Schooner Charles Haskell
By Andy Hagerty
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The Charles Haskell started out as a Cod Fishing Schooner build in Boston MA. During her construction she started to get the reputation as a bad luck ship due to a series of misfortunes, this came to a head when a workman slipped and fell to the deck breaking his neck. This caused her to be known as an ill favored ship. The original owners backed out of construction when they were unable to find a captain and crew willing to man her. The ship appears to have been left to lie in the harbor, until someone saw her and bought her.
A captain by the name of Curtis was found to sail her, and he was able to recruit a crew of stout Gloucester men. They sailed on her maiden voyage for the fall season of cod fishing on the George’s bank with about 300 other schooners. By all accounts the fishing of March 1866 was good. |
The Atlantic is a fickle place to make a living. A storm came up the coast with such speed and frenzy that the ship of the fishing fleet were unable to flee. The turned, dropped lines and attempted to ride out the storm.
However as often the case, a storm at sea is a awful thing, and this was not just a storm, but turned into a full-fledged hurricane. Captain Curtus became alarmed at the way some of the ships in the area seemed to be threating to break their moorings. Her ordered the lines cut in an attempt to “get the bloody hell out of there”. However, the sea had other plans for this little vessel.
The Charles Haskell was gripped by the storm, with her crew fighting for their lives. During the wild ride, a schooner by the name of the Andrew Jackson of Salem MA crossed the Haskell’s path. It is unknown if the Jackson’s captain had the same thought as Captain Curtus or had broken her lines , either way, at times like this mere men are at the mercy of the elements.
The Jackson crossed in front of the Haskell and they collided. The Jackson was almost cut in two. The men of the Haskell could not do much more than hold on and watch as the 26 men of the Jackson went down with their ship or struggled furtively in the raging seas. The Haskell was damaged, but managed to limp into St John’s for repairs. The ship was labeled as cursed.
However as often the case, a storm at sea is a awful thing, and this was not just a storm, but turned into a full-fledged hurricane. Captain Curtus became alarmed at the way some of the ships in the area seemed to be threating to break their moorings. Her ordered the lines cut in an attempt to “get the bloody hell out of there”. However, the sea had other plans for this little vessel.
The Charles Haskell was gripped by the storm, with her crew fighting for their lives. During the wild ride, a schooner by the name of the Andrew Jackson of Salem MA crossed the Haskell’s path. It is unknown if the Jackson’s captain had the same thought as Captain Curtus or had broken her lines , either way, at times like this mere men are at the mercy of the elements.
The Jackson crossed in front of the Haskell and they collided. The Jackson was almost cut in two. The men of the Haskell could not do much more than hold on and watch as the 26 men of the Jackson went down with their ship or struggled furtively in the raging seas. The Haskell was damaged, but managed to limp into St John’s for repairs. The ship was labeled as cursed.
The next spring the repaired Charles Haskell was again out on the George’s Banks. There are always desperate men who will take chances due to need or a sense of adventure. She was six days out when things took a turn for the paranormal. The sky was clear and the full moon lit up the sea. Two men on the midnight watch saw what looked like human heads bobbing in the water. They called for Captain Curtus, and by the time he reached the deck, the 24 heads had become what appeared to be man sized shapes heading towards the ship. Upon reaching the ship the dark shapes were distinctly men, dressed in all oilskin, with dark empty holes where the eyes would be. The specters fanned out over the ship and started to perform the mundane actions of a ship working the banks. They fished, took in lines and performed their tasks . The crew watched in horrified fascination until, as dawn approached, the phantom crew one by one, slipped over the side into the murky depths.
In the warm embrace of daylight the crew did what most normal people would do, they turned to port and left the area. However, they were more than two days out, so with rising trepidation they settled into routine as the next night approached.
As with the night before, on the mid watch, the phantom crew left the deeps, boarded the Haskell and set about fishing and working the deck. Again the crew cowered, though they were not molested. However, as dawn approached this day, the specters climbed over the rails, and walked in single file towards land. The captain took a heading and realized they were walking towards Salem MA.
Later that day the Charles Haskell pulled into Gloucester. The tale of the phantom fishermen sealed the fate of the ship as no one would dare take her out to sea. She became a famous HooDoo ship. She sat for years and suffered one of two fates. One accounting of the tales places her at the bottom of Gloucester harbor after sinking in a storm after years of neglect. A second possible outcome is she was bought by Captain Hayden of port wade and used to haul wood in the Canadian coastal trade. No mention of her eventual demise is available at this time. Either way, she never traveled to the banks for fishing again. She lived on in tales the men told in the bars of this seaport.
