The Great Hurricane of 1938

Photo credit: pbs.org

In 1938, predicting the weather was unsophisticated, and not yet a science that had been perfected.  On September 21, 1938, Vermonters were taken by surprise when the deadliest hurricane in New England's history made landfall.  The hurricane, often referred to as the Long Island Express, due to its power and speed similar to that of a locomotive, caused close to 650 deaths, and approximately 1,700 people were injured.  It destroyed or damaged some 57,000 homes and property loss was estimated at around $306 million US dollars (which would be approximately $4.7 billion in today's estimates). This storm, The New England Hurricane of 1938, remains the strongest and worst weather disaster in our history.

The tropical storm began to form off of the coast of Cape Verde, Africa somewhere between September 9 and 10th of 1938, and quickly became a category 5 hurricane.  When it reached Long Island it was a powerful category 3, on September 21st.  Those responsible for predicting its path had felt that the storm would blow out to sea.  Instead, it slammed into Long Island.

Photo credit: nearbeach.com

I found this description when researching this story and feel it really described what it must have felt like, and the surprise that those must have felt being in the "eye of the storm":

"So when the hurricane made landfall on Long Island in the middle of the afternoon on September 21, it caught people enjoying a warm fall day at the beach. They noticed large whitecaps and saw what they thought was a fog bank rolling toward them, but they had no idea a hurricane was about to hit.

The “fog” turned out to be a huge wave of water — the hurricane’s storm surge. Survivors of that initial surprise thought the worst was over when the sky cleared and the sun came out, but about an hour later the storm came back. The calm within the hurricane’s huge eye had merely deceived them and then dealt a second surprise." 

Source: vermontweather.wordpress.com/1970/09/21/hurricane-of-1938/

Having made it's 12 day journey across the Atlantic Ocean, it slammed ashore at Suffolk County, Long Island.  It then moved over the state of Connecticut where the eye was seen in New Haven.  On this day the sea was at astronomical high tide, causing significant coastal damage along Rhode Island, Connecticut and Massachusetts shores and communities. Winds were sustained at around 96 mph, and increased to 121 mph.  A peak gust of 186 mph was recorded, near Milton, Massachusetts!  Marinas, home, boats and yacht clubs were destroyed.  Rivers flooded in both states due to the fast accumulating rainfall, which were already at their capacity (up to the tops of river banks since the rain had been falling for days preceding the hurricane).  It devastated more homes, buildings and other property along the way.

The storm did not lose power, as blew into Vermont straight up through the Connecticut River Valley into Montreal.  The recorded speed was 47 miles per hour.

"The hurricane entered Vermont as a Category 1 at approximately 6:00 pm EDT, reaching northern Vermont, Burlington, and Lake Champlain around 8:00 pm. Hurricane-force winds caused extensive damage to trees, buildings, and power lines. Over 2,000 miles (3,200 km) of public roads were blocked and it took months for crews to reopen some of the roads. In Montpelier, 120 miles from the nearest coast, salt spray was seen on windows. A train was derailed in Castleton. Despite the damage, the storm killed only five people in Vermont. Maple and sugar groves were damaged. Until Hurricane Irene in 2011 (which had weakened to a tropical storm by the time it struck Vermont), the 1938 hurricane was the only tropical cyclone to make a direct hit on Vermont in its recorded history."

"By 5:00 pm EDT, the eye moved into western Massachusetts, and by 6:00 pm EDT, the hurricane reached Vermont. Both Westfield, Massachusetts and Dorset, Vermont reported calm conditions and partial clearing during passage of the eye, which is a rather unusual occurrence for a New England hurricane. As the hurricane continued into northern Vermont, it began to lose tropical characteristics. Still carrying hurricane-force winds, the storm crossed into Quebec at approximately 10:00 pm EDT, while transitioning into a post-tropical low. The post-tropical remnants dissipated over northern Ontario a few days later."  - wiki

Historically, the month of September is the busiest of the hurricane season. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration sites that from 1851 to 2014, the month of September has produced 566 tropical storms which became hurricanes, August having 375, then followed by October having 335 recorded events.

