Ghosts

by Hans Holzer

  Consequently, it was with great eagerness that the crew of the Constellation came upon the famous French frigate L’Insurgente passing near the island of Nevis on a balmy February day in 1799. Within an hour after the first broadside, the French warship was a helpless wreck. This first United States naval victory gave the young nation a sense of dignity and pride which was even more pronounced a year later when the Constellation met up with the French frigate La Vengeance. Although the American ship had increased its guns by two, to a total of thirty-eight, she was, still outclassed by the French raider sporting fifty-two guns. The West Indian battle between the two naval giants raged for five hours. Then the French ship, badly battered, escaped into the night.

  America was feeling its oats now; although only a handful of countries had established close relations with the new republic, and the recently won freedom from Britain was far from secure, Congress felt it would rather fight than submit to blackmail and holdup tactics.

  Although Captain Truxtun left the Constellation at the end of 1801, his drill manual and tactical methods became the basis for all later U. S. Navy procedures. Next to command the Constellation was Alexander Murray, whose first mission was to sail for the Mediterranean in 1802 to help suppress the Barbary pirates, who had once again started to harass American shipping. During the ensuing blockade of Tripoli, the Constellation saw much action, sinking two Arab ships and eventually returning to her home port in late 1805 after a peace treaty had finally been concluded with the Arab pirates.

  * * *

  For seven years there was peace, and the stately ship lay in port at Washington. Then in 1812, when war with Britain erupted again, she was sent to Hampton Roads, Virginia, to help defend the American installations at Fort Craney. But as soon as peace returned between the erstwhile colonies and the former motherland, the Barbary pirates acted up again, and it was deemed necessary to go to war against them once more.

  This time the Constellation was part of Stephen Decatur’s squadron, and remained in North African waters until 1817 to enforce the new peace treaty with Algeria.

  America was on the move, expanding not only overland and winning its own West, but opening up new trade routes overseas. Keeping pace with its expanding merchant fleet was a strong, if small, naval arm. Again, the Constellation guarded American shipping off South America between 1819 and 1821, then sailed around the Cape to the Pacific side of the continent, and finally put down the last Caribbean pirates in 1826. Later she was involved in the suppression of the Seminole Indian rebellion in Florida, and served as Admiral Dallas’s flagship. In 1840 she was sent on a wide-ranging trip, sailing from Boston to Rio de Janeiro under the command of Commodore Lawrence Kearny. From there she crossed the Pacific Ocean to open up China for American trade; returning home via Hawaii, Kearny was able, in the proverbial nick of time, to prevent a British plot to seize the islands.

  The British warship H. M. S. Caryfoot had been at anchor at Honolulu when the Constellation showed up. Hastily, the British disavowed a pledge by King Kame-hameha III to turn over the reins of government to the ship’s captain, and native rule was restored.

  For a few years, the famous old ship rested in its berth at Norfolk, Virginia. She had deserved her temporary retirement, having logged some 58,000 miles on her last trip alone, all of it with sail power only. In 1853 it was decided to give her an overhaul. After all, the Navy’s oldest ship was now fifty-five years old and showed some stress and strain. The rebuilding included the addition of twelve feet to her length, and her reclassification as a twenty-two-gun sloop of war. Most of her original timber was kept, repairing and replacing only what was worn out. Once more the veteran ship sailed for the Mediterranean, but the handwriting was already on the wall: In 1858, she was decommissioned.

  Here the mysterious force that refused to let the ship die came into play again.

  When civil war seemed inevitable between North and South, the Constellation was brought back into service in 1859 to become the flagship of the African squadron. Her job was intercepting slave ships bound for the United States, and she managed to return a thousand slaves to their native Africa.

  Outbreak of war brought her back home in 1861, and after another stint in the Mediterranean protecting United States shipping from marauding Confederate raiders, she became a receiving and training ship at Hampton Roads, Virginia.

  Sailing ships had seen their day, and the inevitable seemed at hand: Like so many wooden sailing ships, she would eventually be destined for the scrapheap. But again she was saved from this fate. The Navy returned her to active service in 1871 as a training ship at the Annapolis Naval Academy. The training period was occasionally interrupted by further sea missions, such as her errand of mercy to Ireland during the 1880 famine. Gradually, the old ship had become a symbol of American naval tradition and was known the world over. In 1894, almost a hundred years old now, the still-seaworthy man-of-war returned to Newport for another training mission. By 1914, her home port Baltimore claimed the veteran for a centennial celebration, and she would have continued her glorious career as an active seagoing ship of the U. S. Navy, forever, had it not been for World War II. More important matters took precedence over the welfare of the Constellation, which lay forgotten at the Newport berth. Gradually, her condition worsened, and ultimately she was no longer capable of putting out to sea.

  When the plight of this ancient sailor was brought to President Roosevelt’s attention, he honored her by making her once again the flagship of the U. S. Atlantic Fleet. But the honor was not followed by funds to restore her to her erstwhile glory. After the war she was berthed in Boston, where attempts were made to raise funds by allowing visitors aboard. By 1953, the ship was in such poor condition that her total loss seemed only a matter of time.

