JUNE 20, 2024 – This afternoon we spent 90 minutes aboard a time machine, and though we never left the present, we experienced the past—over 410 years in the past, to be precise. The excitement was aboard the Onrust, a replica of the old Dutch sailing vessel built in 1613-14 by Adrien Block, a lawyer-turned-merchant-fortune seeker from Amsterdam. It was first Dutch ship to be built in New Netherland.
The original Onrust, a modified lateen rig, was also the first European boat to navigate up the Connecticut River. With a draft of only four-and-a-half feet and a 12-foot beam, the ship was designed for sailing in shallow waters. When it ventured upstream the native people along the way were impressed by its white sails. What I learned today was that its crew were called “white men” because of those white sails, not because of the men’s skin (which, given exposure to the elements, was rather windblown, sun-damaged, and otherwise weather-beaten into shades of red and brown leather). By sail at the lower end of the river and by rope tows as the river narrowed above Middletown, Block and his crew made it all the way to what is now Hartford.
Their mission was to trade for beaver pelts, which would fetch a fortune back in Amsterdam, and in the end they achieved their objective. As was the case with most entrepreneurs/adventures in the New World, however, Block and his crew went through hell and high water to win their prize.
The ship’s name—“unrest,” in English—reflected some of the trouble. Earlier, Block had been ready to sail back to Europe with a fortune in furs aboard the Tyger, but before he could get underway, the ship accidentally burned to the waterline while moored off Manhattan. This unfortunate incident led half of Block’s crew to abandon their “fortune in furs” project in favor of piracy in the Caribbean. The unrest of the bad apples inspired the name of the vessel that Block and the rest of his crew would build to restore their bite at the apple of New World fur-based fame and fortune.
Today the Onrust took us on a splendid voyage out of its home port of Essex. Having read about the Dutch in New Netherland generally and about Block and the Onrust specifically, I was in a combination of heaven and fantasia. From the stern flew a large replica of the old flag of Amsterdam. On port side rigging was a flag bearing the logo of the Connecticut River Museum, under whose auspices the Onrust excursions occur. On the starboard side was the tri-colored Dutch flag. The ship’s scale, design, fittings, and rigging were all true to the original vessel. I imagined myself in 1614, a Dutch crew member in search and hope of my fortune, but knowing that “getting there was half the fun.”
When the captain asked for actual volunteers, I couldn’t have jumped any faster or higher. I happened to be wearing my “Captain Grandpa” nautical sun hat and was quick to point out that credential. On command, I got to haul in the mainsheet, which I did as if I were an old salt, even though I’m neither old (snicker, snicker) nor “of the saltwater,” since all my sailing has been on fresh water. My position was near the 12-foot, shining-varnished tiller, deftly managed by “A.J.,” one of the three official crew members. Believe me, I wanted to ask, “You don’t suppose I could have a turn at that now do you?” But I decided to save myself from disappointment.
Along our route south toward the railroad drawbridge just above Saybrook Point—and back to Essex—we were treated to glorious views of the wetlands that border the river proper, various marinas and pleasure craft fit for Winslow Homer paintings, and the elevated wilderness beyond. To the far north rose a massive storm cell, maybe 30 or 40 miles away. Eagles soared overhead and ospreys dive-bombed the waters barely a length (45 feet) ahead of our leonine bowsprit.
After returning to port, we drove two towns up to Chester for supper. Just before sunset, we drove back around to Hamburg Cove but stopped first at Ely’s Ferry Landing, three miles short of our destination and across the river from Essex. The idyllic spot affords a grand view of river sunsets. It’s where our grandparents would take us for the afternoon when were kids. A nice sand beach served as our private domain with easy access to the water. (The family house overlooking Hamburg Cove sits atop a steep bank.) As large motor yachts plied the river on their way to or from the Sound, their wakes would simulate ocean waves. We’d shout with glee as they washed us up on the shore. It’s where Grandpa Holman would swim with us and float on his back and amuse us by sticking his feet up out of the water.
This evening Grandpa Holman’s great-great granddaughter played in that same sand, mud, and water, and “shouted with glee” when the artificial waves of passing yachts washed her ashore. I snapped a photo of the pier on which Grandpa had been photographed when 120-some years ago he was within a year or two of Illiana’s current age[1].
As I savored the mix of memories that are now part of Illiana’s inheritance, a tall mast and gaff emerged from behind the tall vegetation at the north end of the small beach. In the next moment I recognized the silhouetted hull of . . . the Onrust.[2] It had sailed upstream from Essex and was now returning from its sunset cruise.
Back at Hamburg Cove when Jenny and Garrison asked about our trip (they had stayed ashore), Beth reported that “It was hot; terribly hot.” I guess it was (86°F and sunny), but I hadn’t notice; or rather, it hadn’t bother me. After all, I’d been on the water in 1614, hearing old Dutch all around me—aboard the Onrust, no less. For me, a sailor-student of history and with roots in this part of “New Netherland,” today’s experience was as cool as it gets!
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© 2024 by Eric Nilsson
