Featured

Sparlandia before the bombogenesis (above) Sparlandia after the bombogenesis (below)

Wreck of “Sparlandia” (winter shoreside storage and work shed for Pride of Baltimore II‘s spars)

Well formed.

Skilled crafting of several materials married together.

A fine design.

Several winter “voyages” successfully made.

All came to a dramatic end during the bombogenesis wind storm in Baltimore on Friday, March 2, with gusts of around 75 miles per hour reported in certain locations.

Sparlandia had successfully experienced 60 miles per hour gusts during past “voyages.” March 2’s forecast called for the same – not quite.

A group of alumni crew have volunteered to come together this Saturday, March 10 to recover surviving remnants and to clean up.

Vale, Sparlandia!

Date: Mid-February, 2018

Position: Pride II’s Winter Maintenance Berth, Baltimore

The winter maintenance crew are now gone to the four winds.

Pride of Baltimore II lays empty of her gear under her winter cover – protected from sun and rain, sheltered from storms. Under the cover, she is open for full-length ventilation. Her spars (yards, topmasts, gaffs, and boom) and the wooden pulling boat, Chasseur, are nearby under their own cover.

Laying up a ship for an extended time without crew working aboard is a pretty common occurrence and has happened as long as there have been ships. Layups occur for two general reasons: between working seasons (if there is no reason to operate all year round) or for economic reasons.

Most of the time, Pride’s layup is for reasons of the seasons. It was discovered some time ago that it was actually less expensive to not sail during the winter given the small amount of rewarding work for Pride. Keep her at home and do catch-up wear and tear maintenance. Get the ship ready for the next year of activity. The costs of diligent and prudent maintenance was actually less costly than sailing through the winter but not significantly less expensive. Winter maintenance crew were paid but there were no food costs, no fuel costs, and less wear and tear on the ship. And so it has been for more than two decades (save for a couple of year round occurrences: the 1997/98 Asia tour and the dismasting repair in 2005/06).

Catch-up winter maintenance and portions of the 30-year refit were attended to during January and the first half of February of this year. A lot of very good work was done by a great team. They had hopes of sailing together and I had hopes of sailing with them. But fiscal responsibility interceded.

So for now, Pride of Baltimore II lays securely at her winter berth. While still actively being responsible for her, she is costing as little as possible. A few volunteers and I keep an eye on her. There is also some pro-bono work being done by local technical experts, supporting Pride as they have for many years.

As the heat of summer fills in, I hope to set up some wood shrinkage remediation with help from local volunteers and pro-bono technical experts. The winter cover does block the sun and the rain, but summer heat is summer heat and dries out big timber, something that does not happen when the vessel is crewed and sailed. Sailing makes the ship wet. Crew keep the ship clean and wet her down several times a week when not sailing.

If you are interested in being a part of Pride’s wood shrinkage remediation effort, contact me via email at jan@pride2.org.

Signed,
Captain Jan C. Miles

Date: Monday, October 30, 2017

Position: Chestertown, Maryland

The last “public access sails” for this weekend’s Sultana Downrigging Weekend maritime event were Sunday afternoon. It was a wonderfully serendipitous weekend between two major rain events associated with Tropical Storm Phillipe rushing northward not far offshore past the mid-Atlantic coast in the north western Atlantic Ocean.

Sunday afternoon’s sail wind strength was lighter than it had been Friday or Saturday and the direction was not as “fair” for sailing river reaches between turn-arounds. So, mostly the strategy was motor away against the soft prevailing breeze and then sail slowly back.

During the sail back, another serendipitous development occurred: the five larger vessel attendees, Kalmar Nyckel, Pride of Baltimore II, Lynx, Lady Maryland, and Sultana ended up grouped together, nearly abreast (meaning as many as three abreast with one close ahead and one close behind). This is a rare event due to the navigational restrictions of the Chester River, but in this instance, our slow and steady sailing pace and the somewhat higher than usual water level, along with a fair and light strength but sailable breeze, enabled a degree of comfort for the vessel masters to sail in very close proximity and not feel navigationally or maneuverable-y crowded. In other words, the five vessels were sailing at nearly the same speed while somewhat abreast within proximity of less than half a boat length. At times for-reaching from a half a boat length behind and passing to about a half a boat length forward as the fair quartering breeze would at first be free and clear and then be shadowed by the vessel to windward being passed to leeward.

