Dark Downeast - The Annie C. Maguire Shipwreck at Portland Head Light

Episode Date: July 12, 2021

SPECIAL EDITION: On Christmas Eve in 1886, the Annie C. Maguire ran aground on the rocky shoreline of Cape Elizabeth, Maine, just below the iconic Portland Head Light. If you’ve visited the famous beacon, you’ve likely seen for yourself the simple but ever present tribute on those very rocks that’s been painted and repainted for over a century, the original letters inscribed there by the son of the lighthouse keeper whose family helped rescue the ship’s passengers and crew.The waters of Casco Bay and Maine’s coast are drenched with tales of shipwrecks and tragedy and lives lost at sea, but among all the true stories and the legends that endure, the story of the Annie C. Maguire is among the most intriguing.Was the Christmas Eve shipwreck at Portland Head Light an accident? Or was it a crime? View source material and photos for this episode at darkdowneast.com/anniecmaguireFollow @darkdowneast on Instagram, Facebook, and TikTokTo suggest a case visit darkdowneast.com/submit-caseDark Downeast is an audiochuck and Kylie Media production hosted by Kylie Low.

All hands, turn out. There's a ship ashore in the dooryard. On Christmas Eve in 1886, the Annie C. Maguire ran aground on the rocky shoreline of Cape Elizabeth, Maine, just below the iconic Portland headlight. If you've visited the famous beacon, you've likely seen for yourself this simple but ever-present tribute on those very rocks that's been painted and repainted for over a century. The original letters inscribed there by the son of the lighthouse

keeper whose family helped rescue the ship's passengers and crew. The waters of Casco Bay and Maine's coast are drenched with tales of shipwrecks and tragedy and lives lost at sea, but among all the true stories and the legends that endure, the story of the Annie C. Maguire is among the most intriguing. Was the Christmas Eve wreck at Portland Headlight an accident? Or was it intentional? Could it have been a crime? I'm Kylie Lowe, and this is the story of the Annie C. Maguire shipwreck on Dark Down East. Lighthouses and their keepers have protected the coastline of Maine for over 200 years,

standing proud on our shores and waving mariners into port. They've withstood brutal storms, unceasing saltwater spray, millions of tourists, and then the fires, catastrophes, and tragedies. Through it all, 57 lighthouses remain active in vacation land, some of them private. A handful are inactive but still standing. And three were destroyed and lost with time. Digging through the history of Maine's light stations brought up the name of one man again and again. Jeremy D'Entremont is a historian, an author, a speaker, and the leading expert on New England's historic lighthouses. I've invited him to Dark Down East to help me tell this story.

I grew up near Boston on the coast, on the north shore of Boston, and I was fascinated by the ocean as a kid. For some reason, I was just drawn to it, like a lot of people. But as I was growing up in the Boston area, there was a very popular historian by the name of Edward Rowe Snow, who was always on Boston radio and TV. He wrote many, many books about maritime subjects. And he would be telling these stories about shipwrecks and pirates and treasure and all the cool stuff that makes the New England coast so interesting. He helped get me interested in maritime subjects. Also, my own stepfather was descended from sea captains and shipbuilders in the Casco Bay area, and he self-published a book about that subject. So I kind of blame my stepfather and

Edward Rowe Snow for my interest in lighthouses, although I should probably say credit them for that. I didn't really develop the interest in lighthouses until a little later, probably when I was in my 30s, but I had that interest in maritime history before that. He has published 20 books, his best-selling being The Lighthouse Handbook of New England, a sort of field guide for the curious lighthouse enthusiast. Of course, you can't write about New England's lighthouses without devoting a bit of time to the most recognizable lighthouse in Maine, New England, and perhaps the world. Portland Headlight's bright, shining beacon has heralded ships into Portland Harbor for over 200 years and has drawn tourists who want to capture for themselves a photo of the stunning structure perched on the craggy rocks of Cape Elizabeth.

Portland Head claims many titles. The oldest lighthouse in Maine, the first built after U.S. independence from Britain, and the most visited and the most photographed of all the lighthouses in the world. I would say it's the most visited and photographed lighthouse in the world with, they say, about 1.2 million visitors a year. Portland Head Lighthouse is just basically what a lighthouse is supposed to look like. And, you know, it's a classic early masonry lighthouse tower. Nothing all that interesting about the architecture, but I just think it's really elegant, you know, just the kind of the simplicity of it. I think it's quite beautiful, but that house really helps give it its appeal. I think the 1891 Victorian house that's there.