In the warm embrace of daylight the crew did what most normal people would do, they turned to port and left the area. However, they were more than two days out, so with rising trepidation they settled into routine as the next night approached.
As with the night before, on the mid watch, the phantom crew left the deeps, boarded the Haskell and set about fishing and working the deck. Again the crew cowered, though they were not molested. However, as dawn approached this day, the specters climbed over the rails, and walked in single file towards land. The captain took a heading and realized they were walking towards Salem MA.
Later that day the Charles Haskell pulled into Gloucester. The tale of the phantom fishermen sealed the fate of the ship as no one would dare take her out to sea. She became a famous HooDoo ship. She sat for years and suffered one of two fates. One accounting of the tales places her at the bottom of Gloucester harbor after sinking in a storm after years of neglect. A second possible outcome is she was bought by Captain Hayden of port wade and used to haul wood in the Canadian coastal trade. No mention of her eventual demise is available at this time. Either way, she never traveled to the banks for fishing again. She lived on in tales the men told in the bars of this seaport.
The story of the Charles Haskell was immortalized in a song in the 1940’s. Called “the ghostly sailors” it was sung by Walter Roast. Here are the lyrics:
The Ghostly Sailors
You may smile if you want to,
But perhaps you’ll lend an ear,
For boys and girls together,
Well on for fifty years,
I’ve sailed in fishing vessels,
In summer’s pleasant gales,
And all through stormy winters,
Where the howling winds did rage.
I’ve been tossed about on Georgia Shoals,
Been fishing in the Bay,
Down south in early seasons,
Most anywhere would pay,
I’ve been [in different vessels],
On the Western Banks and Grand,
I’ve been in herring vessels
That went to Newfoundland.
There I saw storms, I tell you,
And things looked rather blue,
But somehow I was lucky,
And quickly I got through,
I will not brag, however,
I will not say so much,
I have not been easily frightened,
Like most of other men.
Last night as we were sailing,
We were sailing off the shore,
I never will forget it,
In all my mortal days,
It was in the grand dog watches,
I felt a thrilling dread,
Came over me as I hear,
One calling from the dead.
Right over our rail there clambered,
All silent, one by one,
A dozen dripping sailors,
Just wait till I am done,
Their face were pale and sea worn,
Shone through the ghostly night,
Each fellow took his station,
As if he had a right.
They moved around about us,
‘Till land was most in sight,
Or rather I should say so,
The lighthouse shone its light,
And then those ghostly sailors,
Moved to the rail again,
And vanished in an instant,
Before the sons of men.
We sailed right in the harbour,
And every mother’s son,
Will tell the same sad story,
The same as I have done,
The trip before the other,
We were off Georgia then,
We ran down another vessel,
And sank her and her men.
These were the same poor fellows,
I hope God rests their souls,
That our old craft ran over,
And sank on Georgia Shoals,
So now you have my story,
It is just as I say,
I did not believe in spirits,
Until this very day.
You may smile if you want to,
But perhaps you’ll lend an ear,
For boys and girls together,
Well on for fifty years,
I’ve sailed in fishing vessels,
In summer’s pleasant gales,
And all through stormy winters,
Where the howling winds did rage.
I’ve been tossed about on Georgia Shoals,
Been fishing in the Bay,
Down south in early seasons,
Most anywhere would pay,
I’ve been [in different vessels],
On the Western Banks and Grand,
I’ve been in herring vessels
That went to Newfoundland.
There I saw storms, I tell you,
And things looked rather blue,
But somehow I was lucky,
And quickly I got through,
I will not brag, however,
I will not say so much,
I have not been easily frightened,
Like most of other men.
Last night as we were sailing,
We were sailing off the shore,
I never will forget it,
In all my mortal days,
It was in the grand dog watches,
I felt a thrilling dread,
Came over me as I hear,
One calling from the dead.
Right over our rail there clambered,
All silent, one by one,
A dozen dripping sailors,
Just wait till I am done,
Their face were pale and sea worn,
Shone through the ghostly night,
Each fellow took his station,
As if he had a right.
They moved around about us,
‘Till land was most in sight,
Or rather I should say so,
The lighthouse shone its light,
And then those ghostly sailors,
Moved to the rail again,
And vanished in an instant,
Before the sons of men.
We sailed right in the harbour,
And every mother’s son,
Will tell the same sad story,
The same as I have done,
The trip before the other,
We were off Georgia then,
We ran down another vessel,
And sank her and her men.
These were the same poor fellows,
I hope God rests their souls,
That our old craft ran over,
And sank on Georgia Shoals,
So now you have my story,
It is just as I say,
I did not believe in spirits,
Until this very day.