For those aboard, it was a rare opportunity to have normal volume conversation across all five vessels which were so close together and moving slow enough so that they made hardly any water noise and were more or less gliding along. The light wind also meant little ambient noise.

This small armada-in-formation eventually and naturally (due to different speeds and sail combinations) spread lengthwise by about one to two boat lengths between each and at just the right moment to permit the masters to organize sail taking-in and docking maneuvers without any radio chatter to clarify other vessels’ masters’ intentions. Each master was keenly observant of where they could best go to get what their needs/desires were and yet not give any cause for another master to misread or feel blocked or crowded. Nearly in coordination, sails were taken-in and reverse direction dockside maneuvers were made. This seemingly choreographed routine became pretty logically feasible considering the fleet had already made at least three sails together during this weekend event and the wind conditions were somewhat more moderate this time around. But still, a demonstration of know-how.

My compliments to all.

Signed,

Captain Jan C. Miles

Date: Monday, October 16, 2017
Position: Portsmouth, Virginia

2017 Great Chesapeake Bay Schooner Race

The results of the 2017 GCBSR are already known. Due to the weather, all competing vessels sailed at their maximum speed for the whole length of the race. There was not much strategizing to do with wind coming from a fair direction; from the start, all vessels were mostly steering directly for the finish line as fast as they could sail. The most strategic decision was how much white-knuckle sailing was acceptable, meaning how much and what kind of sail to set. Aboard Pride of Baltimore II, it was not possible to have her studding-sail up for much of the race. It was set north of Bloody Point, but had to be taken in by the time she reached Poplar Island due to stronger gusts. Around dusk, abeam of Point Lookout in the center of the bay, we struck the main gaff-topsail and the top-gallant due to increasing gust strength. All of these decisions were not due to the overall wind strength, but due to the angle of the wind as it came across Pride. Had the wind direction been more northeast than it was, meaning the ship was experiencing an apparent wind angle of around 100 degrees, we could have kept all the kites up. But with apparent wind angles hovering around 60 to 70 degrees, the ship was unable to stand up to the pressure without risk of burying her lee bulwark. Prudence prevailed and Pride continued down the bay right along with the vanguard group of the racing fleet led by Virginia and followed by the three-vessel group of Summerwind, Woodwind, and Pride.

It was with admiration and enjoyment as I watched Virginia pass Pride by soon after the start and then persist in elongating her lead. She finally led Pride by roughly an hour and eleven minutes over the 118 nautical mile course. Considering there is more than a full century of development in naval architecture knowledge and construction technology between the two vessel types (maybe the most significant being common-thread metal fastenings) it is easy to imagine just how stunned the world must have been with the totally unique Chesapeake Bay watercraft of the War of 1812 and their success as privateers. Since the war, Baltimore Clippers, as the schooners were later nick-named, have been admired for both their beauty and performance, and whose design has been copied and used around the world for transporting high value cargo in high risk circumstances, both legal and illegal.

Lady Maryland was also truly impressive. She is a reproduction of another venerable Chesapeake Bay watercraft known as the Pungy Schooner, developed during the mid-1800s and therefore also advantaged by the easy availability of common-thread fastenings. This advance in technology allowed for a much lighter and as a result, speedy hull form for efficient commercial transport. Shorter than Pride, it stands to reason she would not be quite as fast, but she was a mere two hours and 32 minutes behind Pride. Meanwhile, only three hours and forty-five minutes behind Virginia.

Woodwind is another interesting study for me. She is truly representative of modern construction techniques available these last three to four decades, meaning wood lamination. This technique reduces the weight of construction and permits for an extreme hull shape as compared to bent wood pieces found in traditional wood construction represented by other vessels in Woodwind’s single A-class, like Summerwind. As a seventy-foot schooner, her modern construction permits her to be modernly-shaped under the water, while looking pretty classic to the middle of the 20-century above her waterline. Her underwater shape is akin to a flat bottom canoe with a long and stout two-thirds-waterline-in-length blade/fin attached below. With enough wind from a fair direction, plus quite a bit of gumption from her crew, she can beat the waterline-length rule of thumb for hull speed through water. She stayed ahead of Pride and remained very close to Summerwind and not far from Virginia notwithstanding her significantly shorter waterline. There was a gap of nearly an hour and a half between Pride, the fourth in the vanguard of four vessels (two double-A and two single-A class vessels), and the next finisher: a single-A class vessel.