So the house is a hundred years younger than the lighthouse itself, but it just kind of completes that scene, you know, before that there was sort of a boxy, more plain house. So it's a really, really beautiful house. And the setting with the way the rocks are, there's that big rock just offshore from the lighthouse. So if you're standing in the right place for the, you know, the typical postcard view, it's just, it's absolutely perfect. And there's often surf, you know, the ocean hitting the rocks there and everything that really adds to it too. So to me, it's just perfect. The history of Portland Headlight as both an integral part of maritime navigation and a tourist attraction is long. In 1787, the Massachusetts colonial government

budgeted $750 for a lighthouse at the very spot where Portland Head stands today, though it was not completed until 1790, after the first Congress of the United States passed the Lighthouses Act, which placed lighthouses under federal control. Secretary of Treasury Alexander Hamilton upped the funds for the project, a sum not to exceed $1,500. President George Washington, the penny pincher that he was, instructed that the lighthouse be built using locally sourced rubble stone, and it was also President Washington himself who appointed the very first keeper of Portland Head. He was a Revolutionary War veteran, Captain Joseph Greenleaf, and he ignited the lamps

of Portland Headlight for the very first time on January 10, 1791. Portland Head would become home to dozens of keepers throughout the years, before automation made the keeper way of life more or less extinct. But those early keepers kept her light beaming, whether by the whale oil lamps or later kerosene. They braved the harsh elements of winter on the ocean, the unrelenting surf pounding on the rocks, while the wind whistled through the cracks of the stone cottage walls. The humans of Portland Headlight are what make the history of this lighthouse so rich and fascinating. If the walls of that lighthouse and the keeper's quarters could talk, imagine the tales they'd whisper about the people who lived there. There was a keeper for about 20 years, 1820 to 1840, James Freeman, famous for his hospitality.

And they say he had the best liquor cabinet in the area, would sell booze for three cents a glass to visitors. And they say he saved the top shelf liquor for the local minister, who I think was one of his most frequent visitors. As noted by a local paper referenced in Jeremy's book, All About Portland Headlight, quote, Are you fond of Cool Punch, London Particular, Old Cognac, and 100 Etc.? No man is better provided with these articles than Captain Freeman, unquote. For tourists and locals alike,

Portland Headlight has always been a special place to visit. For the fishing, for the views, for the company of the keepers. As described by an 1825 article in the Daily Argus, quote, I know of no excursion as pleasant as a jaunt to the lighthouse. There our friend Freeman is always at home and ready to serve you. There, you can angle in safety and comfort for the cunning cunner, while old ocean is rolling majestically at your feet. And when wearied and fatigued with this amusement, you will find a pleasant relaxation in tumbling the huge rocks from the brinks of the steep and rocky precipices.

Unquote. The vistas are quite something to behold, and they've been inspiring artists and writers and poets for as long as the sea has crashed onto its shores. They are the very vistas that inspired some of the most famous works by Maine's most famous poet. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, the poet, was from Portland, and he used to visit the lighthouse quite a bit, got to know the keepers.

I guess he would sometimes walk from his home in Portland to the lighthouse, which was a pretty good distance. He had his favorite rock he would sit on near the keeper's house, and that actually has a sign on it that tells you that this is Longfellow's rock. It has some of his poem, The Lighthouse, on it. His poem, The Lighthouse, which is one of his more popular poems, was inspired by Portland Head Light. A stanza from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's The Lighthouse. Steadfast, serene, immovable, the same year after year through all the silent night burns on forevermore that quenchless flame shines on that inextinguishable

light. That inextinguishable light was kept aflame by its keepers. From sundown to sunup, it shone over the harbor to guide mariners into port and warn of the threats looming below. The waters of Portland Harbor are described as perilous and treacherous. Since the earliest records of such tragedies in the late 1700s, the hidden ledges and rocks have claimed many a vessel and the souls aboard. In fact, it is those shipwrecks that necessitated the construction of a lighthouse in Portland Harbor in the first place. But even the beacon that would become the most famous couldn't prevent all tragedies at sea. In February 1864, the RMS Bohemian approached Casco Bay, carrying over 200 passengers, 99 crew, and a cargo of silk and pottery worth over $1 million. The passengers

