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island, several townspeople went out to investigate, and proceeded to notify the authorities.
    Meanwhile, by the time of that seventh trip, a terrible squall had blown up, bringing with it violent torrents of ice and snow. The fishermen could not make it back to the mainland, so they had to stay on False Franklin overnight. What happened to them that night was something they never wished to experience again.
    Since the island was uninhabited, the men sought out branches large enough to make a lean-to. Between the branches and the boards from the wreck, they devised a shelter with a floor and bedded down for the night. The snow had stopped, but it was bitter cold.
    A few hours past them sleeping, a breeze found its way into the shelter and stirred Alan Page, one of the men. He woke up and started choking and gagging; he could not catch his breath. His partially frozen eyelids finally opened up to see a “man” with clothes drenched, leaning over him, clutching Alan’s throat with his hands. Alan gasped, then no sound came from his throat. The sleeper next to him shook Page and brought him to, whereupon this second fisherman also felt a constriction around his throat. The whole camp was invaded by figures outlined in white light, intent on giving the men a taste of what it felt like to be strangled.
    â€œNow my father,” Stanley said as he drew on his pipe, “always told me that he’d heard that them fishermen had murdered the people off of that ship. O’ course, he’d fished those waters many times himself, and he claimed that one night he and Georgy Green started out toward Franklin. The moon was exceptionally bright, and they looked over to see some shapes roaming around in a cloud of light. They got no closer, but they’d never forget that sight.”
    Stanley admitted that he’s seen lights hovering over the island on occasion. A friend of his was passing by the island shortly after evening had set in, once, and saw what looked like the hull of a ship half buried in the sand. He’d never seen anything there before, so he went over to take a look. By the time he’d reached the spot, it was gone.
    On my way back from Friendship, I was mulling over Wreck Island, and skepticism about the possibility of murder came to mind. Why would a group of fishermen, minding their own business, kill some poor shipwrecked people over some food and supplies? My thoughts continued.
    The mishap occurred in the middle of a northern winter. Cold, snow, and ice make land transportation difficult, if not impossible, for an out-of-the-way place like a peninsular village. The roads (?) could easily get blocked with snow, so that neither man nor horse could pass. These ideas came to me as I maneuvered one of the difficult “s” curves peculiar to the Maine backwoods.
    The weather would have rendered fishing vessels useless at least part of the season, while making sea transportation dangerous and oftentimes fatal. The year 1768 did not know lighthouses, channel markers or marine patrol of any kind. Great quantities of food and medicine would have been hard to come by. If an opportunity arose to gather goods like woolen blankets or dried meats, a man would think of his family first, and consequences last.
    Besides, the unfortunate seagoers were probably half dead by the time they were discovered. Between fighting ocean waves, getting dashed on the rocks, and being exposed to low temperatures, they must have been spent. A strong twist of rope around the neck would have easily finished them. I’m not saying the “murders” should be condoned, but circumstances do make that version of the story more plausible. Murder would also have been motivation for the simulated strangulations.

 

CHAPTER TEN
THE INVISIBLE ESTATE
    T raveling up Route One, one would come across a town nestled in the deep woods atop a hill going down to the ocean. It is a town of surprises, especially about