Showing posts with label lighthouse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lighthouse. Show all posts

Friday, November 18, 2016

The Haunted Lighthouse

Most folks have seen and been entertained at one time or another by a player-piano - a self-playing piano containing a mechanical mechanism that operates the piano through pre-programmed music recorded on perforated paper. Watching the piano keys moving without the assistance of human fingers however, is pretty spooky; like there is an unseen ghost sitting there on the bench playing tunes. So just imagine how spooky it is to hear piano music in a place where there is not only no pianist, but no piano either. Visitors to the Seguin Island lighthouse often have just such an experience.

About a mile off the coast of Maine near the mouth of the Kennebec River is a finger of land named Seguin Island. The recorded history of this small island is a long one, at least by American standards. In 1607, two small ships, "The Gift of God" and the "Mary and John," came to America from England and dropped anchor near the island. The settlers on board hoped to establish the first English colony in North America. They built a small town along the banks of the Kennebec River and planted a few crops. Unfortunately for them, they had arrived too late in the growing season for this area and many of the settlers perished due to the cold winter and starvation. As soon as the weather allowed, they got on their ships and high-tailed it back to England.

Even the local natives usually steered clear of the boiling waters pounding on the rocks along the island's edge. The name "Seguin" is an English corruption of an Indian word which loosely translated means "place where the sea vomits." After those first settlers departed, the island was left to the natives and largely undisturbed until the late 1700's. In 1795, with numerous ships having met their untimely end on the island's rocks, George Washington gave the order to build the first "watch tower" on the island. A year later, the lighthouse was put into operation.

Congress had appropriated $6,300 (a right tidy sum in 1795) for sturdy construction of the lighthouse using the most modern methods known at the time. The owner of the construction firm which was awarded the contract though built the tower of wood and cheap materials and absconded with the rest of the funds. Wooden towers do not long survive the wet environment and winter storms of the island and by 1819, the lighthouse had been virtually demolished and had to be rebuilt. It was rebuilt according to plans with stone and only cost $2,500.

The original lighthouse keeper was Count John Polersky who was born to a noble family in Europe and had immigrated to America where he served as a major in the Continental Army. Living alone on the uninhabited island proved to be a severe hardship. From the very first, his keeper's shack and the wooden tower were battered by the waves and weather. He built several barns to hold a few head of livestock, but storms destroyed them soon after they were built. Other storms destroyed or sank three different boats he had built to transport him back and forth to the mainland. The wet, salty air killed his garden and ruined his health. One day, after not hearing from Polersky for several weeks, a shopkeeper rowed out to check on him and found him dead on the floor of his little house.

A number of other lighthouse keepers were hired, but none stayed for long. The isolation and terrible conditions always drove them away. About 1850, a young man accepted the keeper's position. He was engaged to a young city girl and soon after accepting the position, the two were married and the young bride moved with her new husband to the isolated lighthouse home where their only neighbors were the seals and seabirds.

It didn't take long for the lively, socially outgoing bride to become bored without the interesting conversation and stimulating entertainment she had enjoyed in the city. Her husband was a quiet man who believed in hard work, but he loved his wife dearly. In an effort to lift her spirits, he purchased a piano in the city and with great effort, floated it across the inlet on a raft, hoisted it up the steep slopes of the island and installed it in the parlor of their home.

The wife very much appreciated the effort and lengths he had gone to for her and she began to practice. Unfortunately, she proved to be very musically challenged. With nothing else to do though, she practiced every day, hour after hour. She eventually managed to learn one small tune and in an effort to perfect her playing of it, she played that same tune over and over again. Her husband hinted that she should try to learn another tune, but she was either unable or unwilling to try anything but the tune she already knew. Day and night, she played the same little tune until her husband demanded she stop playing it, but apparently she had become seriously obsessed, so much so that her husband was worried about her sanity. He should have been worried about his own.

Wherever he went in the lighthouse he could hear the notes of that one maddening song repeated again and again. He could hear them in the kitchen as he made himself something to eat. He could hear them while he worked with the equipment. He could hear them as he worked with the supplies. He could hear them when he went to the top of the lighthouse. Eventually, he could hear them even when his wife had left the piano and went to bed. It wasn't long before he couldn't sleep because of that damnable tune playing over and over in his head.

One day the poor keeper could stand it no longer. As his wife was playing that infernal tune yet again, he went to the tool shed, retrieved an ax and marched to the parlor where his wife sat on her stool. He lifted the heavy ax high above his head and with a mighty swing, brought it down onto the piano. The piano splintered, but he couldn't stop himself. Swing after swing rendered the piano into kindling, twisted strings and shattered ivory keys. His poor wife, too astonished or too afraid to move, was still sitting on her stool when the keeper turned the ax on her.