  At this moment, a committee of patriotic Baltimore citizens decided to pick up the challenge. As a first step, the group secured title to the relic from the U. S. Navy. Next, the ship was brought home to Baltimore, like a senior citizen finally led back to its native habitat. All the tender care of a sentimental association was lavished on her, and with the help of volunteers, the restoration committee managed to raise the necessary funds to restore the Constellation to its original appearance, inside and out. At the time of our nocturnal visit, only the first stage of the restoration had been undertaken: to make her hull seaworthy so she could safely stay afloat at her berth. In the summer of 1968, the rest of the work would be undertaken, but at the time of our visit, the inside was still a raw assortment of wooden beams and badly hinged doors, her superstructure reduced to a mastless flat deck and the original corridors and companionways in their grime-covered state. All this would eventually give way to a spick-and-span ship, as much the pride of America in 1968 as she was back in 1797 when she was launched.

  But apart from the strange way in which fate seemed to prevent the destruction of this proud sailing ship time and again, other events had given the Constellation the reputation of a haunted ship. This fame was not especially welcomed by the restoration committee, of course, and it was never encouraged, but for the sake of the record, they did admit and document certain strange happenings aboard the ship. In Donald Stewart, the committee had the services of a trained historian, and they hastened to make him the curator of their floating museum.

  * * *

  The U. S. F. Constellation today

  Whether or not any psychic occurrences took place aboard the Constellation prior to her acquisition by the committee is not known, but shortly after the Baltimore group had brought her into Baltimore drydock, a strange incident took place. On July 26, 1959, a Roman Catholic priest boarded the ship, which was then already open to the public, although not in very good condition. The priest had read about the famous ship, and asked curator Donald Stewart if he might come aboard even though it was before the 10 A.M. opening hour for visitors. He had to catch a train for Washington at eleven, and would never be able to face his flock back in Detroit without having seen so famed a v
essel. The curator gladly waived the rules, and the good father ascended. However, since Mr. Stewart was in the midst of taking inventory and could not spare the time to show him around, he suggested that the priest just walk around on his own.

  At 10:25, the priest returned from below deck, looking very cheerful. Again the curator apologized for not having taken him around.

  “That’s all right,” the man of the cloth replied, “the old gent showed me around.”

  “What old gent?” the curator demanded. “There is nobody else aboard except you and me.”

  The priest protested. He had been met by an old man in a naval uniform, he explained, and the fellow had shown him around below. The man knew his ship well, for he was able to point out some of the gear and battle stations.

  “Ridiculous,” bellowed Mr. Stewart, who is a very practical Scotsman. “Let’s have a look below.”

  Both men descended into the hull and searched the ship from bow to stern. Not a living soul was to be found outside of their own good selves.

  When they returned topside, the priest was no longer smiling. Instead, he hurriedly left, pale and shaken, to catch that train to Washington. He knew he had met an old sailor, and he knew he was cold sober when he did.

  Donald Stewart’s curiosity, however, was aroused, and he looked into the background of the ship a bit more closely. He discovered then that similar experiences had happened to naval personnel when the ship was at Newport, Rhode Island, and to watchmen aboard the Constellation. Nobody liked to talk about them, however. On one occasion during the summer a figure was seen aboard on the gun deck after the ship had closed for the day and no visitors could be aboard. The police were called to rout the burglar or intruder and they brought with them a police dog, a fierce-looking German shepherd, who was immediately sent below deck to rout the intruder. But instead of following orders as he always did, the dog stood frozen to the spot, shivering with fear, hair on his neck bristling, and refused to budge or go below. It is needless to point out that no human intruder was found on that occasion.

  Another time a group of Sea Scouts was holding a meeting aboard. The idea was to give the proceedings a real nautical flavor. The fact that the ship was tied up solidly and could not move did not take away from the atmosphere of being aboard a real seagoing vessel. Suddenly, as if moved by unseen hands, the wheel spun from port to starboard rapidly. Everyone in the group saw it, and pandemonium broke loose. There wasn’t any wind to account for a movement of the ship. Furthermore, the spool of the wheel was not even linked to the rudder!

  The Constellation had returned to Baltimore in August 1955. While still under Navy jurisdiction, the first of the unusual incidents took place. The vessel was then tied up beside the U. S. S. Pike at the Naval Training Center. There was never anyone aboard at night. The dock was well guarded, and strangers could not approach without being challenged. Nevertheless, a Navy commander and his men reported that they had seen “someone in an early uniform” walking the quarterdeck at night. The matter was investigated by the Baltimore Sun, which also published the testimonies of the Navy personnel. When the newspaper sent a photographer aboard the Constellation, however, every one of his photographs was immediately seized by naval authorities without further explanation.

  Jim Lyons, a longtime Baltimore resident, was able to add another detail to the later uncanny events recorded by the curator. During a Halloween meeting of the Sea Scouts, which was followed by a dance, one of the girls present had an unusual experience. Seated on a wall bench, she turned to speak to what she thought was her escort, and instead looked directly into the face of an old sailor, who smiled at her and then disappeared! Since she had never heard of any alleged hauntings aboard ship, her mind was not impressed with any such suggestion. She described the apparition exactly as the priest had described his ghostly guide below deck. Very likely other visitors to the ship may have had strange encounters of this sort without reporting them, since people tend to disregard or suppress that which does not easily fall into categories they can accept.

