And we petted some moon jellies. We also saw some lion's mane jellies but they were too far away to pet (which is good-- they sting!). I'm glad they didn't blob their way over to me when I were in the water (though the Teletubby suit would have probably protected me)!
Here comes the Novelty!
Hop on, everyone!
Bye-bye dock!
We had to go around the back of the island before heading into the harbor because of the "red, right, return" rule, which means navigational buoys, etc., must be on your right (unless you happen to be in a boat that goes backwards, like a rowboat, and in that case they are on your left).
There's the Resourceful with the adults (and all The Stuff) in it!
Katie, looking pensive.
So this is a terrible-quality picture of a sardine boat that is in the harbor. Elaine had told us that during the turn of the century the keepers had to keep a record of just how many vessels came into the harbor, and in just one entry, for just one night, a keeper recorded that there were more than three hundred and fifty boats that came in to the harbor! Whoa! Today the harbor isn't as busy-- due to other forms of transportation like cars and trucks and planes-- but there are still a good number of working boats out there.
This is part of the DMR. I was just wondering if there was Center for Culture of Marine Phytoplankton anywhere around-- and hey look, there's one! (Quite possibly the most random thing I've seen all day...)
A whale skull and rib. Cool.
A pretty view of the harbor.
Here is one very happy but very tired Miss Newell, on the bus, going home!
So before we all piled onto the bus, Elaine told us some ghost stories of Burnt Island-- she didn't want to tell us while we were actually there, which was very smart!
The first story was about James A. McCobb who served as keeper from 1868 to 1880. He kept detailed records of his work, and this was one of his entries:
March 22, 1877 – “Wife died this morning about two o’clock of congestion of the lungs and cankers in the throat, stomach, and bowels. She had been in feeble health all winter but able to be about the house attending to her work until about two weeks before her death when a cold brought on congestion and then canker which caused her death as above stated. … Her age was fifty three years and four months.”
So sometimes at 2 o'clock at night, some people have reported seeing a woman's figure in a white nightie wandering about on the island. Freaky!
(What is the time on that clock on the mantel???)
Okay, the next story is really creepy, and gave all of us goosebumps. Elaine had been contacted by a fellow named Reg (sorry I didn't catch his last name) who once worked at the Burnt Island Light and had a story to tell her. The keeper after Joseph Muire was a man named Benjamin Stockbridge, and lived in the keeper's house with his wife. Ben had some health issues (including a bum leg) and had some difficulty doing all of the work he needed to do as a keeper. The Coast Guard decided took pity on him and said he could keep his job, but they would send him an assistant: Reg, who was 19 years old at the time. Reg said that Ben was a cantankerous fellow, and would "grade" Reg on everything he did-- from trimming the wick to cleaning the glass panes. Reg didn't like being criticized all the time, but he was making pretty good money-- at $7.50 a day he really couldn't complain!
So Ben's health declined fairly rapidly, and finally it was time for him to leave the island and go to the mainland so he could be nearer to the doctor. Reg took Ben to the hospital and helped his wife move into a nearby apartment. Reg came back to the island and took over as full time keeper.
Well, one night (at about 2:00) Reg was woken up by his bedroom door slamming open and a voice hollering, "Wake up! Wake up! You have a smoke-out!" Reg looked out his window to the lighthouse and sure enough, the light was out. He ran through the house, up the covered walkway, up the spiral staircase, and re-lit the light. Then he came down and sat at the kitchen table, lit a kerosene lantern, lit a cigarette, and his hands started to shake.
Who had woken him up?
The next day Reg went into town to get a few things, and he came across a fisherman he knew, and Reg asked how Ben was doing. The fisherman replied, "Oh, didn't you know? Ben died last night at 2:00."
~~~ goosebumps ~~~
Reg was a little freaked out, but he was willing to go back to his job. He went and got his gun and brought it back to the island. He was willing to do whatever he needed to, because he was making $7.50 a day and that's good money. At that time the blinking of the light was achieved by a device that spun the bull's-eye lens around. This mechanism was similar to a cuckoo clock in that weights would run the motion of the mechanical movement. This mechanism needed to be cranked every six hours, so Reg would wind it at 5:00 and 11:00, both during the day and in the evening. Well, this night he was waiting for 11 PM so he could go to bed and sleep until he had to get up and wind it again. If you remember, the kitchen table is not far from the covered walkway which leads to the tower (the table is to the left of the stove; the covered walkway is behind the door on the right of the stove):
Well, at that time there was a door in that door frame which led up the covered walkway. Reg was sitting there, thinking about how $7.50 a day was a lot of money, and how he was very lucky to have this job. Suddenly he thought he heard a noise. At first he was not sure what it was-- the wind? the waves?-- but soon it got a little louder. It sounded like someone shuffling along-- someone with a bum leg. Someone who sounded an awful lot like how Ben used to walk.
Reg very slowly got up and threaded a piece of string through the finger-latch on the door, and sat there with his gun at the ready. The footsteps got closer and closer. Reg stood very still. When the footsteps sounded like they were just about to come through the door, Reg tugged on the string and the door flung open, and Reg shot-- BANG! BANG! BANG!-- but nothing was there.
~~~ goosebumps again ~~~
Reg stayed awake all night, and when it was morning he rowed over to the Coast Guard station and told them that he didn't care how much money he was being paid, he wasn't going to spend another night on that island.
Elaine said that many years later Reg came back to the Island to visit, and to stay the night in the keeper's house. They were both pretty nervous that Ben would come back once again, so they went over to his grave and placed some flowers, and talked to him for a while. That night Ben did not return, but Reg said that he had a very hard time sleeping...
So I will leave you not with the willies, but with a few more beautiful pictures of Burnt Island Light.
I also leave you with this poem, which is one of my very favorites:
maggie and milly and molly and may
by E. E. Cummings
maggie and milly and molly and maywent down to the beach (to play one day)
and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and
milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;
and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and
may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.
For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it's always ourselves we find in the sea
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