Piloting To Portsmouth British Dockyard Has Survived Napoleon’s Attempted Invasion, The Spanish Armada, Zeppelin Attacks And World War Ii Bombs

A long, gray slab of Welsh slate covers the tomb of an unknown Englishman in Portsmouth Cathedral.

His warship, the Mary Rose - the flower of King Henry VIII’s fleet sank exactly 450 years ago.

Raised to the surface in 1982, the hulk was just one of history’s ghosts I found at the Portsmouth Historic Dockyard on the south coast of England. Eight hundred years of maritime glory greeted me as I passed through Victory Gate into the traditional home of the Royal Navy.

Founded in 1194 at the command of King Richard I, the Dockyard overcame everything from Napoleon’s invasion threat to a Zeppelin attack, from the Spanish Armada to World War II bombs.

At times in the 19th century, it was the largest industrial complex in the world.

And its innovations, such as the world’s first dry dock in 1495, helped keep England master of the seas.

With tickets to all the sights in hand, I first set out on the 45-minute harbor cruise on an overcast, blustery morning. We floated by big, gray ships of the modern Royal Navy, with two aircraft carriers and five destroyers reflected in the green water. Some sailors waved at us. Trainees on an old sailing ship perched precariously on the yardarms.

After the cruise, I put in for tea and scones at the Trade Winds Restaurant in No. 7 Boathouse. With this ballast aboard, it was on to the Mary Rose Ship Hall. Only the starboard side of this Tudor vessel survives, covered by silt when discovered under 40 feet of water in the Solent, just over a mile from the dry dock where it was built in 1509. The overloaded ship capsized while engaging a French fleet in 1545, and most of its 700 sailors and soldiers drowned.

Divers raised over 200 skeletons and 20,000 artifacts that had slept for four centuries. Windows enclosed the viewing walkway because a chemical preservative sprays the Mary Rose wreck for at least 20 hours a day; this will continue for 20 years more.

Skeletal timbers of dark brown oak reached out into the mist for their missing brethren on the port side. The four phantom decks appeared a fitting grave for the doomed crew. The artifacts from the ship, in the separate Mary Rose Exhibition, provide a perfect time capsule of mid-16th century shipboard life.

Items of wood, iron, leather and glass aged remarkably well. Some peppercorns still smelled of pepper. A jar of ointment showed fingerprints in the salve. I fingered a smooth piece of oak timber, stretched a rough length of rope, and hefted a 17-pound stone cannonball. It was like holding history in my hands.

HMS Victory was next, Vice Admiral Lord Nelson’s flagship at the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805. Nelson was on the quarterdeck when a musket ball felled him, and he died 3 hours later on a lower deck below the waterline. Both spots are marked.

Sixty acres of oak forest were used to make up this mighty craft, the world’s oldest warship still in full commission. Twenty-seven miles of soaring black rigging formed a cathedral of lines against the sky.

I had to stoop to explore the Victory’s shallow gun decks. Each cannon crew - 12 men and a boy - worked, ate and slept by their weapon. Awaiting supper, square plates rested on tables between the guns (thus, the expression “three square meals a day”). White canvas hammocks crowded together, and our guide explained that a sailor who died on board was buried in one, sewn shut by the sailmaker.

“He’d always put one of the last stitches through the man’s nose,” the guide informed us, “with a big, thick needle - the deadman’s stitch - to make sure he was really dead.”

Horatio Nelson had gone to sea at age 12 and was a captain by 21. Blinded in his right eye while fighting on Corsica, he later lost his right arm in action in the Canary Islands. Victories against Napoleon’s navy made him a national hero, and his affair with Emma Hamilton made a national scandal. A daring strategist, he was also a charismatic leader, loved by the men who served under him. At Trafalgar, he signaled his famous order to the fleet: “England expects that every man will do his duty.” Both they and Nelson did.

Following a hearty lunch at the Victory Buffet, I piloted over to HMS Warrior, launched in 1860. Built as the fastest, biggest and most dangerous warship in the world, the Warrior never fired its guns in anger, because no captain dared challenge it. Designers rigged this long, black snake of a predator with both sails and steam-driven propeller. By the 1870s, however, such hybrids were obsolete as steam ruled as queen of the Victorian navy. The Warrior wound up as a floating oil jetty for 50 years before its rescue for restoration.

The clean upper deck sported tall, mustard-colored funnels that could be lowered to make room for sails. Signal flags of yellow, red, and blue waited for action, neatly tucked in compartments. Guides in period uniforms were at the ready for questions. The whitewashed gun deck harbored thirteen black cannons on each side and was positively light and cheery compared with the Victory’s cramped quarters. Rows of rifles, pistols, and artillery shells sat arrayed for inspection.

Lower down, a battery of four washing machines powered by a single hand crank was a homey touch. Still lower, black-painted coal furnaces and the slow pumping of the steam engine’s two gigantic pistons echoed another age.

My last stop was the Royal Naval Museum, occupying the broad, brick storehouses. Nelson’s funeral barge, which carried his coffin up the Thames River to St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, hung in the center of the Victory Gallery. Next door, glass cases held his personal items such as a prayer book, a silver toothpick, and a visiting card. His letters showed a round, readable hand.

Other galleries contained modern exhibits highlighting Royal Naval history and lore, chronicling the rise and fall of the British Empire. A medical display included a large ceramic jar with a perforated lid, proudly proclaiming its contents: leeches.

I learned that press gangs that forcibly conscripted sailors are technically legal even now, but have not operated since 1815. Fearing a change in policy, I decided not to linger and flowed with the tide of tourists back out Victory Gate.

MEMO: This sidebar appeared with the story: IF YOU GO HOW TO GET THERE: Frequent trains depart from London’s Waterloo Station for the 90-minute ride to Portsmouth. Less frequent trains depart from London’s Victoria Station, taking about 2-1/4 hours. The Dockyard entrance is less than a five-minute walk from Portsmouth Harbour Station. ADMISSION: Ticket prices vary by the number of attractions. The cost for one ship is about $7.50, ranging up to $24 for all three historic ships and the harbor cruise. WHEN TO GO: The Dockyard is open every day except for Christmas. WHERE TO STAY: The 200-year old Keppel’s Head Hotel is ideally located facing the harbor across from the train station, just 200 yards from the Dockyard gate. Double rooms start at $88, not including breakfast. Address: The Hard, Porstsmouth, Hampshire P01 3DT. WHERE TO EAT: Two moderately-priced restaurants are located in the Dockyard. The Trade Winds Restaurant is in Boathouse No. 7, and the Victory Buffet is in one of the old storehouses used for the Royal Naval Museum. Just outside the Dockyard, across the street from the gate, is a pub/restaurant, The Ship and Castle, serving traditional English fare. OTHER THINGS TO SEE: Charles Dickens Birthplace, 393 Old Commercial Road (open April to September). Dickens was born here in 1812 while his father worked as a pay clerk in the Dockyard. Southsea Castle, on Clarence Esplanade, built by Henry VIII in the 1540s, is a stark stone fortress. The Isle of Wight is a 15-minute ferry ride from the harbor end of the train station. Take the island train to Shanklin with its Old Village of thatch-roofed cottages.