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By Chester Blackthorn With Seven Ink Illustrations First Edition 1934 by NEW YORK MELBOURNE SYDNEY
CAPE TOWN CHAPTER XXXXVII THE GHOSTS OF THE SEA OUR OCEAN can be a cruel and unforgiving mistress. All sailors have a story to tell of her unending movements around the globe and the trials that she brings forth. Many of these tales, often recounted in song or verse, include phantom characters, beasts of a supernatural nature or amazing creatures from the bottomless depths. The ancient Inns, Pubs and hostelries of Anglia are often hushed to an eerie silence, as crinkled, toothless fisherfolk tell a charming, but frightful tale. This next account was heard, by my very own ears, in the Saxton pub known as The Bear, in 1913. Teetering on the brink of the Great War, the story presented an uncanny relevance, which is strange in itself, given that the fisherfolk performed the tale from memory alone. The Failed Invasion It was a stormy night in Saxton, towards the end of the Nineteenth Century. A wicked and destructive wind had blown across the North Sea, bringing with it the howls and whispers of a thousand Norse warriors. Saxton’s past was rich but secretive by nature, with some believing that only the most formidable of storms would shake these secrets from the ancient stones and timbers. Window shutters were sealed, and the doors of Saxton were bolted. The buildings of the town clung to the hillside like a limpet on tidal rocks. No-one would venture into the storm, no-one except Walter Spivey, who feared for his ship, The Venture. Like all good captains, Spivey was very close to his vessel, and knew the oncoming storm could take her from him. Tethering the boat with all the rope of Saxton, Spivey settled himself in the caverns of Saxton Shore. Shielding his eyes from the biting rain, Spivey was astonished to see a boat on the churning seas. Thrown by gigantic waves, the ship was approaching the rocks of Saxton at a frightening speed. Spivey was quick in his thoughts, and realised that the Lighthouse must not be lit; Why else would these fools be in such haste to meet with Saxton’s lethal stones. Dashing through the waves, rain and gales, Spivey enlisted help from The Bears comfy maw. The next few moments are recounted in a local verse: Six
men dwelt inside The Bear, Damn
this storm, send it back to hell, As Spivey and his brave companions made their way up to the lighthouse, which was perched on Saxton’s coastal road, he was able to make out some details of the vessel, enough to form a rude impression. It appeared to be of antique manufacture, boasting little in the way of tenacity or fortitude; Tossed upon the North Sea like a child’s plaything or a leaf in a brook. Spivey feared all souls would be lost, shredded on the rocks, which prickled the town. Descending to the small lighthouse, Spivey struck a powerful light. Lifting the light to the welcoming cowl, the lighthouse burst into action. A strong steady flame issued from within, to warn the oncoming ship. To their horror, Spivey and his party watched as the light was quickly snuffed. A sharp and devious wind had crept underneath the cowl. As his fellow seamen called for action, Spivey lit the lamp once more. Once again, the light grew strong, and withered before their very eyes. Something unearthly was occurring, up by Saxton’s lighthouse. With leaden hearts, the desperate party watched as the stricken ship entered the treacherous bay, waiting for the first bloodcurdling sound of timber upon the rocks. The wind became so strong; the party could barely stand, as rain lashed against the coast as if trying to wash the town clean away. Within a blink, the ship was suddenly gone from view, as if it were never there. Spivey looked on, amazed, at the empty churning sea below them. Returning to The Bear, Walter Spivey told his tale to those who dwelt within. All were quiet as the tale unfolded, as they pondered the strange event. A local man, stepped forward, to offer some explanation. It was known to him that in the Sixteenth Century a ship left Spain, to set sail for England’s coast. A sly, devious crew planned invasion of the most malicious kind. The plan was to execute the Queen herself, and those loyal to her. The Queen was well aware of such plans, for they were hardly original or well thought through. She had, at intervals along the coast, posted scouts to warn of potential threats. The Saxton scout spied such a craft, making it’s way around the headland, one moonless stormy night. He was hidden well, behind the towns Beacon, up on the Coastal Road. The scout knew his task was obvious, for he knew he must extinguish the beacon’s flames that battled against the ferocious wind. The ship approached as the weather worsened, it became obvious to all that the ship would be lost to Saxton’s patriotic rocks. This happened swiftly, in a great event, not to be forgotten. Many men drowned there and then, but many survived to climb the cliffs. The people of Saxton gathered stones, timber and dung, and threw the missiles with all their might. The poor souls beneath stood no chance and plummeted to the jagged razor like rocks below, to be cut to ribbons in seconds. Upon hearing this historical
tale, Spivey, and those within The Bear, knew what they had seen that
night. The ghostly form of the invading ship had attempted to reach its
goal once more. Saxton had, once more, performed its loyal duty. Many
believe that Saxton, and much of Anglia, is still protected from invasion
by the Anglo-Saxon Crowns. One is known to have been lost, to the sea
at Ulcombe, some centuries ago. The other was reduced to molten metal
after the Norman Invasion of 1066. The last crown, believed to be the
helm of a fine Anglo-Saxon ruler is thought, rather fancifully, to be
remain concealed, deep in the ancient landscape. Superstition tells that
Anglia, and England itself, will fall if the last crown is discovered
and removed. Darkling Room 2007: http://www.darklingroom.co.uk |