were Irish immigrants, many of whom were traveling in steerage packed into the cramped below-deck quarters as they ventured towards a new life in America. According to the account of the Bohemian's captain Robert Borland, as reported by the Portland Press-Herald, a peculiar haze came over the ship, and swiftly the captain and his crew became disoriented. The hull of the Bohemian collided with a notorious ledge off Cape Elizabeth known as Alden's Rock. With water flooding the cabins,

the passengers were panic-stricken and took drastic measures to fend for their own safety, not waiting for lifeboats, but hurling themselves into the icy Atlantic below. While some survived, whether in a lifeboat or by clinging to the wreckage waiting for rescue, 42 souls would perish in the Bohemian shipwreck. After the Bohemian tragedy, Portland Headlight was raised another 20 feet, and Alden's Rock was better marked to warn future captains and their ships. But even still, the improvements did not prevent a shipwreck on that fateful Christmas Eve in 1886. Captain Joshua F. Strout was the first of what would become a Strout family dynasty at Portland Headlight.

He'd had a long and challenging career as a sea captain, sailing tall barks and schooners among other vessels, braving storms and rough routes and sometimes even mutinies aboard his ships for over 50 years. An accidental fall ended Joshua's career as a captain, and that's when he was appointed his post as keeper of Portland Headlight in 1869. His great-grandson John Strout later narrated the life of a Strout at Portland Headlight for Lighthouse Digest, sharing the legacy that began with his great-grandfather, Joshua. Quote, I have always believed that it took a different sort of person to become a lighthouse keeper. They were a breed apart from the rest. They were not necessarily someone who didn't like people or wanted to get away from things, but a special type of person. A very special type. As many kept remote lights,

they were persons who could accept the challenge of loneliness in exchange for a job that many considered unskilled. A job that didn't always offer any real security, nor any great rewards. I feel it was one of the greatest contributions that rarely received a simple thank you from the other men, yet a contribution that has meant mariners from all over the world would be able to return safely to their homes and families, unquote. Captain Joshua Strout kept the light beginning in 1869, and his wife Mary Strout served as assistant keeper. In that era, Fort Williams Park wasn't. It was a raw piece of land with thick juniper bushes, alder swamps, and spruces, lining the path to the lighthouse tower and the modest keeper's quarters.

The Strout family were all bundled inside those keeper's quarters of Portland Headlight with the aroma of Mrs. Strout's freshly made chicken pies permeating the air. It was Christmas Eve, 1886, and she'd made them special for the holiday meal. The details vary regarding the weather on December 24th, 1886. Some reports say it was clear, though snowing just a flurry. Others say it was storming with a howling gale wind. In a weather report published in the Bangor Daily Wig and Courier that day, it warned of heavy rains or snow for Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont,

with southerly winds shifting to colder westerly. Cautionary signals were ordered on the Atlantic from Eastport to Norfolk. The keeper's son, who would later become the keeper himself, recounted the night in newspaper interviews. And though his account of the precise weather changes from report to report, one consistency remained. In one interview, he talks about it being howling a gale, he said, you know, very windy. But in another interview, he said it was a very calm night with no wind. You know, I'm not sure which was true, maybe somewhere in between,

but in both interviews, he said it was snowing really hard. Although it was like 46 and rainy in Portland that night, but there could have been like a snow squall at Portland Head. Joshua Strout was on watch in the lighthouse that night when he saw through the snow squall a ship heading towards the shore. Dangerously close it came until, without warning, the wooden hull of the Annie C. Maguire collided with the rocks just a hundred feet from where Joshua sat in his watchroom. Joseph and Mary would later recount the moment they felt the ship run aground. It shook with a fierce tremor as the rocks tore at the belly of the ship, and the Strouts sprang into action. We're not sure about some things, but apparently Mary Strout, Joshua's wife, who was an assistant keeper for a number of

years, they say she soaked strips of blankets or sheets in kerosene and burn those to kind of illuminate the scene. The sea threatened to dismantle the vessel even further, the ceaseless sea claiming debris with each swell. The captain had already ordered the sails taken down and anchors dropped. And as Mary made quick work to light the area, Joshua sought to the rescue of the ship's passengers and crew. At least a couple of accounts say that they got a line, like a rope to the ship, and got people off using what would be called a breaches buoy, like sort of a sling that they got into and rode the line to shore.

