The innumerable stories told of ghostly encounters
at sea would come as no surprise to anyone
who has spent any amount of time upon its
vast and often treacherous territory. There,
far away from the numbing distractions of
city life, man is most near to the natural
magic and tremendous forces – both seen
and unseen – that the sea can evoke.
According to one old salt, “…one
never feels so near to God as when there’s
a storm blowing;” nor, it might be added
is one more near the primal energy of all
creation than when one experiences the deep,
natural magic the sea holds.
 |
The
most changeable of nature’s beings,
the sea is unpredictable and untamed,
a wild territory where one minute a gentle
breeze may softly puff the sails and the
next a wild torrent might toss the unwary
seafarer into the watery depths. |
Danger lurked everywhere, above and beneath
the waves. The unfortunate might die of scurvy
or food poisoning or starvation far from a
friendly port; the most unfortunate might
be tossed overboard by wave or pirate raid;
the truly cursed may be called to join the
phantom crew of one of the many ghost ships
that traversed the wide oceans of the known
world (and many say still do).
A ship might be caught motionless for days
on end in the doldrums, baking under a horrible
sun, with no hint of wind to bring relief;
it might become entangled in the mires of
Sargasso and seaweed that drift about the
ocean in horrible, moldy green fields; or,
worse, the doomed vessel might be caught in
one of the great maelstroms of the ocean,
or be dragged to the deep by any number of
horrid sea creatures that lurked beneath the
glassy surface of the waves.
Reefs, shoals and coves appeared out of nowhere
and seemed to work in tandem with the mighty
storms to claim as many ships and sailors
as possible. Many sailors believed that the
sea demanded a certain number of lives. This
conviction was so strong that many sailors
never learned to swim believing that it was
futile to fight against the conquering sea.
Still others refused to rescue a drowning
man out of fear that the sea would claim another
life to replace the one saved.
The arms of the sea are cold and unloving;
all-encompassing, a sailor who fell into them
would be dragged swiftly under the towering
swells to a bed on the dark ocean floor. There
fish and crustaceans would nibble their flesh
and eyes; their bones would become the roots
of branching coral, empty skulls rolling away
with the ceaseless tides. Men of the sea call
this grave “Davey Jones’ Locker,
though no one knows for certain where the
name ever came from. Still all knew Davey
was a hard taskmaster and took his toll in
lives over the long years. To encounter Davey
Jones or any of his ghostly crew was a warning
of certain doom, and death or destruction
usually followed speedily after.
From man’s earliest seafaring days men
sought to understand the power of the deep
and made attempts to guard against it in any
way they could and so every aspect –
from the building of the vessel, to its launching
and handling at sea – was attended to
in the most minute detail.
In the seagoing countries of the North the
keel of the ship was laid on hallowed ground,
a place consecrated to either the Old Gods
or the new, Christian one. Building could
only commence on a day auspicious to the purpose
– Wednesday, for instance, once sacred
to the chief of the Old Norse gods, Odin –
but never on a Thursday or Friday, or on any
day connected with any spirit charged with
the collection of human souls. Other factors
that promised a fortunate life for the vessel
would be to build it only on sunny days and
during a full moon or high tide.
The choice of wood was important, as well,
for some woods were consecrated to certain
benevolent gods or saints; others were sure
to attract both the devil and lightning. In
early times, the hull of the ship would be
painted with huge eyes to ward off the malevolent
magic of the Evil Eye. In later times, the
figurehead was introduced to serve the same
purpose and often the figurehead was a woman
in honor of Hecate, the goddess of witches
who was also the patron of seamen. Usually
this female figure would be bare-breasted
in memory of the ancient belief that a woman
who showed herself naked to a storm would
allay it and bring about calm. Blood, too,
was an essential part of the building and
launching of ancient vessels – Vikings
spattered the bow with the blood of infants
and ran the keel over the chests of slaves
as the vessel was launched, all in an effort
to assuage the wrath of the Sea gods; Greeks
used the blood of animals in similar fashion.
Ancient Romans and later Christians christened
vessels with wine and offerings of flowers
and peasant cakes to the ancient deep in hopes
it would cradle the new ship softly and lead
it into fair winds. Gold and silver played
a part in these ship rituals as well, from
the silver coins and iron horseshoes nailed
under the mast steps to ensure friendly winds
to the golden earrings in sailors’ ears
as tithe to the sea gods to let them pass.
