WASHINGTON IRVING'S "STORM SHIP" CONTINUED
"THERE IS ANOTHER STORY TOLD OF THIS FOUL-WEATHER URCHIN (STORM SHIP'S CAPTAIN), BY SKIPPER DANIEL OUSLESTICKER, OF FISHKILL, WHO WAS NEVER KNOWN TO TELL A LIE. HE DECLARED, THAT IN A SEVERE SQUALL, HE SAW HIM SEATED ASTRIDE HIS BOWSPRIT, RIDING THE SLOOP ASHORE, FULL BUTT AGAINST ANTHONY'S NOSE, AND THAT HE WAS EXORCISED BY DONNIE VAN GIESON, OF ESOPUS, WHO HAPPENED TO BE ON BOARD, AND WHO SUNG THE HYMN OF ST. NICHOLAS, WHEREUPON THE GOBLIN THREW HIMSELF UP IN THE AIR LIKE A BALL, AND WENT OFF IN A WHIRLWIND, CARRYING AWAY WITH HIM THE NIGHT-CAP OF THE DOMINIE'S WIFE, WHICH WAS DISCOVERED THE NEXT SUNDAY MORNING HANGING ON THE WEATHER-COCK OF ESOPUS' CHURCH STEEPLE, AT LEAST FORTY MILES OFF! AFTER SEVERAL EVENTS OF THIS KIND HAD TAKEN PLACE, THE REGLAR SKIPPERS OF THE RIVER, FOR A LONG TIME, DID NOT VENTURE TO PASS THE DUNDERBERG, WITHOUT LOWERING THEIR PEAKS, OUT OF HOMAGE TO THE HEER OF THE MOUNTAIN, AND IT WAS OBSERVED THAT ALL SUCH AS PAID THIS TRIBUTE OF RESPECT, WERE SUFFERED TO PASS UNMOLESTED."
WASHINGTON IRVING WROTE THIS SHORT STORY, IN THE WORDS OF HIS WELL TRAVELLED CHARACTER, GEOFFREY CRAYON, ESQ., IN THE SKETCH BOOK, OF 1822 VINTAGE.
"SUCH,' SAID ANTHONY VANDER HAYDEN, 'ARE A FEW OF THE STORIES WRITTEN DOWN BY SELYNE THE POET, CONCERNING THIS STORM SHIP; WHICH HE AFFIRMS TO HAVE BROUGHT TO THIS COLONY OF MISCHIEVOUS IMPS INTO THE PROVINCE, FROM SOME OLD GHOST-RIDDEN COUNTRY OF EUROPE. I COULD GIVE YOUR A HOST OF MORE, IF NECESSARY; FOR ALL THE ACCIDENTS THAT SO OFTEN BEFALL THE RIVER CRAFT IN THE HIGHLANDS ARE SAID TO BE TRICKS PLAYED OFF BY THESE IMPS OF THE DUNDERBERG; BUT IS EE THAT YOU ARE NODDING, SO LET US TURN IN FOR THE NIGHT'."