That seems extremely doubtful because it was so close, it was so close, it was just a short distance away. You need some space to be able to use a system like that. And also, it seems to me they'd be afraid that the ship could break up quickly and sink. So they'd want to get people off as quickly as possible. In one of the interviews, Joseph Strauss said that some of the people were able to actually jump from the ship to the rocks on shore, which is certainly possible, I think. And some accounts say that they got a ladder across to the ship and people kind of clambered across the ladder to

safety, which seems most likely, actually. One by one, they scrambled to safety, all souls making it to land from the wounded Annie C. Maguire by one method or another. Mary Strout warmed the crew with fresh coffee and filled their bellies with food that surpassed the meager rations they had survived on while at sea. And they stayed around, of course, for a while, for a few days. And the next day, which was Christmas Day, the Strouts had planned a big Christmas dinner and Mary Strout made chicken pies from the chickens and the next day, which was Christmas Day, the Strouts had planned a big Christmas dinner, and Mary Strout made chicken pies from the chickens, and the crew got to have this chicken pie. And of course, the food was a lot better than what they had had on their voyage, which

would have been like salt, beef, and not too much else. So they were pretty thrilled with this good food. The three-masted bark remained intact on the rocks for nearly a week after the wreck, and the crew lingered nearly as long, too. Joseph said in an interview in the 1920s, quote, Once they got that chicken pie into them, the whole gang wanted to stay. They loafed around three days and ate most of the food we had, unquote. Before the crew left for a boarding house on 4th Street in Portland, they retrieved some precious cargo from the ship.

It's also said that some of the crew were able to get back on the ship before it broke apart. It was there for a week on the rocks before it broke apart. Some of the crew was able to get back on, and they salvaged two cases of whiskey and drank it all. And according to Joseph Strout, they beat up the ship's cook after drinking the whiskey because the food had been so bad on their voyage. So the poor guy, I'm sure he did the best he could. With the captain and his family and the entire crew safe, the panic and fear of that Christmas Eve wreck dissipated like mist along the shoreline, but the fog that rolled in next was thick with questions and even suspicion. How did a ship

run aground could speak to the truth of the Annie C. Maguire shipwreck are long gone, and the written reports based on interviews aren't altogether consistent. However, fragments of these stories reveal a theory that perhaps the shipwreck at Portland Headlight wasn't just an unfortunate accident. The Annie C. McGuire did not always bear that name. She was actually born a clipper ship called the Golden State, and she worked for 30 years in the China tea trade, logging more than a million miles at sea. Three years before the wreck in Cape Elizabeth, the Golden State was sold to a Canadian company and given her new name. As a side note, according to maritime superstition, changing the name of a vessel is bad luck. Perhaps that

superstition is to blame for the fate of the Annie C. Maguire. In that December of 1886, the ship was returning from a South American voyage and on its way back to Quebec. As weather conditions shifted, Captain of the Annie C. Maguire, Daniel O'Neill, navigated the ship towards the coast of Maine to ride out the winter storm. But before the Annie C. Maguire had even reached the outer Portland Harbor waters, it's said that the sheriff paid a visit to Keeper Strout to alert him to the incoming ship. The sheriff asked Joshua Strout to keep watch because apparently the NEC Maguire was in a bit of financial trouble and it would be seized as soon as it made it to port. After the wreck, the sheriff arrived at the lighthouse to survey the scene.

He asked Captain O'Neill for the insurance papers along with the cash from the sea chest. But on opening the vault, they found nothing. The money was gone. As the story goes, Mrs. O'Neill, the captain's wife, nudged her husband and whispered her scheme. Tell the sheriff the satchel was lost at sea. John Strout explained in his piece for Lighthouse Digest, quote, The captain's wife had the presence of mind to remove her husband's wallet, place it in her hat box, and carry it with her over the raging waves from the storm-tossed cross tree to the base of the light tower, unquote. It's from this anecdote that the theory emerged. Captain O'Neill possibly, maybe, intentionally ran his ship aground to save financial ruin

with an insurance scam. Although tricky to nail down, this theory is bolstered by reports from the crew. While many shipwrecks are caused by tumultuous waters and dangerously low visibility, the crew said they, quote, plainly saw Portland Light before the disaster and are unable to account for same, unquote. But Jeremy is wary of the theory. For starters, the ship was only partially insured, and the payout wouldn't have been worth the significant risk that came with intentionally wrecking the ship. The captain, Daniel O'Neill, if he, you know, to do something like that in a storm, to risk, you know, running the ship aground on purpose in a storm, would have put his own life in