Photo images found on Google: Images: https://www.google.com/search?hl=en&site=imghp&tbm=isch&source=hp&biw=1745&bih=837&q=vintage+women+on+the+beach&oq=vintage+women+on+the+beach&gs_l=img.3...1708.7193.0.7408.28.16.1.11.5.0.172.1205.14j2.16.0....0...1ac.1.64.img..8.20.1101.sfgLt_dsTCI#hl=en&tbm=isch&q=hurricane+1938&imgrc=_

Remembering Mary Jean

hen I was a little girl, my parents came home from a shopping trip, with 3 gowns for my sister and I (and all of the girls in the neighborhood) to use for play and dress up. I can remember that there was a light pink gown, a fuchsia colored gown, and a gold gown.  Today, I know they were either old bridesmaids or prom gowns from a thrift store, but at the time, I felt as if I had walked into the fairy tale.  Though, my sister promptly took them for her own, and I rarely had the opportunity to play with them again, I still remember trying them on and how I wonderful I felt in them.  Even today, I wonder what became of those old gowns...

As a kid, I was always "stuck" with hand-me-downs until Grade 6, because I shot up a full 6 inches taller than my sister as she has never grown over 5' 2".  My parents then had to buy clothes that fit me, and since most of what they bought were my Mother's choice, I hated everything I owned.  My parents did what they could with 4 kids and one salary at that time...no disrespect intended.  So, I got a job after school working in a small-time electronics store and in the summer time doing yard work, and I got a few baby-sitting gigs.  I was now able to buy what I wanted.  Thus, beginning my love affair with 1970's "hippie" and "Bohemian" clothing from which I have never truly recovered.

 Shortly before this, in my hometown of Poultney, (it must have been around 1973 or '74?) there was a little Boutique called "Bombadils" that was owned by this beautiful woman by the name of Mary Jean Lobdell.  She was slightly plump, with very long brown frizzy hair in a Carol King sort of style, that she had grown down to her buttocks. Her face, to me was angelic, in an almost Victorian sense.  Today, I would label her as an all-natural woman, who was an authentic "hippie".  She wore peasant blouses and halter tops over large breasts and long floral skirts, with dangling earrings.  Being young and impressionable, I was always mesmerized by her style.  

Bombadil's was located in the basement underneath our town's laundry mat.  I remember the round sign that hung over the doorway on which were the round popular '70's style writing bearing it's name. Each time I would walk into her shop, my sense of smell would be filled with fragrances that I have never forgotten.  Nag Champa incense, essential oils and mostly I remember sniffing the strawberry scented candles.

Her clothing inventory was geared toward the "College Girls" - from Green Mountain College - with high quality India Imports, brass and wooden incense holders, Indian bedspreads, candles and jewelry.  Ravi Shankar and George Harrison music frequently played while she ironed clothing. 

I remember that once or twice, she painted my finger nails, and offered me a cup of herbal tea.  It seemed she had endless patience and always had a place in her heart for me.  Thinking back, I wonder if I was obnoxious, just showing up in her shop, but she never alluded to it.  The only thing I ever bought was a leather bracelet - and I wore that thing to death.  I just remember how much I loved her because of her genuine kindness toward me.  

Growing up on Main Street, I would walk down to see her.  One day when I was preparing to do so, my sister and her friend Carol Jones stopped me to ask where I was going.  I told them I was going to visit Mary Jean.  Carol held the Rutland Herald newspaper in her hand, and handed it to me.  

The article that she pointed to, explained that Mary Jean had been driving in her blue Gremlin, went off the road and "died of massive head injuries".  Those words jumped off the newspaper.  Strangely, I did not know what to do with this news, as no one I had ever known had died before.  I remember feeling completely numb with tears rolling down my face, and I sat on a hassock in the living room. I was too scared to cry in fear of my sister and Carol laughing at me, because I felt that everything to them, was a joke back then.  But they didn't laugh, and they looked sad, too.  All I remember was, walking up the stairs to our bathroom and weeping into a towel, having no where else to spill my grief.  I was devastated.