"THE MOON HAD JUST RAISED HER SILVER HORNS ABOVE THE ROUND BACK OF OLD BULL HILL, AND LIT UP THE GRAY ROCKS AND SHAGGED FORESTS, AND GLITTERING ON THE WAVING BOSOM OF THE RIVER. THE NIGHT DEW WAS FALLING, AND THE LATE GLOOMY MOUNTAINS BEGAN TO SOFTEN AND PUT ON A GRAY AERIAL TINT IN THE DEWY LIGHT. THE HUNTERS STIRRED THE FIRE, AND THREW ON FRESH FUEL TO QUALIFY THE DAMP OF THE NIGHT AIR. THEY THEN PREPARED A BED OF BRANCHES AND DRY LEAVES UNDER A LEDGE OF ROCKS FOR DOLPH; WHILE ANTHONY VANDER HAYDEN, WRAPPING HIMSELF UP IN A HUGE COAT MADE OF SKIN, STRETCHED HIMSELF BEFORE THE FIRE. IT WAS SOME TIME HOWEVER, BEFORE DOLPH COULD CLOSE HIS EYES. HE LAY CONTEMPLATING THE STRANGE SCENE BEFORE HIM; THE WILD WOODS AND ROCKS AROUND, THE FIRE THROWING FITFUL GLEAMS ON THE FACES OF THE SLEEPING SAVAGES; AND THE HEER ANTONY, TOO, WHO SO SINGULARLY, YET VAGUELY, REMINDED HIM OF THE NIGHTLY VISITANT TO THE HAUNTED HOUSE. NOW AND THEN HE HEARD THE CRY OF SOME ANIMAL FROM THE FOREST; OR THE HOOTING OF THE OWL; OR THE NOTES OF THE WHIP-POOR-WILL, WHICH SEEMED TO ABOUND AMONG THESE SOLITUDES; OR THE SPLASH OF A STURGEON, LEAPING OUT OF THE RIVER, AND FALLING BACK FULL LENGTH ON ITS PLACID SURFACE. HE CONTRASTED ALL THIS WITH HIS ACCUSTOMED NEST IN THE GARRET ROOM OF THE DOCTOR'S MANSION; WHERE THE ONLY SOUNDS HE HEARD AT NIGHT WERE THE CHURCH CLOCK TELLING THE HOUR; THE DROWSY VOICE OF THE WATCHMAN, DRAWLING OUT ALL WAS WELL; THE DEEP SNORING OF THE DOCTOR'S CLUBBED NOSE FROM BELOW THE STAIRS, OR THE CAUTIOUS LABOURS FO SOME CARPENTER RAT GNAWING IN THE WAINSCOT. HIS THOUGHTS THEN WANDERED TO HIS POOR OLD MOTHER; WHAT WOULD SHE THINK OF HIS MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE - WHAT ANXIETY AND DISTRESS WOULD SHE NOT SUFFER? THIS WAS THE THOUGH THAT WOULD CONTINUALLY INTRUDE ITSELF TO MAR HIS PRESENT ENJOYMENT. IT BROUGHT WITH IT A FEELING OF PAIN AND COMPUNCTION, AND HE FELL ASLEEP WITH THE TEARS YET STANDING IN HIS EYES," WROTE IRVING.
"WERE THIS A MERE TALE OF FANCY, HERE WOULD BE A FINE OPPORTUNITY FOR WEAVING IN STRANGE ADVENTURES AMONG THESE WILD MOUNTAINS, AND ROVING HUNTERS; AND AFTER, INVOLVING MY HERO IN A VARIETY OF PERILS AND DIFFICULTIES, RESCUING HIM FROM THEM BY SOME MIRACULOUS CONTRIVANCE; BUT AS THIS IS ABSOLUTELY A TRUE STORY, I MUST CONTENT MYSELF WITH SIMPLE FACTS, AND KEEP TO PROBABILITIES."
