The Atlantic Advocate May 1974 Pp 37-39

Gostly Ships
by Joan Lamb

The Heavy blue veins stood out like ropes on the weatherbeaten hands. Fascinated, I watched the gnarled fingers work deftly on the fishing traps. To me, a 10-year-old, enjoying those fast golden days of the summer vacation, he seemed as old as Father Time. And what exciting yarns he could spin about the Seven Seas. Stories about sirens who lured seamen to sudden death upon rocky shoals, stones of strange superstitions and ghostly ships came pouring from his lips, one after the other. He knew every current of the oceans, for he had not always been an in-shore fisherman. I remember sitting on those warm sands, listening in speIl-bound wonder. From that time on I've always saved a soft spot in my heart for stories of the seas and, if nothing else, the old fisherman made me understand that men who went to sea in ships were a pretty superstitious lot.

Take the business of naming a ship. There was, and possibly stiIl is, strong feeling about choosing a name ending with the letter "A". Even more surprising to a landlubber is the sailor's apprehension of the day of the week, Friday. From time to time a story concerning this surfaces. I don't know from whence it came, but it's worth re-teIling:

A shipbuilder who always flouted superstition actuaIly laid down the keel of a ship on a Friday. If this wasn't enough to ensure him bad luck, he tempted the fates even more by naming her "Friday" and by engaging a "Captain Friday" to sail her. Then, being a foolish man, he sent her on her maiden voyage on a Friday, and the ship was never seen or heard from again. Doubtless she's stiIl sailing the seas in ghostly form.

Fishermen, in particular, always regarded Friday as a jinxed day. An old superstition coming from Scotland warns fishermen that they should not put out to sea if they had met a crosseyed woman first thing on a Friday.

Even today, Newfoundland fishermen dislike changing from one kind of fishing to another on a Friday.

A few months back, I watched a television documentary concerned with Japan's fishing fleet, and I was particularly interested to see the fishermen make a wine offering to the sea at the completion of their fishing run. This reminded me that it was a general custom for sailors to make monetary offerings to the sea at one time. They did it whenever the weather looked threatening. Because old mariners thought the figureheads on their sailing vessels had the power to protect the crew from evil, they, too, offered the figureheads drinks of gratitude. UsuaIly in the form of wine, these drink-offerings sometimes appeared as human blood. The weIl-known tradition of breaking a bottle of champagne over the bows of a ship at her launching actually comes from the drink-offering, and is a good example of how a tradition can become sophisticated and refined over a period of time.

Even more fascinating than stories of superstition of the seas, are those stories of ghostly ships, seemingly doomed to sail on forever without rest or anchor. One of the better publicized of the legends, and one that has a foundation in documented fact, is the story of the Teazer which claims Mahone Bay, Nova Scotia, as her phantom sailing ground.

The roots of the story are embedded in the War of 1812 between America and the British Colonies in Canada. In June of 1813 a privateer, Young Teazer, was trapped by British warships in Mahone Bay. She was about to be captured when an officer, not wishing to be taken prisoner, set her on fire. The death of the ship was not to be a slow one, however, for it is believed she carried ammunition in her hold. Barely had the flames been sighted when the ship exploded with a tremendous force that was felt along the shore for several miles. The explosion was not to be the end of the Teazer, for, from that time on, she has been sighted sailing the waters of Mahone Bay with fire in her every timber. Sailors on the bay have reported being afraid the ghostly apparition would run them down, so close did she come to their boats, and watchers from the shore have told of seeing her disappear in a sudden, terrifying burst of flame.

Fiery ghost ships present themselves with surprising regularity to those interested in the supernatural occurrences of the seas. I have a special interest in a flaming ship with black sails which is said to appear on the waters of the bay which my house overlooks.

St. Margaret's Bay, N.S., is rich in pirate lore. It is deep and wide and dotted with islands. It has a coastline serrated with coves and inlets. At the entrance the bay is stark and magnificently rocky, while toward the head of it the land slopes up gently from the waterline in softly-rounded hills. My house sits atop one of these hills and allows me a sweeping view of the waters below. It is an excellent spot for keeping a watch for a phantom ship; too excellent a spot, In fact, for it encourages me to spend too much time at my windows when I should be doing other things. Unlike the Teazer, the black sailed ship which sails the waters of St. Margaret's does not boast a story founded in documented fact. But her story is just as imaginative.

As the story goes, the ghost ship is a "Spaniard". She was chased into the bay by another vessel intent, no doubt, upon seizing her treasure. Dusk was falling as the two ships entered the bay, and the "Spaniard" was able to transfer much of her treasure to one of the islands under cover of darkness. Next morning found the two ships locked in a fierce battle and the Spanish vessel, with its black sails, went down in flames.

The story does not tell what happened to the other ship, but the "Spaniard" had not made her last appearance on the waters of St. Margaret's Bay. Since that time she has been reported sailing up the bay from Peggy's Cove, around to North-west Cove, at which point she usually disappears quite suddenly. The older inhahitants of the area claim that she comes looking for her treasure, but, to be honest, i'm a bit apprehensive about her. After alI, the old European legend of the "Ship of Death" always presents her as having black sails and, as any old mariner knows, sighting her invariably heralds a death at the worst, or a run of exceedingly bad luck at the best.

Not every supernatural occurrence connected with the sea manifests as a ship under sail, or as a ship at all. Many is the ghostly sailor who has come back to haunt the living. I talked to a fisherman at St. Andrews, N.B., about this very thing some years ago. He had a strange yarn to spin, and I often think about it when my thoughts stray to ghostly things. Here is the story as best I can rememher it:

One day as he was returning from setting his fishing traps, a light fog drifted in. He was not unduly concerned because, as any Maritimer knows, fogs are part of the life hazards of the men who harvest the seas along Canada's East Coast. Suddenly he noticed a dory-type boat on his port side. He was concerned that it was coming too close, far too close, but his concern turned to incredulity when he saw that the dory with just one man at the oars was keeping pace with his power-driven boat. How could such a thing possibly be? Frantically he hailed the oarsman, not once but several times. He never received an acknowledgement. As they neared the wharf, the dory with its silent occupant suddenly disappeared into the fog.

"I never seen such a boat hereabouts," the fisherman told me, "but you know I seen 'er a couple more times after. She never come as close again. Always stood off a bit." His faded blue eyes squinted out at the sea and he looked almost sad. "Last time she come was almost five year back."

Maybe the ghostly dory with its lonely oarsman found its way to Fiddlers' Green. Nobody can actually tell you where Fiddlers' Green is located, but it's the place to which the old men of the sea believed they went after death. Many a sea-faring song has been sung about it. Some might think of it as a place of debauchery. The women there, they say, are wild and very uninhibited. Dancing goes on all the time and fiddles never stop playing, while the rum runs freely.

But who can deny old salts their dreams? Long may they continue to sail to Fiddlers' Green. They won't board their phantom craft with the left foot first, nor will they allow themselves to sneeze to the left, because that just conjures up bad luck. For the same reason they will never whistle aboard their ghostly ship, nor will they carry women passengers. If we're lucky we might sight them, and even get close enough to speak to them in passing.