I remember that a woman named Harriet Holcomb and her boyfriend Ben took over the store when Mary Jean died.  It was never the same.

About a year or two later a store called "Pearls", which used to be occupied by an old A&P Store on Main Street, came to be.  They had shirts made in India, and I remember buying a few of them over the course of one summer.  If I recall, they went out of business around 1978 - the year before my parents moved my little brother and I to Williamstown.  

My love of clothing today, borders on sickness, and over the course of the last couple of years, I've gained weight and can't fit into a lot of my beloved inventory.  I keep the clothing, vowing to loose the body fat....but let's be honest:  No one wants to read about that!

I still think of Mary Jean.  I don't clearly remember her face any more.  She crawls into my mind when I enter into certain boutiques and smell the incense or essential oils.  In particular, when I smell a strawberry scented candle, I think of her.  I think of her little Gremlin that was parked on the street the week before she died, and can't help but wonder, what made her loose control of her car?   These are things I may never find out, and all I can say is that her spirit truly lives within me.    

The Hartford Railroad Disaster, 1887

It was a bitter cold morning, somewhere around 15 to 18 degrees below zero, when the Boston-Montreal Express train left White River Junction bound for Montreal.  This was just a couple of months over 128 years ago, and it remains the State's worst railroad disaster on record.

Apparently, the train began the journey from White River some 2 hour and 20 minutes late. It is not clear if the reason for it's tardiness was the cold, or mechanical problems, for in my research, I could not find out why it was delayed.  

Shortly after leaving the junction, traveling only 4.2 miles, it began to cross the White River on West Hartford Bridge.  It has been written that the train itself began to "sway" with the back carriage's feeling the brunt of the momentum, it came off the tracks bringing the rest of the train, as well as the bridge, with it.  It tumbled into the icy cold river below, catching fire on the way down.  

Actual photo, 1887

As I read this horrific account from vermonthistory.org, in my mind's eye, I visualized the demise of the White Star Line's "Titantic", which occurred in 1912.  I associated the Hartford Bridge disaster, though on a much smaller scale, with the ship, because of the bitter cold water to which the train plunged, and many lost their lives.   

The following post contains a detailed account as to what happened on this sad night and all of the information is taken directly from vermonthistory.org - (if you click the link, it will bring you to the same story, with more information about the investigation, etc., following this event).  I should tell you that that the actual cause of the disaster has never been determined.

The steel bridge which replaced the bridge destroyed by fire. 

"The passengers aboard the train that early February morning were an eclectic group. Henry Tewksbury, lawyer, Dartmouth alumnus, and noted lecturer, had the previous evening given a lecture in Windsor about the Gettysburg battle and was returning to his home in Randolph. Some twenty individuals were returning from New England to the Canadian provinces of Québec and Ontario, and the city of Montreal.

New York City businessman Louis Combremont was on board for Montreal. Three Boulanger children, Bennie, Francis, and Anastasia, from Holyoke, Massachusetts, appear to have been traveling by themselves but may have been accompanied by David Maigret and his son Joseph, who were going from Holyoke to their home in Shawinigan, Québec. French names were common among the passengers, most of them coming from New England mill towns: Winooski, Nashua, Manchester, Lawrence, Chicopee Falls, and Lowell. Dartmouth student Edward Dillon from Springfield, Vermont, was on board with his college roommate, Alvin Veazey, son of a prominent Vermont juror and trustee of Dartmouth College. They were somewhat surprised to find the train at the station in the early morning hours and on the spur of the moment thought it a good idea to travel to Burlington. Annie Murphy and Katie Cahill, of Boston address, were bound for service in Burlington, in the employ of Mr. James Stone, also on board. Fred Tuttle of Tunbridge was on his way home, perhaps coming up from Windsor, one of the stops on his teamster route. 