Amidst the piano debris, the pieces of his dear wife and the massive amount of blood, the keeper fell to the parlor floor. Coming to his senses and unable to live with himself and what he had done, he lifted the ax high in the air once more and let it fall, splitting his skull wide open.

There is no written proof of such a horrible deed happening at the lighthouse. Some say it is only a legend, but others say records were destroyed and the matter covered up or else hiring other keepers would prove to be impossible. But tourists visiting the lighthouse in the summer months very often report hearing piano music. Numerous keepers who came along later, their wives and children included, also report hearing piano music, always the same tune. They report it can be heard in the house, within the walls of the tower, and even standing outside. Many also say they have heard a soft, male voice when there is no one around. Several keepers abruptly left the island, refusing to return because of the whispering voice they heard when they were all alone. Could it be poor, lonely Count Polersky still yearning for companionship?

A few times, keepers have reported seeing ghostly figures, a man and a woman, walking hand-in-hand along the top of the cliffs at twilight, long after all visitors have left the island. It's probably just fanciful stories, but it seems more agreeable to believe it is the unfortunate husband and wife, unwilling or unable to leave the place where their lives came to such a gruesome and premature end, reunited and reconciled in the afterlife.

 

Sunday, October 18, 2015

Phantoms of the Minot's Ledge Lighthouse

A mile east of Scituate, Massachusetts is a slice of rock that at low tide is just above the crashing waves of the northeastern coast. Now known as Minot's Ledge, when the first white settlers arrived in the area, they found the Native Americans to be terrified of it.

Their stories told of a man-eating monster that lived amongst the bluffs overlooking the ledge. They called him Hobomock and they believed when Hobomock grew angry, he unleashed terrible storms which often destroyed their villages and killed many of their people. To appease Hobomock, the natives made frequent offerings to him by paddling out at low tide to leave food, ornaments and flowers on the rock. Most of the time their offerings kept him happy and sleeping peacefully, but occasionally he woke up in a bad mood and rejected their offerings. He would then rise from beneath the waves, tear into the shore with ferocious winds and waves and cause the Indians to flee inland, away from Hobomock's terrible fury.

Of course the Europeans didn't believe the native peoples and never made offerings. For almost 300 years, they paid the price. Time and again Hobomock rose up to smash ships and drown sailors. During even the mildest of storms, the rocky ledge was covered with waves and impossible for the ship's captains to see and avoid it. Few, if any, obstacles along the east coast caused as many lost ships and took as many human lives as Minot's Ledge. When the count went over 400, there was great demand for the government to do something.

There was a reason no actions were taken previously. Building a lighthouse on the ledge, no matter how much it was needed, was considered impossible. Anything built there would be totally exposed to the full force of the ocean storms and would be battered to pieces. That is, until a lighthouse inspector named I. W. P. Lewis came up with a radical suggestion. Instead of the normal cylindrical tower built on the rocks, it was proposed this lighthouse be built upon eight iron pilings, each of which would be sunk 5 feet into the rocks and cemented into place. The theory was the lighthouse structure containing the light and the keepers living quarters would be high above any waves and the eight iron legs would offer almost no resistance to the crashing water.

With the great need for something to be done for the safety of ships and seamen, the Treasury Department authorized the funds and the building commenced in early 1847. Numerous times storms would sweep drilling rigs and construction equipment off the rocks and into the sea, but work was always started again. Finally, after 3 years of labor, the lighthouse was put into service on New Year's Day, 1850.

Mr. Lewis declared the structure would weather even the harshest storm with no damage, but the first keeper, Isaac Dunham, quickly declared his misgivings. Living in the lighthouse, he claimed he could feel it swaying in a strong wind and the iron legs would groan and bend as they were hit by waves. Many of his official reports indicated his concerns. His beloved assistant at the isolated lighthouse was a cat which helped keep the population of rats down and provided him with much needed companionship. His feline friend evidently felt their home was unsafe as well. He never seemed to relax and constantly alerted and ran from one room to another. One day during a storm, the lighthouse suddenly jerked as an exceptionally large wave hit it and the cat was so startled, it ran through a door which had come open and jumped over the rail. Unfortunately, there was nothing below but a raging sea and the cat was lost. When the storm finally abated the next day, Isaac rowed back to land in the station's boat and quit his post. He had been on the job for exactly 9 months.

