Resurrecting the Vasa

By Jeffrey Bowen

 

Under a bright blue sky on August 10, 1628, a day with pleasantly light winds, a massive 226-foot warship, towering four stories or 172 feet above the waterline and loaded with rigging and sails, eased its way into the Bay of Stockholm, Sweden on its maiden voyage. 

 

The ship had been built on orders from Sweden’s King Gustavus Adolphus.  Named after the royal house, the Vasa was viewed by the king as an imposing symbol of his country’s intention to dominate the Baltic, both militarily and economically.

 

 At the time, Sweden was engaged in an eight-year war with Poland-Lithuania.  The naval battles had not been going well.  A single storm had destroyed 10 of Sweden’s best ships.  Along with sister ships under construction, the Vasa was an artillery-laden attempt to turn the tide.  

 

The galleon was uniquely armed with two full decks of 62 bronze cannons, and was richly decorated with about 500 sculptures and cultural ornaments.  It must have been quite a colorful sight for the excited spectators who lined the shore.

 

Excitement shifted to horror as the Vasa drifted several hundred feet offshore, encountered a modest breeze, listed steeply onto its side, took on water through its open gun ports, and sank in 105 feet of water.

 

Four centuries later, the Vasa is quite intact and marvelously restored, sitting in a naval museum on the shore of the harbor.  The vessel is visited by millions of tourists annually.  My wife Hillary and I were among those visitors in 2016.

The four floors of the Vasa are accessible by stairs or elevator.  Each floor highlights different aspects of 17^th century Swedish life.  What truly captured our imagination is the story of the ship’s destiny after its watery demise, and the lessons we have learned from it.  

 

The seaworthiness of the Vasa was questionable long before its launch.  There was too much elevated construction above the water line, with a narrow hull, heavy cannons, and little ballast in the hold.  The king had repeatedly interfered with construction and had impatiently pushed for an early launch.

 

 The potential lurch of the ship was tested by 30 crew members who were told to run fast from one side of the ship to the other.  After three times, the test was terminated because the tilt became potentially disastrous.  

 

A naval inquest was conducted, but ultimately no official was blamed and punished.  Perhaps this was because the specifications and armaments had been repeatedly revised by the king himself.  The investigators concluded, “Only God knows.”

 

Although its valuable cannons were removed not long after the sinking, the galleon lay in murky obscurity for several hundred years.  Not until 1956 was the vessel finally relocated by an amateur archeologist.  Anaerobic conditions preserved most of the wood, cloth, and leather on the ship.  Heroic dredging and thousands of dives eventually brought the Vasa to its museum location where it has undergone continuous restoration since 1961.   

 

The preservation of the Vasa represents an impressive combination of marine archeology, advanced technology and engineering, national willpower and inspiration. When we visited Stockholm, we nearly overlooked the opportunity to visit a ship that never went to war, sank ignominiously, and lay mostly forgotten in the salty mud for centuries.  It seems that history may be neglected, but its symbols eventually return to us with valuable lessons about who we really are. 

 

6/2020