Indeed, sailors as a class are known to be
both religious and overtly superstitious.
Strict rules about order and activity aboard
ship are observed even in these latter times
because any gap in the order of things was
a hazard that could allow the natural disorder
of the sea to prevail, and these laws governed
actions as well as surroundings.
The Raft
of the Medusa

Painting
Gericault, Theodore The Raft of the Medusa
1819 Oil on canvas 491 x 716 cm Musee du Louvret
"This
picture commemorates a contemporary disaster
at sea ... On July 2, 1816, the French frigate
Medusa hit a reef off the west coast of
Africa. The captain and senior officers
boarded six lifeboats, saving themselves
and some of the passengers. The 149 remaining
passengers and crew were crammed onto a
wooden raft, which the captain cut loose
from a lifeboat. During the thirteen-day
voyage that followed, the raft became a
floating hell of death, disease, mutiny,
starvation, and cannibalism. Only fifteen
people survived." Laurie Adams, A History
of Western Art
In many places certain animals and people
were forbidden to be kept onboard: the presence
of a cat, a hare or a fox onboard a ship could
cause mutiny among the crew, so strong was
the belief that witches traveled in these
guises. Similarly, sailors were uneasy with
women aboard ship and they preferred not to
carry men of the cloth, for fear that the
presence of the patrons of the “new”
god might incur the wrath of the old. But
most numerous were the superstitions regarding
carriage of the dead onboard ships –
entire crews have been known to jump ships
carrying coffins (empty or occupied). The
presence of an actual corpse onboard was thought
to cause storms and to bring about fogs or
to attract the sea’s dead who wandered
the ghastly waves in search of company. When
someone died aboard ship the crew wasted no
time in giving the sea its due.
The burial was designed in such a fashion
as to preclude any risk of haunting –
or so the crew hoped. The dead seaman was
washed and properly dressed then was committed
to the ship’s sail master who promptly
sewed the corpse into a canvas shroud, passing
the last stitch through the corpse’s
nose to keep him in his death garment. Chainshot
or shackles were attached to the corpse’s
feet so that it would sink – and so
that it could never free itself to rise and
haunt the living. Then the sailors gathered
in the stern and after some brief prayers
the corpse was placed on a plank and slipped
into the water.
But even a seafarer thus properly committed
to the dark deep might never find real rest.
Those who had died by drowning or in warfare,
or who were murdered at sea were seen by other
seamen for centuries after, drifting about
as a fearsome torment and a harbinger to the
living. Many languished in the waters where
they died; many others traveled the wide,
rolling tides of the sea and drifted alongside
vessels in the far corners of the world, omens
of death and doom to come.
“HE IS WITH ME NOW!”
Sir Walter Scott, in his Demonology and Witchcraft
tells the story of how an elderly member of
the crew of a slave ship from Liverpool was
shot in a fit of temper by the captain, whose
agreeable disposition could become tyrannical
and cruel under provocation.
This elderly man, Bill Jones, had incurred
the captain’s wrath by giving him an
insubordinate answer. As he lay dying, he
looked fixedly into the captain’s eyes
and said: “Sir, you have done for me,
but I will never leave you!” The captain
cursed and abused the dying man, telling him
he would have him thrown into the slave-kettle
(in which food for the [slaves] was prepared).
The dead man was actually thrown into the
slave-kettle. Thereafter the ghost of the
dead sailor was seen frequently by members
of the crew, who dared not mention it to the
captain for fear of his wrath. But one day
the captain told his mate: “He told
me he would never leave me, and he has kept
his word! At this very moment I see him!”
In desperation the captain hurled himself
overboard and, as he was drowning, shouted
to the mate: “He is with me now!”
THE DUTCHMAN’S LEGENDARY
LURE

No roving phantom of the sea is more famous
or more feared than the spectral ship known
as The Flying Dutchman. This ghostly vessel,
carrying on board a phantom crew and the maniacal
captain who commanded them in life, has been
sighted in every ocean of the world for centuries.
