The Wreck of the Mary Beth

The Atlantic turned from old friend to foe in the scope of an hour. What had been calm seas turned into rolling swells, and the wind wailed its warning of an impending Nor'easter. That was the way of it, thought Jonathan Weddom as he watched the sailors scurry around the deck and up the masts to secure the schooner from the coming storm.

"Smitty! Secure that hatch!" yelled Captain Weddom. The last thing he needed was for his ship to fill with water. Stability meant control. Water below decks caused the ship to react slower to the helm, and the ship would become like a dead whale wallowing in the surf.

Lightning flashed in the distance, followed by the crack of thunder. The storm would hit them in minutes, and they were still a half-hour from the safety of Portland Harbor. The captain silently prayed that they would make the harbor before the storm let loose. The rocky coastline of Maine was unforgiving, and many sailors had met their deaths along those shores.

Within minutes, cold, stinging rain fell, drenching everyone on deck. The sky turned from a steel-gray to black. Waves crashed over the hull and onto the deck like a flood threatening to carry his men away into the roiling sea.

The wheel was like a ferocious animal in the captain's hands, fighting him for control of the ship. It took every ounce of strength to keep it from spinning out of his grasp and dooming every soul on board.

Tracer lightning skipped along the clouds for a short time, allowing the captain enough visibility to ensure the coastline was still off his port side. Eventually, that light source ended only to be replaced by inky darkness broken only by flashes of lightning.

Captain Weddom feared that they may have been pushed out to sea by the storm when he noticed lights along a shoreline that had previously been dark. His spirits lifted, and he yelled to his crew over the keening wind.

"Lights to port!"

The captain felt a collective sigh of relief roll over his men despite the fact that nothing below a shout could be heard above the din of the storm.

Slowly Captain Weddom steered his ship toward the lights . . . and safety. He was looking forward to a warm, dry pub and some stiff whiskey to warm his body and numb his mind. Storms were tricky business. Even though he had endured many squalls, the threat of losing his crew, his ship, and his cargo always took its toll on his soul.

As the ship drew closer to the lights, a blaze of lightning exploded before them, illuminating a shoal in their path. The captain spun the wheel, realizing that they could not completely avoid the rocks, but hoping they would only suffer a glancing blow. His hopes were in vain.

With another flash of lightning and crack of thunder, the Mary Beth plowed into the rocks. The ship shuddered and foundered, listing to the port side. Men screamed as they slid across the drenched decking, some of them falling into the angry sea or onto the deadly rocks below. Captain Weddom slammed into the wheel, then collapsed onto the deck, sure he had broken a rib. He tried to yell to his men for them to abandon ship, but he could not even collect enough air in his lungs to speak above a whisper.

The sea continued to slam the Mary Beth upon the shoal, shattering her hull and rocking the ship violently. The foremast snapped and crashed upon the deck, killing two of his sailors.

Jonathan grasped the wheel and climbed to his feet. The ship rolled with every beat of the waves and moaned as it lurched this way and that on the shoal. He tottered across the deck like a drunken sailor, occasionally falling as he searched for survivors. Of the 19 men in his crew, Jonathan only found 3 survivors - Tippy Sorenson, Gale Ingram, and Lawrence Smith, or "Smitty" as everyone called him.

With the pounding the ship was taking, it wouldn't be long before she completely broke apart, leaving the four men stranded on the shoal. They had to find a way off this godforsaken rock and get to the safety of shore. They decided to lash rigging to wooden barrels and slide their arms through the ropes, then jump into the ocean on the side of the shoal facing the shoreline.

After the barrels were readied, the men descended below decks and waded through the freezing water that washed into the Mary Beth from a massive hole in the starboard hull. They exited the ship and carefully picked their way along the slippery, wave-swept rocks until they were facing the shore, then, one by one, they jumped in with their barrels when the waves were at their highest, hoping that the swells would carry them to shore.