  It was clear from these reports that some restless force was still active aboard the old vessel, and that it wanted the Constellation to go on unharmed and as she was in her heyday. But why did the ghostly sailor make such an effort to manifest and to cling to this ship? What was the secret that this “ship of destiny” harbored below deck?

  * * *

  We were standing in a small group on the main deck of the ship when Sybil said hurriedly, “Must go down below,” and before we could even ask her why, she had descended the narrow ladder leading to the next lower level. There she deftly made for the after orlop deck, where she stopped abruptly and remarked, “There is much evil here!”

  Before we had all come aboard, she had been wandering about the ship in almost total darkness. “I personally have been with the ship for eleven years,” the curator later observed, “and I would not attempt such a feat without light, although I know the ship like the back of my hand.” Earlier, while we were still en route to the harbor, Sybil had suddenly mumbled a date out of context and apparently for no particular reason. That date was 1802. When I had questioned her about it she only said it had significance for the place we were going to visit. Later I discovered that the first captain of the Constellation had left the frigate at the end of 1801, and that 1802 signified a new and important chapter in the ship’s career.

  How could Sybil deduce this from the modern streets of nocturnal Baltimore through which we had been driving at the time?

  And now we were finally aboard, waiting for developments. These were not long in coming. As Sybil went down into the hold of the ship, we followed her. As if she knew where she was going, she directed her steps toward the ladder area of the after orlop deck.

  “I’m frightened,” she said, and shuddered. For a person like Sybil to be frightened was most unusual. She showed me her arms, which were covered with gooseflesh. It was not particularly cold inside the hold, and none of us showed any such symptoms.

  “This area has a presence, lots of atmosphere…very cruel. And I heard what sounded like a baby crying. Why would a baby cry aboard a ship like this?”

  Why indeed?

  “A peculiar death…a boy… a gun…big gun…a bad deed….

  “Is this boy connected with the ship?”

  Instead of answering, she seemed to take in the atmosphere. More and more dissociating herself from us and the present, she mumbled, “Seventeen sixty-five.”

  The date had no significance for the ship, but probably for its first captain, then still in British service.

  “French guns….”

  This would refer to the two great engagements with the French fleet in 1799 and 1800.

  I tried to get back to the boy.

  “He walked around this boat a lot,” Sybil said. “Something happened to him. Have to find the gun. Doesn’t like guns. He’s frightened. Killed here. Two men…frightening the boy. Powder…powder boy. Eleven.”

  “Who were those two men?”

  “Seventy-two…sixty-six…their boat is not here….”

  “Is there an entity present on this boat now?”

  “Three people. Boy and the two men.”

  “Who are the two men?”

  Belabored, breathing heavily, Sybil answered.

  “Thraxton…captain…Thomas…T-h-r…I can’t get the middle of it…1802…other man…to the gun….”

  When these words came from Sybil’s now half-entranced lips, the little group around me froze. I heard a gasp from one of them and realized that Sybil must have hit on something important. Only later did I learn that Captain Thomas Truxtun was the ship’s first captain, and that he had been replaced by another at the beginning of 1802. If he was one of the ghostly presences here, he certainly had a reason to stay with the ship that he had made great and whose name was forever linked with his own in naval history.

  Sybil came out of her semi-trance momentarily and complained she wasn’t getting throu
gh too well. “Name ending in son,” she said now. “Harson…can’t hear it too well. I hear a lot of noise from guns. Attacking. Seventy-two. Sixty-four. French. I can’t see what happened to the boy. He didn’t come back. But he’s here now. It’s confusing me. Fire!”

  “Can you get more about the two men with the boy?” I asked.

  “One is important, the other one is…a…armory… the guns…tends to the guns…he’s still here…has to be forgiven…for his adventures…he was a coward…he hid away…he was killed by the men on this boat, not the enemy…blew him up…his friends did it because he was a coward…in action….”

  “What was his name?”

  “Harson…Larson…I don’t know….He was an armorer….”

  “Where was he from?”

  “Sweden.”

  At this point, when we were leaning over to catch every word of Sybil’s testimony, my tape recorder went out of order. No matter how I shook it, it would not work again. Quickly, I tore out a sheet of paper and took notes, later comparing them with those of the curator, Don Stewart.

  As I pressed my psychic friend—and her communicators—for more information, she obliged in halting, labored sentences.

  This man had been done an injustice, she explained, for he was not a coward. Captain Thomas “Thr-ton,” an American, had given the order and he was killed by being blown to bits through a cannon. Finally, the seventy-two sixty-six figures she had mentioned earlier fell into place. That was the spot where the killing happened, she explained, at sea. The position, in other words.

  “The guns are a bad influence,” she mumbled, “if you take the third gun away it would be better…bad influence here, frightens people…third gun. This ship would be with another…Const…ation, and Con…federation…something like that…should be at sea…not a sister ship but of the same type with a similar spelling of the name, even though this ship was slightly older, they belong together!”