Sometimes it will loom out of the darkness
of the night, appearing without warning, sails
set in fair weather or foul; sometimes its
lights are seen, casting a greenish glow on
the ghastly wake surrounding it; oftentimes
its crew can be seen, ranks of skeletons in
tattered clothing, still occupied as in life
with the vessel’s chores – painting
and chipping, climbing the rigging, or looking
out from the crumbling mizzen mast. On occasion,
the captain himself has been seen, standing
firm footed behind the great ship’s
wheel, eyes blazing red like hell’s
fire, face fixed in a ghoulish grin, hair
fluttering like a guttering flame. Sight of
The Flying Dutchman terrified all who saw
her, for seamen knew she brought storm and
madness in her wake.
One account, entered into the log of a British
ship, has come down through history as one
of the most accurate descriptions of an encounter
with this famous phantom vessel:
“She first appeared as a strange red
light, as of a ship all aglow, in the midst
of which light, her masts, spars and sails,
seemingly those of a normal brig, some two
hundred yards distant from us, stood out in
strong relief as she came up. Our lookout
on the forecastle reported her close to our
port bow, where also the officer of the watch
from the bridge clearly saw her, as did our
quarterdeck midshipman who was sent forward
at one to the forecastle to report back.”
But the ghost vessel vanished as the British
ship approached her. Later that same day,
the man who had first caught sight of her
fell from the topmast to the deck and was
killed instantly. The captain later succumbed
to a fatal illness when he reached home port
and was never seen at sea – in human
form, at least – again.
The actual identity of the ghostly Flying
Dutchman and its phantom captain and crew
varies from legend to legend. One account
even names the ill-fated captain – Vanderdecker
– and claims that he incurred his fate
in a pact with the Devil who took his soul
in exchange for nefarious winds that magically
made the Dutchman’s ship the fastest
on the sea. When the time came due to pay
his debt, it is said, Vanderdecker attempted
to outrun the Devil and was summarily cursed
to sail the sea forever, in fear of the evil
pursuing him. While his crew withered away
to animated skeletons, the Dutchman was preserved,
living life in death, unchanging until his
debt was clear and the Devil had collected
his due.
Sir Walter Scott described The Flying Dutchman
as, “a harbinger of doom,” and
refers to the ship as a phantom seen near
the Cape of Good Hope, easily identified because
it bears a press of sail when all others fail
to show an inch of canvas. The legend, according
to Scott, is that she was originally a treasure
ship and that she was boarded by pirates who,
after an orgy of murder and loot, were repaid
for their wickedness by a frightful plague.
In desperation they attempted vainly to put
in at port after port, but so great was the
fear of contagion that they were never allowed
to anchor. They drifted until all died –
and so that shade of the ship looms up at
unexpected moments to strike terror and apprehension
into the heart of the toughest sailor.
The Wreck of the Neptune
Cornish tradition tells of a spectre ship
to the westward of St. Ives’ Head, which
appeared in the 18th century.

One night a gig’s crew was called to
go to the rescue of a ship – thought
from appearance to be a foreign trader –
in distress. She was a schooner-rigged vessel
and had a light over her bows. The men roved
with a will until the helmsman yelled, “stand
by to board her!” The sailor rowing
the bow oar slipped it out of the row-lock
and prepared to spring aboard. The ship was
so close that its crew could clearly be seen,
and at the right moment the oarsman made a
grasp at the bulwarks. But his hand grasped
air, despite what his eyes told him and he
fell back into the boat telling his mates
that there was simply nothing there. The ship
and lights towards which they had rowed, and
which they had held constantly in sight until
they were next to it, just disappeared.
The next morning the Neptune … from
whom the gig’s crew had been dispatched
… was wrecked at Gwithian with the loss
of all hands. The ghostly ship had appeared
as a presage of the Neptune’s impending
doom.
But the Dutchman’s cursed vessel is
not the only phantom ship known to haunt the
seas of the world.
“Alone,
alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony."
|
 |
In the 19th century there were frequent reports
of the appearance of the ghostly flagship
of a fleet sent by England’s Queen Anne
to attack the forts near Cap d”Espoir
on the Gulf of St. Lawrence and which was
wrecked there. The phantom ship, it is said,
appears carrying lights and on the bow stands
an officer pointing forlornly toward the shore
while a ghostly woman in white stands at his
side. There is a scream, the lights go suddenly
out, and the vessel appears to sink into the
waves.