The surprise for me was being recognized for the Black Dog Trophy during the awards ceremony! I was nearly speechless! Captain Lane Briggs remains a giant in our midst! To be included with those also recognized for being akin to his renowned character is stunning to me. I knew I needed to respond to receiving the trophy and speak to the audience about my feelings of being bestowed such an honor. What to say? How to say it? Completely spontaneously, I thought to share first-hand my experience of Lane’s challenge: a race between the newly christened and launched Pride of Baltimore II and his tugantine, Norfolk Rebel, down the bay for a case of beer. Lane, with his gravelly voice and his off-hand manner of speaking sound and well considered points. It has been almost three decades since that experience and this 2017 GCBSR is number twenty-eight. Congratulations to all for your consistent and persistent organizing of and participating in “The Great Chesapeake Bay Schooner Race!” I believe it may be the largest schooner-only race in the world. But even if it is not the largest schooner race, it has to be the most welcoming and inclusive!

Portsmouth, Virginia, continues to be a most welcoming port. It is a quiet town with a wondrous “old town” residential area. We are holding off our departure, bound for Annapolis, due to fresh northerly winds this Monday. We are getting some ship care done while we wait for the contrary weather to reduce. There are always wants of care for this complex, well-traveled, nearly three-decade-old traditionally constructed wooden vessel. So no time is being wasted.

Signed,
Jan C. Miles Senior Captain

Photo courtesy of The National Sailing Hall of Fame

The National Sailing Hall of Fame, based in Annapolis, and the Sydney Flying Squadron collaborated to put on a regatta for the Hall of Fame’s sandbaggers and the traditional Aussie 18 foot skiffs that the Squadron sails. They shipped three of the skiffs (Alruth, Aberdare, and Australia IV), all reproductions of designs from the 1920’s through 1950, to Annapolis in a shipping container, and assembled them there.

The sandbaggers (Bull and Bear) are replicas of America’s earliest racing craft, which were essentially workboats used for tonging oysters. In a strange manifestation of Adam Smith’s Invisible Hand, the designs were refined for more and more speed, spreading more and more canvas, because the first boat back to the docks would fetch the highest prices for their catch. The name arose because they would have to use bags of sand as ballast to keep them upright when not filled with their catch.

I sailed two days on the skiffs, and one on the sandbaggers.

The skiffs are, in a word, insane. They are 18 feet long, but their sparred length is somewhere around 40 feet, because of a 14 foot bowsprit and because the main boom sticks out well beyond the transom. They are typically crewed with around 8 people. The spinnaker pole is in 4 sections, kept inside the boat, and needs to be assembled to its full 25 foot (!) length before setting the spinnaker. There are lee cloths sticking up from the gunwale on each side, and if the leeward one gets forgotten when you tack, you sink. If someone shifts their weight the wrong way, you sink. If both sail trimmers are not completely on their game at all times, you sink. I think it is this constant pressure that has allowed the Aussies to develop their exceedingly creative foul language, a sort of linguistic equivalent of Darwin’s finches. I wound up placing second place on Alruth, in light air, and a race win on Aberdare on day two, in a fresh breeze.

The third day, I sailed as part of the American team in a match race against the Australians in the sandbaggers, which seemed absolutely palatial and stable in comparison to the skiffs. We didn’t quite hold our end up, but we did keep it very close, rounding half the marks either overlapped with or less than a length behind the Aussies.

Saturday was a (much needed, by me) rest day, and Sunday all these boats, plus 20 or so other classic boats and yachts, took place in the Hall of Fame’s Wooden Boat Regatta. I sailed with Tom Price, a great local sailor and a friend of Pride for many years, on his wooden Star boat from 1959. We were able to win our class.

As a result of all this, I am very tired and sore and sunburned, and now I have to go back to work.

Signed,

Captain Jordan Smith

Friday, August 11, 2017 — What a lovely home away from home it is for Pride whenever she is able to visit the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum (CBMM) in St. Michaels, Maryland!

Like-minded folk for all things Chesapeake Bay historical watercraft have great appreciation for each other’s efforts in the preservation and re-creation of the unique watercraft of the Chesapeake Bay. And so it is a little bit o’ heaven here for the crew of Pride.