IRVING REMINDS, "AT AN EARLY HOUR OF THE NEXT DAY, THEREFORE, AFTER A HEARY MORNING'S MEAL, THE ENCAMPMENT BROKE UP, AND OUR ADVENTURESS EMBARKED IN THE PINNACE OF ANTHONY VANDER HEYDEN. THERE BEING NO WIND FOR THE SAIL, THE INDIANS ROWED HER GENTLY ALONG, KEEPING TIME TO A KIND OF CHANT OF ONE OF THE WHITE MEN. THE DAY WAS SERENE AND BEAUTIFUL; THE RIVER WITHOUT A WAVE; AND AS THE VESSEL CLEFT THE GLASSY WATER, IT LEFT A LONG, UNDULATING TRACK BEHIND. THE CROWS, WHO HAD SCENTED THE HUNTEERS' BANQUET, WERE ALREADY GATHERING AND HOVERING, IN THE AIR, JUST WHERE A COLUMN OF THIN BLUE SMOKE, RISING FROM AMONG THE TREES, SHOWED THE PLACE OF THEIR LAST NIGHT'S QUARTERS. AS THEY COASTED ALONG THE BASES OF THE MOUNTAINS, THE HEER ANTHONY POINTED OUT TO DOLPH A BALD EAGLE, THE SOVEREIGN OF THESE REGIONS, WHO SAT PERCHED ON A DRY TREE THAT PROJECTED OVER THE RIVER, AND, WITH EYE TURNED UPWARDS, SEEMED TO BE DRINKING IN THE SPLENDOUR OF THE MORNING SUN. THEIR APPROACH DISTURBED THE MONARCH'S MEDITATIONS. HE FIRST SPREAD ONE WING, AND THEN THE OTHER; BALANCED HIMSELF FOR A MOMENT; AND THEN, QUITTING HIS PERCH WITH DIGNIFIED COMPOSURE, WHEELED SLOWLY OVER THEIR HEADS. DOLPH SNATCHED UP A GUN, AND SENT A WHISTLING BALL AFTER HIM THAT CUT SOME OF HIS FEATHERS FROM HIS WING; THE REPORT OF THE GUN LEAPED SHARPLY FROM ROCK TO ROCK, AND AWAKENED A THOUSAND ECHOES; BUT THE MONARCH OF THE AIR SAILED CALMLY ON, ASCENDING HIGHER AND HIGHER, AND WHEELING WIDELY AS HE ASCENDED, SOARING UP THE GREEN BOSOM OF THE WOODY MOUNTAIN, UNTIL HE DISAPPEARED OVER THE BROW OF A BEETLING PRECIPICE. DOLPH FELT IN A MANNER REBUKED BYU THIS PROUD TRANQUILITY, AND ALMOST REPROACHED HIMSELF FOR HAVING SO WANTONLY INSULTED THIS MAJESTIC BIRD. HEER ANTHONY TOLD HIM, LAUGHING, TO REMEMBER THAT HE WAS NOT YET OUT OF THE TERRITORIES OF THE LORD OF THE DUNDERBERG; AND AN OLD INDIAN SHOOK HIS HEAD, AND OBSERVED, THAT THERE WAS BAD LUCK IN KILLING AN EAGLE; THE HUNTER, ON THE CONTRARY, SHOULD ALWAYS LEAVE HIM A PORTION OF THE SPOILS."
"NOTHING, HOWEVER, OCCURRED TO MOLEST THEM ON THEIR VOYAGE. THEY PASSED PLEASANTLY THROUGH MAGNIFICENT AND LONELY SCENES, UNTIL THEY CAME TO WHERE POLLOPOL'S ISLAND LAY, LIKE A FLOATING BOWER, AT THE EXTREMITY OF THE HIGHLANDS. HERE THEY LANDED, UNTIL THE HEAD OF THE DAY SHOULD ABATE, OR A BREEZE SPRING UP, THAT MIGHT SUPERSEDE THE LABOUR OF THE OAR. SOME PREPARED THE MID-DAY MEAL, WHILE OTHERS REPOSED UNDER THE SHADE TREES IN LUXURIOUS SUMMER INDOLENCE, LOOKING DROWSILY FORTH UPON THE BEAUTY OF THE SCENE. ON THE ONE SIDE WERE THE HIGHLANDS, VAST AND CRAGGED, FEATHERED TO THE TOP WITH FORESTS, AND THROWING THEIR SHADOWS ON THE GLASSY WATER THAT DIMPLED AT THEIR FEET. ON THE OTHER SIDE WAS A WIDE EXPANSE OF THE RIVER, LIKE A BROAD LAKE, WITH LONG SUNNY REACHES, AND GREEN HEADLANDS; AND THE DISTANT LINE OF SHAWUNKGUNK MOUNTAINS WAVING ALONG A CLEAR HORIZON, OR CHEQUERED BY A FLEECY CLOUD."