In 1872 the Mary Celeste was found sailing
off the Azores abandoned with no one on board
and no clue of what happened to her captain,
crew or passengers.
Launched in 1860 as the Amazon, the Mary Celeste
began an ill-omened life. The Amazon was involved
in many accidents and went through several
owners before being sent to a New York salvage
yard where she was sold for $3,000 and re-christened
the Mary Celeste.
Under her new captain, Benjamin Briggs, the
Mary Celeste set sail from New York in November
1872 for Genoa, Italy. Captain Briggs was
accompanied by his wife and young daughter
and a crew of 8; she was carrying a cargo
of 1700 barrels of raw grain alcohol.
On December 5, 1872, the ship Dei Gratia encountered
the Mary Celeste derelict at sea. Seeing no
one aboard and no signs of life, crewman from
the Dei Gratia boarded the Mary Celeste to
determine what, if anything had happened.
The ship, still seaworthy, was found in good
condition though it appeared that the she
had been abandoned in a hurry. The chronometer
and sextant were missing; there was water
between the decks and the galley was a wreck.
No lifeboats were found on board which led
the men of the Dei Gratia to assume that the
boats must have been deployed; a rope was
found dangling over the side of the vessel
into the water. Everything on board was soaking
wet.
The Dei Gratia hauled the Mary Celeste into
port and discovered nine empty alcohol barrels
among the ship’s cargo.
To this day, nothing is known of the fate
of the crew of the Mary Celeste. Over the
years there has been plenty of speculation
– most experts feel the cargo may have
become unstable forcing the captain and crew
to deploy the lifeboats, while keeping tethered
to the main ship; they speculate that the
captain navigated from the lifeboats and only
boarded the ship periodically to set the heading
as needed. But did the lifeboats lose their
fragile lifeline to the main ship? Only this
could explain why they, too, were not found
adrift when the vessel was found.
And what happened to the captain, his family
and crew? Some feel that they were the victims
of foul play, that, quite possibly, the Mary
Celeste may have been boarded by pirates who
killed the family and crew and cast them overboard.
Ultimately, these renegades may have fallen
victim to the noxious atmosphere of the vessel’s
hold and they may have deployed the lifeboats,
leaving the Mary Celeste abandoned and adrift.
The actual facts will never be known.
The Mary Celeste herself was refurbished and
put back out to sea and sailed for another
12 years under different owners and masters.
Ultimately, she was wrecked on a reef off
the coast of Haiti and was partially salvaged
by a nearby shipbuilder. The remains of the
Mary Celeste were identified in 2001 by a
modern salvage team.
Despite this, there are reports from the sea
lanes of the Atlantic that the Mary Celeste
continues to sail, in phantom form, still
trying to complete the voyage to Genoa that
she began in 1872. Several merchant seamen
and even members of the Navy have reported
sightings of a ghostly vessel, the name Mary
Celeste clearly visible on its bow, drifting
aimlessly in forlorn seas.
Can it be that the tragedy of its life and
the eerie abandonment of the Mary Celeste
have been imprinted forever in the long memory
of the grey Atlantic? Is it possible that,
like a sad film, the ship’s lonely fate
plays out again and again?
“Sweet
Remembrance”
Urged by love’s ever conquering
spell
My trembling pen in truth would tell
How dearly prized art thou to me
How my soul’s hopes are fixed on
thee. |
 |
One night in the early 1900’s a young
English woman awoke to see the figure of a
young man standing in her bedroom door, looking
at her forlornly, water dripping from head
to toe. The next day she overheard her mother
telling a neighbor that it was so many years
ago that her brother – the girl’s
uncle – was drowned when the HMS Eurydice
foundered in a terrible squall off the Isle
of Wight in March of 1878, with the loss of
over 300 lives. At the very hour and day that
it foundered, the reverend of the local Anglican
church was preaching to the seamen in Southsea,
quoting from the Psalms: “Thy rowers
have brought thee into great waters, the east
wind hath broken thee in the midst of the
seas.”
The ghost that the woman saw was that of James
Turner who was a 24-year-old marine at the
time of his death. Among his correspondence,
collected from his assignment on a previous
vessel of the British Royal Navy, was the
poem rendered above, but never finished. His
appearance at his sister’s house marking
the sad anniversary of his death, so many
years before, is a sad example of ghosts of
the sea occasionally coming back to land.
