished. It is more prudent and safe this way, to be sure. But a bit of the gusto is gone.
I had dinner in the cabin with the captain that night. There were three other guests—the “Dean Afloat” and two first-class cadets. The captain wore his six rows of ribbons; the cadets were in full uniform. I felt a bit out of place in my aloha shirt. But what’s an aging ex-captain to do? It was a pleasant evening. That beautifully decorated cabin, pretty much unchanged since 1 had left it, was impressive. There was dignity and decorum, but no stiffness. Conversation was easy and pleasant, the food
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Valuable. Toward the end of each n'ng phase, these cadets have the
hoard regarding their fitness to unsupervised officer-of-the-deck
fratid
Watah, _________ _ _ _____ _______ _
thorough. Those who pass get let- lett °* ^unhfication from the CO; these q ®rs give them a strong leg up in the lification process they will face on 9,tar hrst cutters. About 50% made the e on my passage. There is no prej-
attached to those who did not.
and seamanship than their sched- talow. They spend perhaps half the
CiaJlalis largely through cruises and spe t|lre's less and less time allocated to
q • "'ish I could say the Eagle stayed pn er sail for the rest of the run to Pago. Within a day, squares were Ji,n furled and we were back to Max, goring quietly across glassy seas. We not suffer. The routine of watches,
days; moonlight, card games, and q i?CS tde n'ghts. Sights, performance ,, al>fication standards, and upperclass f0^u’dance” chores took up slack time Underclass cadets. First classmen “Pared for officer-of-the-deck qualifi- and°n ,k°ards- This is something new
fraii
^rtunity to be examined by an offi-
ten
!Jice
boey wiH just have to go through full- je c|Uals on their first ship. rapped increasingly with Captain g tantiugs as the days stretched on. sail16 rernembered the tougher, more ^-oriented days when I was skipper c,, de was a cadet. He would like in to receive more training in sail-
taes
a(e °n the Eagle, during normal years c,lst- that cadets enjoyed in earlier “duS The increasing demands of higher prJ:ation have drastically reduced the o essional studies content of the p ast Guard Academy curriculum, ets qualify as seagoing profes-
eV, ° ---- r
,L short summertime courses—and III
ii)gSC' That’s why our on-board trained ^r°^ram has expanded so much,” Hie caPta>n “Cadets now come on ^ -aHle with far less preparation, yet ,0utaust carry them further. It’s
gr^!0netheless’ though today’s Eagle °ts uates may not f10 I*16 gung-ho sailer hey were in earlier eras, they 0t)a[*y get solid professional training ^ct C ^rque. 1 had t0 admit, in £ ’ 'hat the scope and diversity of 'hat C tram'n8 today is far greater than which we mounted in earlier years.
We sighted two small islands off the Tonga group on the 11 th day out and approached to explore. The first was Tofua, the place where Captain William Bligh first landed after the HMS Bounty mutiny. Our newsy plan of the day recounted how he had been driven off by spear-throwing Tongan natives and returned to sea in his longboat to sail 3,600 miles west to New Guinea without losing a single man—one of the greatest open-boat voyages in history. We wondered anew at this feat of seamanship as we watched volcanic plumes rising from the island and noted signs of a small resident population. Then we motored to Kao, a smaller uninhabited island close to the north, rising cone-shaped 3,800 feet above the sea. There we anchored, launched boats, and explored the rocky, cave- marked shoreline amid flights of alarmed sea birds. After picking up the hook, we cruised slowly northward, with cadets in boats alongside holding sea-painter drill. They alternated bringing the boats alongside, taking and riding the painters, casting off, and circling for new approaches. Score one for seamanship training, I thought. I had reminded Ernie how we used to do this in times of no wind in the old days, and he had picked up on it.
We were under way in earnest before dark that evening, heading for American Samoa under full power. We had received a message that a crewman s father was critically ill. Could the boy possibly get home? The captain decided maybe he could. We anchored off Pago Pago two days early and put him ashore to catch the weekly Military Aircraft Command flight going east. Later we learned he made it home in time. The Coast Guard takes care of its own.
Returning to sea for the remaining two days, we exercised, motor sailed, and explored outlying Samoan islands to the east. Again we anchored, got boats over, and sent parties ashore— this time to populated beaches, cozy beer parlors, and snorkeling reefs.
Back on the ship, another first: the Eagle held swim call! Captain Cummings had never done this before. I had reminded him of what great fun it was in the old days, and again he had picked up on it. The swim call was well organized—shark watch posted, cargo nets over, swim area restricted, and a boat in the water. The ecstatic kids gave a cheer for the captain as they mustered at quarters before returning to sea. I was the only casualty— skinned my toes climbing the net over the ship’s side. I needed a ladder.
The next morning we motored in to Pago Pago Harbor with yards manned, sails hanging in gear, and our huge “Sunday flag” hanging at the gaff.
The captain let the cadet officer of the deck take her in all the way. It was a painfully slow and cautious approach that ended up too far off the pier. No matter. A tug standing by nudged us into heaving-line range. No one prompted or criticized the kid. He had a good experience, and he would do it better next time, to be sure.
The Eagle had stopped at Pago Pago on the way to Australia from the United States, so there were friends as well as spectators on the pier. Among them was a massive, brown-skinned man in native garb: Ola, chief of a Samoan village, member of the Samoan legislature, and a charming and urbane gentleman with a law degree from Berkeley. The captain had transported Ola to Western Samoa on the way out; the two of them had played golf with the Eagle's executive officer and the King of Western Samoa. Now Ola wanted to return the favors. He invited the Eagle's officers to his place by the sea some miles out of town for a Samoan feast. What a party that was! We swam in a pool of surging salt water within a bed of hardened lava that had poured into the sea thousands of years ago; feasted by torchlight on huge platters of roast pig and steaming vegetables; consumed vast quantities of ceremonial kava and beer and booze; were regaled by haunting Samoan song and dance. Ola’s extended family— handsome and gentle people in native dress—enveloped us in the warmth of their hospitality. We finished the evening by returning to our special pool to swim again, this time by moonlight.
That was the finale of my nostalgic return to the Eagle. I count myself fortunate to have shared in this unique voyage. I am deeply grateful for the warm acceptance I received. Not many get an opportunity to relive old adventures so intimately. Hey, I even climbed the Eagle's rigging again. It gave the Old Man heartburn—Captain Ernie, that is. But someone had to take that new officer up, right?
I took off from Pago Pago airport two days later, heading for Hawaii and home. As my plane flew out over the harbor, maneuvering off the entrance, I could see the Eagle. Glory be! There were whitecaps. The wind was fair. Cadets were scurrying up the shrouds. Sails began to blossom.
Sail on, my love, I thought. Sail on.