The quaint harbor that is St. Michaels is barely deep enough to accommodate Pride‘s draft of around 12.5 feet. Any time a fresh wind from northern directions covers the northern Chesapeake Bay, the normal tidal water levels are disturbed, meaning that they are obstructed and meaning that quite a bit less depth of water can occur. This can cause a wind-related reduced harbor depth situation that either prevents Pride from entering or prevents her from departing. Fortunately, this August visit has not been accompanied by fresh northerly winds to risk Pride not being able to enter the harbor and moor alongside the museum. So she is safely entered & moored. And if the depths reduce during her stay, she is welcome to stay as long as is necessary till a safe passage out of the harbor is available through return of adequate water depth.

The transit from Baltimore to St. Michaels was without the support of a bit of breeze — just about no wind at all. A Chesapeake Bay classic glassy reflective smoothness existed throughout the nine-hour transit of some near 50 nautical miles. That did not prevent the crew from enthusiastically, and with great hopes of a late day breeze, setting all sail save the studding sail and ring tail. It has been since before Boston in June the “gantsle” was set. And it has been a long time since last the mainsail, the main gaff topsail, the jib-topsail and jib were set. So while the wind remained elusive, there was a great swiping away of crew-cobwebs regarding setting and striking and re-harbor-stowing all sail.

Around 7 p.m. Thursday night, the approach of “lower high water” at St. Michaels predicted to occur at 7:27 p.n., Pride entered and proceeded very slowly to her berth alongside the southern bulkhead of the museum, with around a foot of water under her keel. A small group of welcomers attended her arrival. By 8:30 p.m. all was secure and the crew could really settle back to admire what is most admirable about St. Michaels: a late quiet summer evening with recently full moon crossing the sky and a waterfront park band’s music drifting over the harbor as various types of recreational and private commercial vessels proceeded quietly about, while other vessels lay quietly moored presenting a complicated old style skyline profile in the dwindling light.

Today is the first of a three-day stay open to visitors to the museum. A start to the weekend build-up ahead of Sunday’s crescendo, Watermen’s Appreciation Day, a near “carny” festival of all things waterman, celebrating their profession as they also display their watercraft. One of the more dramatic demonstrations being the deadrise boat docking competitions — highly powered and maneuverable motor vessels of the Chesapeake Bay deadrise type all but slamming their way to the fastest/quickest mooring into a boat slip. This is something that can only be appreciated by seeing …

Signed,

Captain Jan C. Miles

Photo of Pride of Baltimore II in St. Michaels, Maryland, on August 12, 2017, courtesy of Tim Ertel.

A Day in the Life

We write a lot about the big things we do: races to Bermuda in big wind, huge festivals with thousands of people, and the like. Those things are, deservedly, the highlights of a given season, and a large part of why we do what we do. However, the life of this vessel and her people is mostly not things like that. It is, in part, preparation for (and repairs from) things like that, through constant maintenance, upgrade, repair, and many small refinements, but it is also the fulfillment of the rest of the ship’s mission: interacting with the public, representing our state, and educating the youth of this area. What follows is an example of what a day aboard ship is like, here in our home port of Baltimore.

A Maintenance Day

A large portion of our days any given season are, of course, taken up with operating the ship. This might consist of traveling to a new port, hosting a charter, doing a public day sail, participating in a race, attending a government function or ceremony, et cetera. Interspersed between those days (sometimes all too infrequently) are days when the ship is not engaged to do any particular thing. Almost always, these days are given over to maintenance. Maintenance on a large wooden vessel is constant. Indeed, it very often happens on portions of days in which we are also traveling, or doing a charter, or interacting with the public. But, when possible, we give entire working days to it.

Mid-summer in Maryland, for those of us who work outside the region, is a time to carefully monitor our pace, so we don’t get fried. I used to work for a rigging shop in Annapolis. One of our project managers was a South African emigre. It is very hot there in summer, he had a lot of experience in dealing with this, and so he told us: “Go slow.” So, any given hot work day in July, I tell the crew: “Go slow.”

Our work day typically begins at 8 AM. Already, today, the sky has that coppery hue which promises heat. Pride is at her work dock in Canton. It is a Maryland Port Administration facility, which they very generously let us use as a dock and work site. We have several containers full of spare parts, tools, old sails, and repair materials here. The ship has both her awnings up – this means the deck is shaded from stern to foremast, around 3/4 of her total length, which helps both keep the crew out of the sun and keep the sun off the deck, which in turn keeps it cooler down below by as much as 10 degrees.