A particularly sad example of such a ghost
is that of a young boy, pressed into service
in World War I and who, dying at sea while
his mother was employed as a house maid in
London, returned there in phantom form many
years later – his mother long dead.
Had it taken him that long to find his way
from his grave in the watery depths to the
front steps of the London home where he last
knew his mother to live?
During the Persian Gulf War in the early 1990’s
a woman in Baltimore, Maryland, was awakened
by a loud noise and a jarring that shook her
bed. Fully awake, she turned to see the form
of her husband lying beside her on the bed,
looking directly into her eyes. She reached
out to touch him and found him wet and clammy;
his skin was ice cold to the touch. His face
was filled with a look of longing and sadness.
Strangely comforted, the woman fell back to
sleep. When she awoke the next morning she
decided it must have been a dream, so comforting
had it been. Within a day, however, the dream
turned deadly real when she was informed,
by the usual military chain of command, that
her husband had been among the men killed
in the attack on the Navy vessel the USS Cole.
IN THE DEAD, DREAD MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT …
No watch is more hated by sailors at sea than
the dreaded middle watch, from midnight to
four in the morning. These are the longest
hours of any watch, slow, hardly bearable;
the night hours drag on interminably toward
dawn. On this watch, while his shipmates sleep
below, the seaman is alone except for an occasional
breeze in the riggings or the sound of the
waves lapping against the hull.
The middle watch is the time when the unburied
dead of the sea prowl and the waves, their
languid grave, open wide to set them loose.
A merchant seaman who looked in every respect
the image of the buccaneer – seasoned
by the sea, dark skinned and lean, with penetrating
dark eyes – never forget his encounter
with the ghost of a departed friend as long
as he lived.
While on a particularly lonely midwatch on
an oiler in the North Sea, the ghost of the
second mate who had served with him on a previous
voyage – and who had unaccountably not
rejoined the ship – suddenly appeared
to him. Around the ghost, which was without
a doubt that of his missing friend, was the
unmistakable scent of death and a feeling
of intense cold accompanied by a kind of metallic
humming sound.

MARINERS
CROSS
Terrified, probably for the first time in
his life, the seaman abandoned his watch and
fled to his cabin below deck. But the dreadful
apparition followed him there and approached
his bedside, repeating the words, “Come
and find me,” until it vanished into
nothingness.
It was later discovered that the missing second
mate had been robbed and murdered at port
in Lisbon, Portugal and his body had been
weighted and thrown under the docks there.
Before the end of his North Sea hitch, word
reached the merchant seaman of his friend’s
fate.
Ultimately, however, it became apparent that
the ghostly second mate had brought a ghastly
forewarning to his friend.
The merchant man, too, met a horrible fate.
Beaten and robbed on the docks of Marseilles,
France, his body slipped into the waters at
dockside and he was drowned.
Across the wide oceans of the world, the sea
gives up her dead in the midnight hours and
any vessel passing over the place where a
ship went down or men were lost will arouse
the melancholy desire of those specters to
live and breath again.
Sometimes, however, there is something of
compassion left within them, and they will
help to cheat the sea of taking more lives.
Thus it was that once a phantom saved a ship
and its crew from shipwreck.
The vessel the Society was heading for the
Virginia colony from England in 1664, with
many women and children on board, and was
heading for the Capes, believing them to be
some three hundred or more miles ahead. Suddenly
a vision appeared to the vessel’s captain;
it gestured to him to turn about and told
him, in a disembodied voice, to “look
closely.” The captain looked but did
not see anything unusual. Then the phantom
appeared again and told him to “heave
the lead.” When the captain did this
he was stricken with terror to discover that
his reading was only seven fathoms. He immediately
tacked ship and when dawn rose he and the
crew discovered that instead of being far
out at sea they were actually upon the Capes.
Had the ghostly visitor not appeared to warn
the captain of approaching danger, the ship,
its crew and all its passengers would have
been lost.