As Jonathan hit the water and momentarily sank beneath the frigid waves, his limbs froze up and the air caught in his lungs. This was beyond cold. Had they not tied ropes to the barrels to slip their arms through, there would have been no way they could have swum to shore in this cold. Realizing the longer he stayed still, the quicker the cold would sap his strength, Jonathan kicked his legs and aimed his barrel toward shore. Stabbing pain pierced his right chest with every kick and each roll of the barrel.

The storm, having wreaked its destruction on the Mary Beth and her crew, crawled further up the coast, leaving the four men bobbing in the dark limbo between shoal and shore. The rain stopped, and the black clouds parted. The moon shined brightly in the night sky, having had no part in the storm's carnage. Around the men floated debris from the ship . . . a ripped sail with rigging trailing below like sea snakes, wooden planks from the hull, and, of course, men with dead eyes - friends.

Jonathan looked away in despair. These were men he had laughed and shared stories with. Hell, he knew some of their families and had always made sure his crew earned enough to support them. If he survived this night, Jonathan realized he would have to bear the sad news to their loved ones.

"Cap'n! The lights on the shore - they're movin'!" The disembodied gravelly voice of Gale was unmistakable. Jonathan looked toward land. The moon revealed shadows of men with lanterns on the rocky ledges of the Maine coastline. These were what he had previously thought were lanterns in windows. Instead, they were wreckers!

Wreckers were people who made their livelihood from luring ships to their doom during storms using lanterns or torches. They then collected whatever washed up on shore, or, when the weather cleared, rowed out to the ship to claim whatever goods remained. They would keep what they wanted and sell the rest for a hefty profit. There were rarely survivors from the ships. Many seamen believed the wreckers killed survivors to keep themselves from being caught and hanged. Wreckers were a tight-knit bunch, and it was widely believed that they would do anything to keep their identities anonymous.

"They're wreckers!" yelled the captain. "Try to split up so they can't get to you all in one place!"

With that, each man kicked fervently toward the shore, but away from the men with lanterns. Gale was the first to reach land and clambered up the rocks, keeping an eye out for lights. He was so cold from the water that his limbs would not at first obey him, so he settled on the shore for a moment to catch his breath and rub some life into his shaky legs. After a few minutes, he crept up the rocks and disappeared into the dark woods beyond.

Captain Weddom got caught in a current that dragged him right to the ledge the wreckers occupied. Fortunately, there was an outcropping that shielded him from their view. He could hear the men talking, but had to strain to make out what they were saying.

"Keep your eyes peeled, boyos. Haul up whatever washes ashore. Leave no witnesses!" growled one of the men. The other fellows laughed evilly, reminding the captain of hyenas he had once seen at a zoo.

After reaching the rocks, Captain Weddom tried to climb up, but his fingers were stiff from the cold, and the rocks were so slick that the best he could do was sit on a rock just below the water's edge and try to warm his fingers by rubbing them together and blowing on them. His position was precarious. The men might circle around to this side and discover him. Fortunately, they were occupied with the debris that washed ashore on the other side.

After several minutes, the blood returned to Jonathan's hands, and he scrambled up the rocks. He crept around the outcropping and saw the men on a lower ledge and on large boulders at the shoreline hauling in barrels of goods - mostly grain and molasses. Jonathan ran to the cliff behind him, hoping to sneak past the men who were otherwise engaged. As luck would have it, while inching his way along the cliff behind him, keeping an eye on the wreckers, Jonathan's hand slipped into a crevice. Upon exploring further, he realized it was a narrow cave opening. Realizing this was a perfect place to hide from the men and get out of the wind, Jonathan slid into the cave.

Very little moonlight penetrated his shelter, so Jonathan felt his way around the cavern and discovered a passage. Even though he would be traveling through pitch darkness, there was a chance this tunnel would lead him to an exit on the other side, so he proceeded along the passage, feeling with his hands and feet to keep from tripping.