THE OIL LAMP AT THE OLD EWING FARM, IN MONCK TOWNSHIP, NEAR BRACEBRIDGE, WAS SLOWLY EXTINGUISHED THAT PARTICULAR NIGHT, THE WICK BEING ROLLED DOWN SLOWLY INTO THE BURNER. THE LINGERING, WAFTING SCENT OF COAL OIL FILLED THE BEDROOM, AS THE COLD AUTUMN AIR DROPPING IN TEMPERATURE OUTSIDE, TO NEAR FROST, COULD BE FELT, LIKE A COLD SPIRIT, SEEPING INTO THE UPSTAIRS OF THE FARM HOUSE. THE BOOK WAS CLOSED, BUT THE PAGE MARKED FOR A RETURN ENGAGEMENT, PRIOR TO SLUMBER THE NEXT EVENING.....WHEN FROM UNDER A HEAVY WOOL BLANKET AND QUILT, THE STORY WOULD BE RESUMED BY THE FLICKER OF THE OLD OIL LAMP ON THE DRESSER.
I PURCHASED THE WASHINGTON IRVING BOOK, CONTAINING THE STORY, "THE STORM SHIP," FROM AN ESTATE AUCTION, AT THE FORMER EWING FARM IN THE MID 1980'S. AT THE TIME, I PURCHASED FIFTEEN BOXES OF OLD BOOKS, FROM THE ANTIQUATED FARM LIBRARY, AND THE IRVING BOOK LOOKED TO HAVE BEEN ONE OF THE MOST FREQUENTLY READ AND RE-READ, BACK IN ITS PIONEER PERIOD, AS A MUSKOKA FARMSTEAD. THE STORY OF THE PHANTOM SHIP WAS CLEARLY MARKED BY NUMEROUS BENT OVER CORNERS......AND THIS IS WHAT I HAVE FOLLOWED FOR INCLUSION ON THIS BLOG. THE POINT I WANT TO MAKE, IS THAT THESE STORIES, INCLUDING ONES TOLD BY CHARLES DICKENS, WERE TO BE FOUND ON THE FIRST HOMESTEADS IN OUR REGION OF ONTARIO......AND IT IS TO BE EXPECTED, THAT THEY FOUND SIMILARITIES IN THEIR NEW PLACE OF RESIDENCE, TO SOME OF THE HAUNTING, CHILLING, AND MEMORABLE STORIES SPUN BY AUTHORS LIKE WASHINGTON IRVING. DID THEY SEE PARALLELS TO SLEEPY HOLLOW, WHEN THEY LOOKED OUT ONTO THEIR HOMESTEADS? I WILL RETURN TO THE CONCLUSION OF "THE GHOST SHIP," FOR TOMORROW'S BLOG. I'LL RESUME WHERE PRESUMABLY, A MEMBER OF THE EWING FAMILY MAY HAVE LEFT OFF, ONE AUTUMN NIGHT MORE THAN A CENTURY AGO.
Not so spooky encounters with those who have passed
One such instance of a possible spirit encounter that comes immediately to mind, involved my father-in-law on the eve of his passing.
My wife had been at the hospital in Bracebridge, Ontario for most of the sunny day in October, awaiting what was inevitable. Her father was slowly succumbing to a serious heart condition and it was a matter of hours before he was released from this mortal coil. I was looking after our young lads here at our Gravenhurst home, sitting out on the deck looking over the beautiful woodlands we call The Bog. We were talking about their grandfather's circumstance when all of a sudden a small brass bell (which had once hung on the verandah of the family cottage on Lake Rosseau), rang everso lightly. We all heard the faint ping of brass but there was no one standing close by or any chance it was accidentally hit. I have no recollection why I said it aloud or why I related it to the ring of a bell but I whispered immediately to the boys, "Your grandfather has just died." In less than five minutes the phone rang and it was Suzanne calling to let us know her dad had passed. Coincidence? The work of the spirit world? A message from the deceased? Or just the tieing together of what we find convenient, wishful truths at that precise moment. It makes it a tidy bit of legend when we credit such things with paranormal intervention, when in fact it could have been a bug bouncing off the bell, at around the time my father-in-law succumbed. Still, keeping this story in mind as you read on, you will find many other stories that happen in a similar unanticipated, unexpected, quite impromtu way that seems a tad more than mere coincidence. Do these things happen to us because we're open to possibility? I think the messages are received, as John Edward, the well known medium has maintained, when we validate that those who have passed can communicate with the living. We have always been receptive but we don't spend our time questing out spirits from their eternal peace. They find us when they feel so inclined. And we pay attention, let me tell you.