The deciding upon and prioritizing of maintenance and repair projects (the “what” and “when”) is primarily done by Pride‘s two captains, after either seeing things for ourselves or conferring with the ship’s officers. The day to day management of the crew in carrying these things out (the “who” and the “how”) is done by our first mate, Jeff Crosby, though it is fair to say there is some overlap here, a sort of three circle Venn diagram. On this particular day, Jeff assigns the crew the following projects:

• Stripping the varnish off the caprail. The maintaining of the ship’s varnished surfaces (“brightwork” in nautical parlance) is a constant job. UV sunlight eventually wrecks the varnish, it dulls and then peels, after which the sun attacks the wood beneath. So, periodically, we lightly sand and add another coat to the existing varnish. This works well for a while, but after a few years the ever-thickening coats of old varnish tend to yellow and fade. This process from day to day is not noticeable. It changes at such an incremental rate that you can’t see the difference unless you look at old pictures. But, we did. This led us to completely strip a small surface to bare wood and re-coat it. The difference was striking. Instead of faded and yellowish, the wood was a deep, rich reddish blonde, showing the intricacies of the wood grain – absolutely beautiful. Having thus made a good spot, it was resolved to do the entire caprail (the rail that runs atop the bulwark around the perimeter of the ship). So, several crew are using heat guns (essentially, supercharged hair dryers) to heat the old varnish til it melts, and scrapers to remove it. After that, the bare wood is sanded to make it ready to begin coating with fresh varnish.

• Tarring the rig. There is a common thread thus far: protection. Our standing rigging is mostly galvanized wire. To protect it from corrosion, we coat it with a tar mixture. Sometimes this nasty stuff is laid directly onto the wire (as with the forestays) and sometimes, when a given piece of rigging is originally made, the wire is wormed, parceled, and served first (as with the shrouds) to provide additional protection. “Worming” is laying small stuff (string, basically) into the spiraling gap between the wire strands to provide a smooth surface, “parceling” is wrapping the wire with strips of some flat stuff like canvas or sometimes friction tape, and “serving” is tightly wrapping the whole works with marline. This is a process that has been around in the world of sailing ships for a long, long while, and it is still effective. After this is done (if it is done) the whole works is tarred, to provide a final, protective seal. Tall ships have “gearheads” as ardent as any motorcycle club, and one of the things up for constant debate is the best mixture for tar. Most often, it is varying proportions of tar (preferably Stockholm tar, but it’s pricey) linseed oil, turpentine, and Japan drier, though I’ve heard of plenty of variations. If asked to evaluate on the basis of workability, longevity, and the like, I can’t seem to tell one variation of this witch’s brew from another, which is probably why the ardent debate continues. Just like any other protective coating, it wears out, and we add more coats, getting very, very dirty in the process.

• Replacing running rigging. Kelsey Mullin, who many of you have probably seen pictures of climbing here and there in our rig, is the bosun. This is an old term, a bowdlerization of “boatswain.” Bosuns, in tall ships, are usually responsible for the ship’s small craft and rigging. The rig involves periodic inspection and a nearly constant effort to control and deal with the effects of chafe and UV sunlight. Today, Kelsey is replacing our foresail sheets with new line. Over time, the old line loses its strength due to UV damage, and gets worn out from constantly rubbing its way through blocks, chafing on nearby rigging, getting walked on, having salt crystals worked into the fiber, et cetera. Replacing the line, in this case, involves un-stringing the old stuff from its four part purchase, measuring its overall length, splicing loops where needed into the new line, and re-leading the whole thing.
• The engineer. Charles Reynolds is our engineer this year, and was for half of last year. Pride, though she is very traditional in her hull shape and rig, has a lot of modern equipment crammed below her deck. Charles spends a fair amount of time waist deep in this compartment or that, making sure it all works, with occasional breaks to pester me for parts. Today, he is fixing our fresh water system.
• The “duty.” Every day, regardless of what we do, a member of the crew does what’s called “the duty” (with suitable overtones of dread). Everyone in the crew except for the captain, the first and second mates, and the cook, rotate through doing this. It is basically the cleaning and organization of the cabin spaces – assisting the cook with the dishes, cleaning the galley, mopping the floor, wiping down other surfaces, polishing the copper flashing behind the stove, cleaning the heads, and so on. This takes a significant portion of the day. Whoevers turn it is spends a large portion of the day below, therefore. Often, but not always, they pick good music to play while they work. Yesterday, for instance, I went to get a glass of ice water and was treated to “Misty Mountain Hop” playing in the salon, which made me happy.
• And me? I observe it all, I offer guidance when needed, I work on filling our upcoming deckhand slots, I code receipts, and I write to you nice people.

