‘My, she was yar’

Trevor Grove goes island-hopping

We saw Sea Cloud II from the air as we flew in to land at Antigua. She was as tiny and trim as a ship in a bottle. An hour later we were climbing the gangway up her white-painted side, nearly toppling backwards to take in the masts and yards over our heads.

This was a moment I had looked forward to ever since I first saw a picture of Sea Cloud II in a Noble Caledonia brochure. A sailor in my youth, a Patrick O’brian fan in later years, I had longed to go to sea on a tall ship. Now here we were, about to spend a fortnight cruising the Caribbean on just such a vessel.

Never was a ship more shipshape than Sea Cloud II. Teak decks, taut rigging, trussed sails, ropes, ropes and more ropes coiled on belaying pins. Wood, glossy with varnish, everywhere: inside as well as out. My, she was yar.

Our cabin was gorgeous. There were two big portholes, snowy bed-linen, doors and furniture cunningly designed not to bang about in rough weather. The loo seat was wooden, too, varnished of course.

First things first: lifeboat drill. We gathered at the starboard muster station on Deck Four. It was a chance to identify fellow passengers. On the plane it had been mere guesswork: chaps in pink trousers, ladies in bush hats… Now, as we struggled into our lifejackets, we could see they were mainly elderly, spry and reassuringly jovial. Second Officer Zoran from Montenegro, handsome in crisp whites, was in charge of our lifeboat. ‘You very lucky,’ he said. ‘This boat faster than port-side boat. We get away quicker.’ Everyone laughed. This was the tone of passenger-crew relations throughout the voyage.

Tone-setter-in-chief was Tom Hook, a cheery old seadog from Oregon with a beard, a belly and a battered Panama hat. He was not Captain Hook but Cruise Director Hook. The actual skipper of the ship, he explained, was Captain

Sea Cloud II: shipshape and in full sail

Christian Pfenninger from Switzerland, ‘that famous maritime nation’.

Tom would give a talk about each of the 11 islands we visited and write a witty briefing paper before we anchored; when not supervising landing-parties on beach or jetty he would be at the piano, leading Broadway singsongs or playing jazz until past midnight.

But all this was yet to come. Right now Tom wanted us to know a bit more about safety at sea. Sea Cloud II does not have stabilisers like a big passenger liner. She is a threemasted barque and prone to move about a bit. ‘So always remember, one hand for you, one for the ship. If a growler makes her lurch, drop the wine glass, grab the table.’

Dinner gave us a taste of Chef Daniel’s repertoire. With modest numbers to cater for (88 passengers, 63 crew), he could shop locally. During the cruise we’d eat tuna, grouper, and a feast of

just-landed lobsters. For breakfast there’d be soursop, dragon fruit, passion fruit and melons, plus the creamiest porridge afloat. That first night we shared a table with a top international accident investigator and his lawyer wife. What’s more, the wine was free, as at every meal.

The next day after a tour of Antigua we had a buffet lunch on deck, watching pelicans make kamikaze dives into the sea. Then we gathered in the stern, wine in hand, to observe the setting of the sails. This was high drama for anyone who had not been on a tall ship before. Tom Hook talked us through it. The mainmast was 188 feet tall, he said. The ship was longer and heavier than HMS Victory and could carry more sail – 29,000 square feet to Victory’s 19,000. Victory had a crew of 800 men. Sea Cloud II had a crew of just 63.

At this point a dozen young men and two young women in blue shorts and singlets began hauling on ropes. These were halyards, explained Tom, ‘hauling the yards’ to bring them square before the wind. The order came from the captain: ‘You can lay aloft!’ The crew scrambled up the ratlines, higher and higher until the topmost were mere blobs silhouetted against the sun. In silence the sailors edged out along the yard-arms, loosening the tacks binding the sails, clamping on their safety harnesses as they went. The captain, who has worked on sailing ships most of his life, had decided 11 of our 24 sails should be set. When all were freed, the topmen scuttled back down to the deck and, in mysterious order, unfurled one sail after another.

By the time the last of them was bellying in the breeze, the engines had stopped and Sea Cloud II was slipping through the sea at five and a half knots. All you could hear was the slap of the waves, the sound of a girl deckhand sand-papering a hatch and the faint hum of the generator making ice for the captain’s cocktail party. Bliss.

We soon got our sea-legs. At 7.30 am Tom would lead a gang of us on a brisk 15 laps of the upper deck, looking out for whales and dolphins.

Every day we’d be ferried ashore in a lifeboat or Zodiac to visit a

Martinique: colourful and chic

different island, sometimes stopping to swim. On our return there’d be an evening lecture by Nelsonian expert Peter Warwick on the Golden Age of the Royal Navy.

We soon noticed that French islands such as St Barth, the Iles des Saintes and Martinique seemed markedly more colourful and chic than those where British rule had predominated and the main crop had been sugar. When cane-sugar prices dropped in the 19th century, the great plantation-owners pulled out, leaving behind them huge populations of African slaves to fend for themselves. The other striking contrast was between those islands battered by Hurricanes Irma and Maria in 2017 and those that escaped their fury. As we sailed past Tortola we saw fishing boats still beached in the bush high above the shoreline. On Jost Van Dyke we drank rum punch at a beach-bar whose owners were still living in tents among the debris. A lot of cruise ships have been scared off, but to their credit, Noble Caledonia and Sea Cloud II have made a point of continuing to bring their business to the worst-hit islands.

For me, the island-hopping was more a backdrop than the main pleasure of the cruise, which was simply being at sea on a beautiful ship under sail, with an immensely friendly crew. One night, after a barbecue on deck, there was a treat for us Patrick O’brian fans: a showing of Master and Commander, with grog doled out when HMS Surprise rounded the Horn.

Anchored off Grenada one wet and windy night, the Angel Harps Steel Band came aboard and set to banging away under a canvas awning erected on the Lido Deck. It was still pouring, but such was the vigour of the music that soon there were dozens dancing and singing in the rain.

I did not note exactly who joined the conga that snaked around the deck that night, but since the numbers grew with the euphoria, it may well have included all of the passengers we’d met, among whom were: the former deputy governorgeneral of British Guyana, George Orwell’s adopted son, the sister of the author of The Horse Whisperer, our first-night chum the accident investigator, the veteran Cambridge newsman who trained Guardian editor Alan Rusbridger, the lady race-horse owner with a runner at Cheltenham in a fortnight’s time, a cheery dentist, several doctors, teachers, lawyers and surveyors, one or two ex-soldiers and sailors plus the co-inventor of Viagra.

Sea Cloud II, we all agreed, was a very beautiful ship with a very merry crew. And we were part of it.

‘The setting of the sails was high drama for anyone who had not been on a tall ship before’