It may just be a word, a sensation, aroma in a room, a reaction to a piece of music or a scene outdoors that often reminds us of days with loved ones now passed. Usually we are reminded of some incident that occurred, vividly recalling the time and place, and we often pause and ponder whether there is a subtle message within. Was it just a sentimental moment? Or did someone on the other side feel compelled to remind us of a commitment we once made, or a promise yet to be fulfilled. As one example, I was sitting in the yard one afternoon in the fall of 2007, when all of a sudden I said to Suzanne "Witch Hazel." "I have no idea why this came to my mind......does it ring a bell with you?" She didn't have an immediate answer but the more we thought about it, many suggestions were made about where this would have come up in our respective lives. While there was no conclusion it did make us talk about the old days of Suzanne's family in the Ufford and Windermere area of Muskoka.....dating back as far as the 1870's family homestead. Was it a mission inspired by the other side to link us with some important detail we needed to know? We have no idea to this day but every now and again the plant name will pop up as if to remind us to keep up the quest.
I probably validate the spirit-kind more than most people I suppose, and I frequently will make some one-way chatter with old chums of mine, when I'm suddenly reminded of their unretiring characters. If I'm looking for an old book I need for some research project, I may seek the help of my old book collecting buddy, David Brown, ( I wrote his biography following his death in the mid 1990's), and on many, many occasions, possibly a few days later, I will eventually find the book I was looking for. Rather than making adament claims that "No of course, Brownie couldn't possibly have helped me from the spirit-world," I just take the book and thank Dave as if he was fully responsible. Reminds me of the old anecdote about the woman who complained to a friend that her mentally stressed son thought he was a chicken, and when the friend said that she should tell him bluntly he was to cease the nonsense, the mother replied, "I would but we need the eggs." If Dave Brown can help me find a book I need, because that was his specialty amongst the living, well folks, I'm going to chatter away and take what breaks are afforded me. That's pretty much the slant of this series of blogs on ghosts and spirit-kind I have encountered. It's not to convince you that ghosts exist but rather to explain why we, the Curries, have been able to walk so freely, happily and communicative amongst them for all these years. We're not mediums and we've never been to a seance. We do read a lot of books about ghosts and the paranormal but I couldn't even quote you one line that convinced me of ghost/paranormal existence.
Much of it goes back to having parents that refused to quash expectation, and who nurtured free thought and unrestricted privilege to challenge anything we felt was mired in doubt, inaccuracy and complacency from counter-point. Suzanne's parents and mine never once discouraged us from full investigation, and in fact, gave us the moral courage to take giant steps where others chose modest proportion, and caution every step of the way. We celebrated fantasy as we embraced freedom, and it made us cunning investigators, who might well have squeezed through the small door that opened to Alice's Wonderland, or snuck in line to get the first enchanted step along the yellow brick road (ahead of Dorothy) on the way toward Oz. And if we had come upon the midnight revel of the wee fairies in these enchanted Muskoka woodlands, we would have instinctively and by knowledge known, to watch only in silence, respectful of the full rights and privilege of legend and lore.
My favorite author, Washington Irving, once wrote that he was disappointed that science was dissecting all the fantasy from the world, into only what could be precisely identified, documented and thusly and finally attributed to the life of individual species. Irving thought that it would be a terrible corruption to those traditions and fantasies, if mankind was to give up on things like fairies and the existence of other enchanted wee beasties that emerge occasionally from the mist of such haunted places as dark, historic woodlands; from beneath rickety old bridges, and deep caverns in the rock grandeur of moss covered hillsides. Science, he thought, should not be the only source for information, and it certainly must not be the initiative to abandon expectation and fantasy, or believe for one moment that there are no such things as phantom sailing ships on the Hudson River, or a headless horseman who seeks the noggins of unsuspecting weak-willed mortals. He thought enchantments had their place in this world, and I have taken his advisory to heart all these years, and have never been disappointed in the immersion and fantasy, I have been privileged to experience......by being open to possibility, and believing as an eternal child, that the universe is a very fascinating, dynamic place afforded to mortals in which to dwell.
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