Signed,

Captain Jordan Smith

The Rocket’s Red Glare

We’ve all heard the National Anthem hundreds of times, and those of us who live and work in Baltimore have all passed Fort McHenry hundreds of times. This low, black topsail schooner, with her unique profile, is often part of the scenery of Baltimore’s Inner Harbor. Unless we are mindful, these things, and the many other relics of our nation’s origins that stick up out of our physical and mental landscape here and there like dinosaur bones, will lose their meaning, buried under their own commonness. Each of these three things has a story all their own, that interlocks with the others, and also interlocks with the history of this city.

The Fort

Often, we have Scott Sheads, a retired Fort McHenry ranger and great friend of Pride, aboard for our day sails. I have never met anyone as deeply versed in the history of this city as Scott is. He tells us that Fort McHenry was the guardian of the city from 1812 to 1815, when the city was a collection of low buildings, largely centered in Fells Point, along a wide tidal river fringed with salt marsh. Eventually, by the time of shortly before the Civil War, the city grew around and past its former guardian, necessitating a new guardian, Fort Carroll, which was partially completed by a Colonel Robert E. Lee of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers before his life got complicated. By that time, of course, Fort McHenry was in no danger of being dismantled and its land repurposed. It was, and indeed remains, a national landmark. Because of:

The Battle

Most people know the basic story. The British sent a large fleet up the Chesapeake Bay to attack Baltimore. A young lawyer, Francis Scott Key, was a spectator aboard a British warship anchored in the harbor. After a night of bombardment, the sight of our national flag still flying from the Fort Mchenry the next morning led him to pen several stanzas of verse, which, when later set to music, became our National Anthem. The bombardment was unsuccessful. This, combined with a stalemate nearby at the land battle of North Point, made the situation untenable for the British, so they withdrew. But…what were they doing here? Why send a large fleet (and an army!) all the way up a narrow estuary to bombard a town that, by European standards, was pretty modest in size? The answer, in part, was:

The Ships

These ships, these low, sleek, sharply raked ships with their towering masts, once dotted this river by the dozens. Shipyards in Fells Point (which may be, visually, the most unchanged area of this city), like Thomas Kemp’s, kept building and building them, ever pushing the envelope of sharper hull, loftier spars, more sail, more speed. Speed, for them, was life. We sail Pride of Baltimore II fast because, well…we can. We sail her fast to evoke those historic vessels, products of the Chesapeake and of this city, that she represents. We sail her fast to compete, to show the modern world what a marvel these vessels were 200 years ago, and still are today. The fellows who sailed these vessels, Comet, Catch Me Who Can (I mean, what a name, right?) the famous Chasseur, and many others, did so for profit and to assist the war effort, but also for their freedom (not “freedom” as in political freedom, but freedom as in avoidance of prison), and often enough for their very lives. I’m motivated enough to drive Pride of Baltimore II hard just by the joy of competition, just to win a race. Imagine a race where it was death or prison if you lost.

My dad, a sailor and a lover of history like me, has this image of an 1812 privateer captain that he says I should try to emulate. I quote him roughly: “I always picture these guys as wearing a filthy peacoat, with a vest and tie or neckcloth underneath, and a bowler hat. They stalk the deck with a steely glare, as the ship flies along under a huge cloud of canvas, everything stretched to the breaking point. The crew takes an occasional fearful glance aloft, but all the captain says to them is “Drive her, boys. Drive her.”

A little silly, yes? It was meant to be. But it becomes less so when you look over the captain’s shoulder, over a couple of miles of white-capped sea, at the pursuing British frigate. Those men in their filthy peacoats and bowler hats, sailing out of this city, won those races often enough, for profit, as a war aim, and for their lives, that the British saw eradicating the shipyards that built their fast ships here in Baltimore as an important enough goal to sail a huge fleet here and try to blast their way into the city. And the image of those ships, that unique shape that struck fear into their prey and frustration into their pursuers, endured long enough for this city to build two of them more than a century and a half later.

All of this, by the way, clicked together as a tale to tell as I sat on Pride last night, and watched a red rocket burst over Fort McHenry.

Signed,

Captain Jordan Smith