The many thousand tales of ghosts and hauntings
at sea must be weighed against these facts
of a sea-going life: monotony of routine and
the fact that the waves can combine on the
horizon to form fantastic shapes - that a
flash of moonlight on waters far off, lasting
for only a fraction of a second before being
lost behind clouds, can produce amazing images
to the eyes and in the mind of the seaman
dulled by the onerous boredom that goes hand-in-hand
with the excitement and drama of seafaring.
These, surely are factors that the discerning
paranormal investigator would certainly take
into account.
But so many of the occurrences that come to
us through the reports of rational and sensible
individuals who have personally experienced
the otherworldly aspects of the sea cannot
be discounted and therefore must be taken
seriously.
The legends and ghostly lore of the sea is
as old as man’s exploration of it, and
as long as man continues to sail and live
and fight and die upon it the sea will continue
to haunt and mystify us as much as it gives
us life and draws us irresistibly back, over
and over again …
“I pass, like night, from land to land;
I have strange power of speech;
That moment that his face I see,
I know the man that must hear me:
To him my tale I teach.”
Excerpts from “The Rime of the Ancient
Mariner” by Samuel Taylor Coleridge,
Copyright © The Norton Anthology of English
Literature, Major Authors Edition, 1972.
Additional Material Copyright © D. Bardens,
1965 and Time Life Books, 1985

Cam’
Ye O’er The Waves to Me
“… and every road I walk will
take me down to the Sea
with every broken promise in my sack,
and every love will always send the ship of
my heart
over the rolling Sea…”
A community of people who live out their lives
beside the sea is nothing short of a family.
As with all families, its members will do
almost anything to protect each other from
harm or from the intrusion of outsiders on
the relationships that generations of sea-going
habits have forged. Like all families, a community
of seafarers will keep secrets well, hiding
them like pirate treasure in the watery caves
of the passing years. But on occasion no amount
of careful concealment will keep a secret
that the Sea wishes to tell.
Such was the case some years ago along the
rough and ragged coasts of Cornwall where
in a village whose name is now forgotten there
lived such a caste of seafaring folk. Through
all the seasons of the year the men fished
the rough waters of the Channel, far into
the Atlantic; their women stayed to home,
waiting and worrying until all were safe on
land again. Everyone knew one another; everyone
looked out for one another.
Into their midst, one January day, there came
a stranger in the form of a dark, mysterious
woman. She was nothing like the other women
in the village. Widowed, or so it was put
out, she lived alone in a small, wind-blown
cottage overlooking the gale-swept headlands
of the Cornish coast. Once or twice a week
she would come down into the village to purchase
some minor commodities; each time, her appearance
would create a stir. For unlike the stout
and dour seamen’s wives, she was dark
and beautiful, with hair as black as midnight
and eyes that glowed with a smoldering fire.
She never spoke, except to obtain those things
she needed, but always nodded politely to
the gaping sailors she seemed always to attract
on her brief forays. Unaware of the growing
resentment she was causing among their wives,
the dark woman went about her errands silently
and alone. Silent and alone she tread the
long, dark path back to her lonely abode.
Within a short time, the gossip began. “She’s
a witch!” was the worst of it. “Living
out there all alone, who knows what she is
up to?” Others said she was a danger
to the village, that her presence would bring
bad luck – but some were quick to point
out that the fishing had been unusually good
since the arrival of the dark woman in their
midst. They did not know what to make of it.
As the winter ended and the world gave way
to the onset of spring, the dark woman was
seen more frequently along the road between
the headlands and the village. Sometimes she
was accompanied by her black dog – her
only protection in the remote area where she
lived. On one occasion she brought the pet
with her into town and as she was going about
her business the dog suddenly bolted and ran
off. The dark woman was distraught, even more
so when no one would offer to help find the
animal.
Despondent and alone she took the road home.
Evening was passing and night was drawing
on and with it the last of the winter chill
would return. Suddenly from behind she heard
the familiar barking of her beloved pet. She
stopped to see her dog running toward her
followed by a man. The dog happily jumped
at his mistress, knocking her down in his
enthusiasm. Just as quickly, the man was over
her, his hand extended.
Thanking him, she rose to her feet. They stared
at each other for a long moment, still holding
hands. Suddenly the man let go. “Will
you be alright, then?” he asked her.
“Aye,” she replied and to him
her voice seemed as fine and smooth as June
honey. “It’s but a short way now.
Thank ye, for bringing back my Shuck.”
