I was once Master and Commander of a mighty warship with a proud crew, navigating the treacherous high seas ever on the lookout for Black Beard and his band of blood thirsty pirates or other foreign vessels who might threaten the safety of my ship and crew from ever safely reaching the other end of the world. These were difficult and dangerous times indeed!
Going to the Jardin des Tuileries was an outing I eagerly looked forward to. We usually went on the weekends because the beautiful pond with its fountains only gave way to the mighty armadas on the weekends. As a young boy with more than my share of vivid imagination, I was already walking the decks yelling to the crew to begin all preparations for another high seas adventure well before the arrival of the weekend. The more immediate threat of possibly missing out on commanding my ship was good enough to make me really want do my homework.
Walking into the Jardin des Tuileries from the Place de la Concorde was an exciting moment. I would already be thinking about who I was going to be and what dangerous mission lay ahead. Was I to be an Admiral or perhaps a pirate, would I have a frigatte or sloop in the far off islands searching for treasure and dodging islanders with deadly blow darts? Not an easy task and not something to be taken lightly. The only dark cloud hanging over this drama would be if the sailboats were all rented. This left left you sidelined and watching other captains of the high seas and second guessing their ramming tactics and keeping an eye out for sudden gusts of wind which were known to happen sending vessels capsizing or in some cases turn upside down. The humiliation from such an event would be almost too much to bear. Not everyone on the high-seas were captains some were just pleasure sailing which was fine as long as they understood that in sailing the high-seas they ran the risk of becoming a target; before one could say Hornblower they would experienced ramming speeds or their sails would become intertwined with another ship. Your casual late afternoon pleasure sail on the Chesapeake Bay could suddenly became your very own nightmare.
There were moments of sheer excitement as your boat and another made contact on the high seas. Thanks to the wind which ruled our destiny, our activities on the water could come to a complete standstill. Not a breath of fresh air to be found, no matter how hard we collectively blew our lungs out in the direction of our sails. We silently prayed for the wind to pick-up looking for a tail-tail to slowly move about, a sail to slowly loft and then it would come rushing in causing excitement and confusion among the fleet as our boats spun around, ramming or being rammed by others. It was an unsettled situation for both captains and their crews. Eventually it happened as we knew it would but hoped it never would; the whistle blew, time was up. Children begged their parents for another round on the high seas: please, please, I promise this or that. The next line of seafaring captains were already lined up to claim their boat for a high-seas adventure on the pond at the Jardin des Tuileries.
Many years later, I returned thinking surely this activity had longed since given way to something more touristic. And to my surprise, there was the fleet! I sat down in a chair and watched young children eagerly setting their boats in the water, parents yelling out instructions, the usual cutthroat pirate ship heading towards another boat and someone who had no idea what lay in store for them. Boys and girls now made up the Admiralty which was new and different then when I sailed the seas. The sky was getting grey, the wind was slowly picking up, the waves were building, a few drops of rain, tourists scrambled for cover, mothers and fathers yanked their children from their ships. These high seas were as dangerous as ever. My children, though grown-up, had an opportunity to see the fleet first hand and who knows maybe one day they will return, children in hand, and give them an opportunity to sail the high seas.