Within several weeks, a man named John Bennett was hired to replace Isaac. Because of the isolation and damage the structure had suffered which needed to be repaired, two assistants were hired with him. A month after his hiring, John came back to town on shore to purchase supplies. While there, a vicious storm came up and he was forced to stay in town. The storm grew even worse and huge waves pounded the shore. Bennett began to wonder if the lighthouse and his two assistants, Joseph Antoine and Joseph Wilson, would survive. Bennett was looking through binoculars toward the lighthouse from the building where he had taken shelter when at 1:00 in the afternoon, he saw the iron legs begin to sag back toward land and he knew right off the lighthouse and his two friends were doomed. Within minutes the whole structure collapsed. Several days later, the battered and bloated bodies of the assistants were recovered from the rocks where they had been thrown by the storm.

Within a year, construction was begun on a new lighthouse, one that would actually be able to withstand the pounding of the ocean waves. Over the next 8 years, a tower was built with huge granite blocks laying in parallel on top of foundation stones weighing two tons each. Now, more than 150 years after it was put in service, the second lighthouse remains standing. Fully automated, the old lighthouse still sends out its light to warn ships and sailors to keep away, but even though living humans are no longer needed to keep the light burning, that doesn't mean the old station is not occupied.

For almost 100 years, lighthouse keepers, sometimes with their wives, lived in the cold, dank living quarters. Often stranded for weeks at a time due to stormy seas making the trip to land too dangerous in the station's small boat, they endured isolation and stifling boredom. One thing many of them came to agree on was that the old stone tower was haunted.

A look in the official logbooks reveals many strange occurrences. Keepers often noted a tap, tap, taping on the granite walls of the tower. They heard pounding on the doors even during storms when nobody could possibly be out there. And often, they heard voices which seemed to come from all directions at once. In a number of cases, keepers would abruptly quit upon being able to get back into town. Some would just say they didn't want to talk about it. Others said they had to leave before they went mad. A few said they couldn't stand the voices anymore.

Nobody has lived at the Minot's Ledge Lighthouse since it was automated in 1947, but fishermen who pass the lighthouse on their way into Scituate harbor often report seeing the dark figure of a man climbing the iron ladder leading to the outer door. They say the man calls out to them in a foreign language that sounds like Portuguese. Historians note that Joseph Antoine, one of the assistants killed in the collapse of the first structure, was born and raised in Portugal.

And sometimes, boaters who have passed the lighthouse say they have seen, and heard, a very wet and anxious cat standing on the station's boat landing, squalling at the top of its lungs.
 

Thursday, October 10, 2013

Practice Makes Perfect

 There was a man whose name was Frank. The last few years of his life he lived in a place called Serenity Acres. It was a nice place really, with soft white walls and soothing music playing 12 hours each and every day and the little pink pill the nurse gave Frank every evening let him sleep the other 12 hours. Sometimes he didn't even have the nightmare more than 3 or 4 times while he slept. This is the story of how he came to be a resident at Serenity Acres.

Dah-dah-dum-dah-plink. Dah-dah-dum-dah-plink. Frank was getting so tired of his wife hitting the wrong key on the piano. All day and late into the night his wife kept practicing the same song and kept hitting the wrong key at the exact same place. Over and over and over.

Frank and his wife Jean made their home on a tiny speck of an island just off the coast of Florida. He was the lighthouse keeper and he took his job very seriously. Without his continual cleaning and maintenance and repair work to keep the light shining, a ship would surely sail into the rocks submerged just off the end of the island. That wasn't going to happen, not while Frank was the keeper. They lived in the lighthouse and Jean kept the rooms clean and cooked Frank's meals and helped him walk the beach to keep it clean of debris.

Frank and Jean had been married for 13 years now. The first 10 years they had been happy except for the 2 miscarriages Jean had suffered. They had both wanted children, but after the second miscarriage, the doctor had advised them it would be best if Jean did not get pregnant again. And so Jean had begun to turn down Frank's advances. He wasn't happy about this, but he understood and he spent even more time working to keep the lighthouse in tip-top condition. 

About a year later, Jean decided she wanted to learn to play the piano. Frank supposed it was her way of filling in the time she now had since he was so devoted to his work. He had argued against it, knowing she didn't have a musical bone in her body, plus they couldn't really afford one, but Jean was adamant. Eventually, Frank gave up arguing about it and before he changed his mind, Jean bought a cheap, used model and had it brought to the lighthouse in a boat. The thing weighed a ton and even though the 2 strong men who brought it over lent a hand, Frank thought he was going to have a heart attack before getting it through the lighthouse door and into the living room. 