The man started. “That’s a bold
name for a dog!” he laughed, nervously
eyeing the animal as it loped along the headland
slopes.
The dark woman only smiled. She nodded and
then turned in silence and began to walk away.
The man didn’t know what to make of
it. Perhaps she was “strange”
as the women in the village were saying –
maybe she was a witch and he was safer out
of there. With these thoughts in his mind,
he turned and began to walk briskly away.
Suddenly, he heard the honey voice of the
mysterious woman call him by his given name,
which he had not mentioned: “Come ye
back this way soon, Owain Gwithian! And I’ll
be waiting.”
A rainy spring came in that year and turned
to a golden summer and Owain Gwithian was
a changed man. Between his hitches at sea
and his clandestine visits to the dark lady
of the headlands, his family and other villagers
barely saw him. No one knew, of course, what
kept him away; most assumed he was crewing
more than one vessel, but his pockets were
not full enough for this to be so. At last
some began to consider the unthinkable and
one night a group of his shipmates, at the
behest of his close family, followed Owain
on his secret journey, all the way from the
quayside and the briny docks up the headland
road to the little cottage where he fell into
the waiting arms of his secret love.
In considerable fear and confusion the seamen
returned to where their wives and Owain’s
wife waited. All listened aghast as they related
their tale. The wife of Owain Gwithian sat
in stunned silence, but soon her mother sidled
up to her.
“Ye have these boys to consider,”
she said, hissing like a snake in her ear.
“Ye will make him give her up and together
we will put the fear in him! He will be cut
off from all of us if he does anything but!
And we shall drive her away from our midst!”
Owain Gwithian returned to a dark and cold
house and these were the conditions he was
met with. He looked at the angelic faces of
his sleeping sons and peered into the cold
eyes of his wife and mother-in-law. What could
he do? He must end it for in every respect
it appeared that he was wrong.
In the days that followed, as summer gave
way to autumn, Owain’s mother-in-law
used her influence and money to secure him
a place as waterman on a schooner that sailed
out of Polgrain for the Java Islands. He would
be away long months, and in those months his
dark lover could learn nothing of his whereabouts,
for the whole village, like a family in a
crisis, shunned her in silence. Alone and
forlorn, she would wander the headlands with
her black dog as her only company, looking
out to Sea and pondering the fate of her lover
and the future for herself. Distraught and
alone, there seemed only one thing left to
do.

In the dreaded middle watch on a starry night
off the reefs of Java, Owain Gwithian continued
to fret and ever his thoughts turned to the
woman of his dreams whom he had left behind.
The tradewinds blew her scent to him, the
ripples of the sea about the ship’s
hull looked to him like the black tresses
of her long hair, the stars shimmered like
the gleam of her eyes or were lost altogether
in an image of her face. This night, lost
in his musings, he did not at first sense
the complete stillness that surrounded him.
The lapping of the waves against the vessel’s
hull had ceased, the tapping of the rigging
in the soft breezes had stopped completely.
Nothing stirred. The night seemed to hold
its breath around him.
Suddenly, in the ship’s bow, there appeared
a mist, and as Owain watched it took on the
form of a woman. Grey, grainy, like a charcoal
rendering of some artist’s vision, the
vision took shape before him and suddenly
he recognized it: He was seeing the very image
of his lover before him. She held out her
arms and spoke to him in a voice like June
honey: ““Come ye back this way
soon, Owain Gwithian! And I’ll be waiting.”
Owain’s eyes filled with tears as the
image began to fade. “I’m here!”
he called after her. “Don’t leave
me!”
The men sleeping below were roused from their
beds by the strangest sounds. All agreed later,
as they told their fantastic tale, that they
had been awakened by the wild barking of a
dog, and in the midst of this strange event
they heard the heavy footsteps of the watch
– in this case Owain Gwithian –
running across the deck in the direction of
the animal’s bark. After this, they
recounted, there was a loud splash. By the
time the crew and officers made it to the
deck, Owain had already cast himself overboard.
The strange thing was that he had disappeared
entirely in a slick, calm sea.
