Page 215 - The Secret Museum

hearing the story.

We carried on towards the stern, me rubbing my head, until we reached the

whipstaff, which sailors used to steer before the ship’s wheel was invented. The
helmsman stood holding it, watching a small compass, keeping Vasa on course for its
short trip. He died at his post, and his skeleton was found beside his steering staff.

Behind the whipstaff was the Great Cabin, once richly decorated by the palace
carpenters with fancy panelling and sculptures. A bench all around the cabin had
fold-out beds. This was the admiral’s bedroom – unless the king should come
aboard, in which case the admiral had to move out (though, ultimately, of course, that
never happened, as Gustav Adolf was fighting in Poland on the day the ship sank).

Few people on board would have known it, but a hidden staircase leads from this
cabin to the captain’s cabin on the deck above.

We checked out the lower gundeck, which is similar to the one above it: a curved
floor and highish headroom for a warship of the time. Most of the original crew
would have been okay – the average sailor was 5 foot 5½, and the tallest skeleton
they’ve found was 5 foot 11. All along the deck were ports cut for guns to poke out
of.

Now we were three storeys down into the boat. Sometimes people don’t want to
go any further but I decided to take the plunge and descended a long wooden ladder,
passing through another deck – the orlop – into the hold. Here was where the ship’s

provisions of ammunition, beer and meat – mostly beef and pork, but also moose,
reindeer, chicken and more – were stored. It feels cool down here, as pipes send
cold air into the hull, to keep the ship at 18°C (64.4°F) with 53 per cent relative
humidity. Ideally, the museum would keep Vasa even colder, just a little above
freezing, but that would scare away all the visitors to the museum, who I could hear
there now, outside the ship. It felt strange knowing that nobody standing in the

museum, level with where I stood, would have known I was there.
Inside the hull, down in the bottom of the ship, Fred pointed out where the guest

captain and another sailor were found when the ship was dredged up. The guest
captain was missing a toe and limped, and was unable to escape as the ship sank. Of
all the sailors on board, his is the only name that is known: he was a friend of the
king, and the king was notified in a letter of his death aboard Vasa. It was a bit
creepy down in the hull, so I was happy to climb the ladder and scamper up the stairs
to the top deck and then to the ‘dry land’ of the museum gallery to join the crowds

marvelling at the ship. The Swedish seem to like the irony that Vasa, which was once
a disaster and a bit of an embarrassment, is now a national treasure.

When I left the Vasa Museum I walked around the harbour of Stockholm to see
what was in store at the city’s Modern Art Museum (Moderna Museet). Lars
Byström, chief conservator, led me into the light, airy museum stores, which burst
with ideas and creations. Everywhere I looked, there were great pieces of art. I saw
a hand, sculpted by Picasso, and another oddly shaped figure by de Kooning. Hanging