Before Frank had paid the 2 men and they had departed, Jean was already sitting at the piano practicing. She practiced and she practiced and she practiced. Always the same tune because, she said, she wanted to perfect that song before moving on to something else. At first, every note Jean played sounded off, but Frank ignored the awful sounds, hoping and sometimes even praying that with time and practice, she would get better.

It took months, but finally Frank was able to make out a melody - at least in most parts of the song she had been butchering for so long. But there was always that one passage she just couldn't get - dah-dah-dum-dah-plink. Every time, over and over, hour after hour - Dah-dah-dum-dah-plink. He begged her to start playing a different song, but Jean refused. "I'm going to practice until I get this one perfect," she said. "Remember, practice makes perfect!" Dah-dah-dum-dah-plink, dah-dah-dum-dah-plink.

Frank's job kept him in the lighthouse most of the time of course, and Frank felt trapped; no way to escape that infernal sour note! He tried putting wax in his ears, but he could still hear it. He went walking on the beach, but the island was so small he could still hear it even at the farthest end of land. Every night Jean stayed up into the wee hours practicing and she awoke early in the mornings to practice more. Frank went to bed hearing dah-dah-dum-dah-plink, dah-dah-dum-dah-plink. He woke up hearing dah-dah-dum-dah-plink, dah-dah-dum-dah-plink. He dreamed dah-dah-dum-dah-plink, dah-dah-dum-dah-plink. Hour after interminable hour, dah-dah-dum-dah-plink, dah-dah-dum-dah-plink.

One day a storm was coming in. The sky was dark, the wind began to blow and the waves began to grow. Frank asked Jean to stop playing until the storm passed as he had to concentrate to ensure the light was lit and bright so no ships would be in danger from the rocks. Jean said she couldn't stop now as she felt in her bones that she would soon get it right if she just kept practicing. She sat back down and started playing again. That's when Frank lost it.

A while later, Frank was sorry he had chopped up the piano with his ax. He could have sold it and gotten at least most of his money back for it. He wasn't sorry at all about Jean though. As soon as the storm had abated, Frank put on his rubber rain gear and dug a big hole behind the tool shed. He buried the pieces of Jean with the pieces of the piano because he figured that's what she would have wanted. After filling in the grave and stacking fireplace logs on top, Frank went to bed and had the best sleep he'd had in months. When he woke in the morning, he was refreshed and had so much energy! He spent most of the day cleaning away the blood from the floor and walls. When the water in his bucket turned red, he ambled down to the ocean where he exchanged it for another bucket of clean salt water. He whistled while he worked and he even took several breaks to leisurely walk the beach and listen to nothing but the waves washing ashore and the seagulls chattering as they rode the wind overhead. The seagulls didn't have a care in the world, and neither did Frank. 

When he finished the cleaning chore, he made a note in the lighthouse log book about the tragedy that had befallen Jean. Poor, poor Jean had been swept out to sea by a huge wave during the storm while she bravely walked on the beach with a lantern to ensure no ships came to harm. It was a terrible tragedy.

He then made himself a supper of lamb stew, his favorite meal and afterwards, he enjoyed a glass of brandy while smoking a fat brown cigar. He went to bed very contented, thoroughly enjoying the silence. 

In the middle of the dark night though, Frank was awakened by an all too familiar sound - dah-dah-dum-dah-plink, dah-dah-dum-dah-plink. I must be dreaming Frank thought, because hearing that particular sound is now impossible. She's buried behind the tool shed! He jumped out of bed reaching for his ax. Damn! He must have left it in the tool shed yesterday. He grabbed a stick of firewood and slowly, carefully, crept into the living room.

He staggered when he saw the odd glowing green piano which stood again in it's old place. His mind began to crack when he noticed he could see through the piano to the table and chair directly behind it. The phantom piano was playing all by itself - dah-dah-dum-dah-plink, dah-dah-dum-dah-plink. Over and over it played. Suddenly, above that god-awful sound, Frank heard the strong, clear, unmistakable voice of Jean behind him. "Frank, I told you," it said, "I'm not going to quit until I've mastered this one. You should have listened to me."

Frightened though he was, Frank turned around and there on the stairs he saw the translucent white figure of his dead wife. And in her hands, she held his ax.

He began to scream as he ran out of the lighthouse. He ran to the pier and jumped in the island's boat and made it to the mainland, screaming all the way. The early morning beach walkers found him sitting there, facing toward the light house, unblinking eyes wide open, mouth grotesquely twisted in fear. And as the nice men in white coats led him into the back of the Serenity Acres van, he screamed and screamed.