A short while later, Jonathan noticed a bluish light further down the tunnel - or maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him? But no . . . as he drew closer, the light grew larger and brighter. Soon he was close enough to realize that this light enveloped the whole end of the passage. He had never seen a light like this. It was a bright shimmer - like light shining through water. He put his hand up to touch it, but his hand passed through it as if it was not there. He quickly pulled his hand out and inspected it. Everything seemed fine. Taking a deep breath and holding it, Jonathan eased himself through the opening.

Once on the other side, Jonathan looked back. The blue light was still there. It illuminated the tunnel before him, so he continued on until he reached a bend where he saw more light - brighter than the bluish light he has just passed through. He quickened his pace and realized this was an exit out of the tunnel.

Jonathan emerged onto a sandy beach on a beautiful warm summer day. His body shivered in its attempt to adjust to the warmth after being cold for so long. He closed his eyes, reveling in the heat and stripped off his wet shirt to let his skin dry in the sun, then stretched out on the warm sand. He winced as he touched a dark bruise forming on his chest where he had slammed into the wheel. It would have to be wrapped, but not until he found his men and brought them to safety.

Once his shivering subsided, Jonathan slowly rose to his feet, feeling as if he had been the loser in a bar brawl. Every muscle in his body ached, but there was work to be done. He had to find Smitty, Gale, and Tippy before the wreckers did.

He entered the cave again and retraced his steps through the tunnels, again passing through the wonderous blue light. As he reached the narrow opening of the cave, he peeked out to see if anyone was there. The fact that it was still night on this side of the cave but sunny on the other confused Jonathan. The first time he had gone through, he thought that maybe he had been in the tunnel long enough for it to become morning, but he knew now it had only taken him 10 - 15 minutes to pass through the tunnel. What was happening?

He poked his head out again, and after hearing nothing but waves sloshing onto the rocks, Jonathan crept out to ensure he was alone on the ledge. It appeared the wreckers had left for the moment.

Jonathan walked along the ledge calling for his men. After 10 minutes with no response, he was about to return to the cave when he saw a shadow move at the treeline.

"Cap'n? Cap'n Weddom, is it you?" It was Gale.

"Yes, Gale. Are you well? Are Tippy or Smitty with you?"

"They're both back in the woods a bit. I'll get 'em."

After a few minutes, the three men emerged, relieved to see their captain again. Captain Weddom lead the men to the cave opening, explaining what he had discovered as they went.

They were all awed at the bright light in the middle of a dark tunnel and crossed through it several times in an attempt to determine what it was and what made it glow. Having failed to discover its source, the men continued through the passage until they reached the other side.

They flopped down on the beach, glad for the heat of the sun.

Jonathan looked up and noticed two parallel streaks of clouds making their way slowly across the brilliant blue sky. How odd, he thought. I've never seen clouds do that. While staring at the anomaly, he heard a strange sound coming from the ocean. The noise was similar to the whine of an insect and the growl of a bear, if ever those two things could become one. He was shocked to see what looked like a small boat moving faster than any boat he had ever seen! There were no oars, no sails. How was this possible?

He pointed the boat out to his crewmen and they all watched in wonder until it became a small spec on the water.

"What was that?" mused Tippy as the men exchanged confused glances.

Having no answer for his men, Captain Weddom led them down the shoreline in search of food, water, and rest. After a time, they came across a sign on the beach. Hoping it pointed to an inn or pub, the men drew closer. The sign read:

Dedicated to the 20 sailors of the Mary Beth, who lost their lives on the shoal just south of Portland Harbor, Maine, on September 4, 1873. May God Rest Their Souls. Amongst this list of the deceased were Captain Jonathan Weddom, Gale Ingram, Lawrence Smith, and Tippy Sorenson.

How could someone have erected this sign so quickly? The storm had happened only last night. Why would they declare everyone dead when four survivors were here reading the sign?

Captain Weddom stepped closer, then his heart sank as he noticed something he hadn't before. He traced the letters with his fingers.

Erected September 4, 1973 in remembrance of the 100th anniversary of the wreck of the Mary Beth.