Back in the little village beside the sea,
the sailor’s family had found the cottage
of his paramour empty. No trace of the dark
woman or her black dog could be found. Most
assumed that she had lost her footing along
the headland path and had fallen to her death
in the waves below; the dog, had it not run
off into the woods, may have followed its
mistress over the edge, into the pounding
surf. But no bodies were ever found, not of
mistress, or of pet.
Nor did Owain Gwithian return with his shipmates
from that strange voyage to the Java waters.
Though his loss overboard was obvious, the
circumstances were never explained to everyone’s
satisfaction, least of all his mean-hearted
mother-in-law who insisted that somehow he
had managed to rendezvous with the hated adulteress
and together they had disappeared to parts
unknown.
Most would have accepted
her theory as fact, except that many have
said, that as the autumn breezes fall
to a hush among the dying sea oats, and
the winter winds begin to howl over the
headlands, the image of the two lovers
returns and they are seen walking hand
in hand, her dark hair about both their
faces. Framed against the steel grey of
the winter sky where it meets the tumultuous
sea, they are seen locked forever in a
long embrace, with the ghostly black dog
playing about their feet. And they are
waiting no more. |
 |
Based upon an old Cornish sea legend. Copyright
© 2006 Haunted America Tours
ALSO
SEE:
The
Ghost of Jean Lafitte
and the Phantom Pirates of Barataria
Blackbeard’s
Pirate Treasure

Davy Jones as depicted in
Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest
Image of Davy Jones hand painted from Promotional
Trailer freely available to view at Disney's
website. May 30th, 2006.
Davy Jones' Locker is an
idiom for the bottom of the sea — the
resting place of drowned seamen. It is used
as a euphemism for death at sea (e.g. to be
"sent to Davy Jones' Locker"). Davy
Jones is a nickname (used primarily by sailors)
for what would be the devil of the seas. His
origins are unclear, and many theories have
been put forth, including incompetent sailors,
a pub owner who kidnapped sailors, or that
Davy Jones is another name for the devil.
Davy Jones has also been known to give captured
sailors a chance to serve him for 100 years
instead of dying.
The story's reputation has
been widespread among sailors since its popularization,
and nautical traditions have been created
around him. He is also very popular in the
broader culture, with references to him in
various forms of media, most recently in his
depiction in Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead
Man's Chest.
According to folklore, the
Flying Dutchman is a ghost ship that can never
go home, but must sail "the seven seas"
forever. The Flying Dutchman is usually spotted
from afar, sometimes glowing with ghostly
light. If she is hailed by another ship, her
crew will often try to send messages to land,
to people long since dead.
Flying Dutchman
on the internet
The
most famous of the phantom vessels, supposedly
seem in stormy weather off the Cape of Good
Hope but now and then reported in other latitudes.
Flying Dutchman actually refers to the captain,
not his ship.
Legend has it that this maniacal Dutch sea
captain was struggling to round the Cape of
Good Hope in the teeth of a terrible gale
that threatened to sink his ship and all aboard.
http://www.occultopedia.com/f/flying_dutchman.htm
The
Flying Dutchman legend
This is the legend of the Flying Dutchman,
a ship that was doomed to sail around the
Cape of Good Hope in South Africa forever.
http://ms.essortment.com/dutchmanflying_rrqy.htm
The
Flying Dutchman - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
The Flying Dutchman is usually spotted from
afar, sometimes glowing with ghostly ... Many
have noted the resemblance of the Flying Dutchman
legend to the ...
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Flying_Dutchman
Flying
Dutchman Winery
Flying Dutchman winery is a family owned winery
situated on a bluff high above the Pacific
ocean.
http://www.dutchmanwinery.com/
The
Flying Dutchman - Richard Wagner
The Flying Dutchman - review of opera by Richard
Wagner performed at the Paris Opera:'The superb
quality of the soloists, the chorus, the orchestra
and the ...
http://www.culturevulture.net/Opera/FlyingDutchman.htm
Pandora
and the Flying Dutchman (1951)
Pandora and the Flying Dutchman - Cast, Crew,
Reviews, Plot Summary, Comments, Discussion,
Taglines, Trailers, Posters, Photos, Showtimes,
Link to Official ...
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0043899/
The
Seven Seas, Rudyard Kipling text
http://whitewolf.newcastle.edu.au/words/authors/K/KiplingRudyard/verse/SevenSeas/
Blackbeard’s
Pirate Treasure
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