danger and the life of his wife and son. And it just seems doubtful that he would do that. And also, how could he have done it without the crew, any of the crew knowing, you know, that this was deliberate? It seems like somebody would have told on him, basically. So, you know, it's interesting. And at this late date, I don't know if we can really know all the truth about this. On December 27th, 1886, the New York Times ran an ever so brief article on the Cape Elizabeth wreck. A bark condemned, the headline reads, continuing on to report that a survey of the ship revealed the bottom was badly stove and she will go to pieces in the first storm. The Annie C. Maguire was auctioned off for $178, just under $5,100 in today's money. Joseph Strout, left in charge of the wreck by the

deputy sheriff, ordered all valuable items to be salvaged, from anchors to metal sheathing down to the nails. Crews worked for three days to pull it all ashore. By New Year's Eve 1886, the sea swallowed the fractured remains of the Annie C. McGuire hull, and she was gone. It's a maritime mystery that endures to this day The very rocks where the ship struck ground now bears a famous inscription painted in black and white block letters facing Portland headlight. The first version of that Annie C. Maguire memorial was painted by John Strout, the grandson of Joseph Strout. In 1912, when Joseph Strout's son, John Strout, He became an assistant keeper on his 21st birthday. So he was one of the Strout family dynasty of keepers there. And on the same day, on his birthday, his 21st birthday in 1912,

he painted the first version of those words on the rock there where the wreck happened. John traversed the precarious terrain and chipped away at the rock until the surface was flat enough to become his canvas. With a mixture of paint, mortar, and sand, he composed the first memorial. And it's interesting how the original version of that was much longer than what's there now. It's very difficult to access that rock and paint on it. I can't imagine doing that. Originally, it said, in memory of the ship Annie C. McGuire wrecked on this point, December 24th, 1886. And every few years, it's repainted, and it seems to have gotten less and less, you know,

fewer and fewer words, so that now it just says, Annie C. McGuire shipwrecked here Christmas Eve, 1886. And originally, if you look at, there's an early photo of when it was first painted, and there's a wooden cross up on top of the rock, which is long gone. You know, a wooden cross doesn't last very long with waves crashing over that rock the way they do. But it seems a little odd to me because you would think that a cross would sort of symbolize the fact that lives were lost, you know, sort of memorialize lives lost, which was not the case. So I guess it was just a memorial to the ship itself. Repainting the words quickly worn by saltwater became part of the tradition of the keepers of Portland Headlight.

Lighthouses are an important part of maritime history. They served, and in some cases still serve, a very essential role in navigation and the movement of commerce. But without the lighthouse keepers, the structures wouldn't have provided much beyond their attractive aesthetics. The humans who kept the lights burning, the fog signals blasting, who scaled the spiral staircases to the very tip of each beacon for an overnight watch. It's those people who are at the true heart of this history. For me, the most important part, the most interesting part is the lives of keepers and their families. And I see the lighthouses as memorials to them. Those people worked so hard.

They were so devoted to keeping that light no matter what. And the traditional way of life of lighthouse keepers is basically extinct now with automation. There are really no more traditional lighthouse keepers in this country or in most of the world. So again, for me, I fell in love with lighthouses because they're beautiful, but I've stayed interested because of the human history associated with them.

And for me, that's the most important part. Thank you for listening to this special edition episode of Dark Down East. Links to my source material, including books by Jeremy D'Entremont and Taryn Plum, historical reporting by the Bangor Daily, Wigan Courier, and Boston Globe, as well as Lighthouse Digest magazine, it's all available at darkdowneast.com. A special thank you to Jeremy D'Entremont. Jeremy's books, his blog, and podcast called Lighthearted, it's all linked at darkdowneast.com as well. If you have a fascination and appreciation for New England lighthouses, he is the guy you want to learn from. He asked me at the end of our conversation if I'd ever be interested in hearing the stories

of haunted lighthouses in New England. I know what my answer is, but tell me, is that a story you want to hear? Send me a DM on Instagram at darkdowneast. Thank you for supporting this show and allowing me to do what I do. The stories of Mainers past and present are so important to me and I hope you enjoyed this special edition episode exploring the lives of the keepers at Maine's oldest and most famous lighthouse. I'm not about to let these names or their stories get lost with time. I'm Kylie Lowe, and this is Dark Down East.