One of the more well-known names was Frank Wesson of Springfield (Mass.), a member of the Wesson family of Smith & Wesson, the firearms manufacturer. 

Not everyone on board was asleep; although both sleepers were filled, people in the coaches were trying their best to get as comfortable as possible on the firm cushions. Now fully loaded, the sleeper “Pilgrim” had twenty-five occupants, including “five ladies”; and the other sleeper, “St. Albans,” probably had the same approximate number.  In the second coach at Bellows Falls were noted “7 ladies, 2 small boys and 18 men, making 27 in all”; with some of the men in the smoking car and other passengers in the other coach, the total of 103 passengers can be accounted for.

The porters had done their job well, the cast iron “Baker” stoves were laid with coal and stoked, providing as much heat as they could along the lengths of the un-insulated wooden cars. Whale oil and kerosene lamps flickered evenly for those who were still in need of illumination.  In one of the coaches a four-handed game of whist was being played. Outside the temperature had fallen to −18° F. It was a cloudless night, fully lit by moonlight. 

The crew that night was made up of experienced railroad personnel.  The engineer was Charles H. Pierce of Hartford, an employee of the Central Vermont for twenty-two years, nine as engineer. With him in the cab was fireman Frank Thresher of St. Albans. The conductors of the train were Smith C. Sturtevant of St. Albans and M.R. Burgess of Boston. Edward Banks (or Brocklebanks) of West Lebanon, New Hampshire, and George H. Parker were brakemen. A.J. Hammer of Malden, Massachusetts, and J.H. Jones of Boston were the two porters. In the baggage car was Cole and in the mail/smoker were Perkins, Armington, and express messenger Robbins: twelve crew in all.

The Central Vermont tracks out of White River Junction closely follow the western side of the White River to the point where they take a more northward bend, requiring a 33° turn to the right (east) as the river crossing is approached. The bridge, entirely of wooden construction was known as a “deck bridge” and was 650 feet long with four major 145 foot spans, and a smaller sixty to seventy-foot span at the north abutment, crossing over the road below (Route 14). The distance from the top of the track to the ice-covered river below measured forty-two feet, with the trusses themselves sixteen feet from the surface. On top of the wooden trusses was a layer of sheet iron, placed between the rails and ties and the supporting structure, an apron to deflect any sparks from the locomotive’s belching smokestack. Ironically, what had been designed to protect the bridge from fire contributed to its ultimate demise. 

In spite of the need to make up time due to the late departure and to meet the scheduled passing of the southbound Montreal express at Randolph, the engineer reported that he slowed the train in accordance with standard practice, making the crossing at about twelve miles per hour. The first indication that something was wrong was reported by Henry Tewksbury. There was a “swaying of the car back and forth, and a jolting, and I knew the wheels were running along the sleepers [ties].”4 He was with his friend, conductor Sturtevant, who had just returned to the coach after checking fares in the smoking section. They immediately pulled on the overhead cord attached to a bell in the engine, signaling engineer Pierce to make an emergency stop. Upon hearing the alarm Pierce looked to the rear of the train on his, or right, side and was startled to see the rearmost sleeper, “Pilgrim,” teetering off the bridge and heading for the river below, dragging with it the adjacent sleeper “St. Albans” and the two coaches from the middle of the train.

The coupling broke apart where it joined with the mail/smoker car, leaving the engine and tender, baggage car and mail/smoker unit intact on the bridge. Flames quickly erupted, enveloping the four coaches and like a flaming torch reaching to the bridge above. What was at first shock, disbelief, darkness, and confusion soon became an inferno visible for miles in the Vermont countryside. There had been no warning other than some vibration, a shudder, and no doubt the squeal of tortured metal, then the awful sense of tumbling into the space below. It all happened so quickly no alert other than the alarm bell was possible." 

Only the front of the train survived. The disaster killed 37 people and injured 50.  After the crash, a nearby barn became a makeshift trauma unit where some of the injured survivors died. The barn still stands, and passersby have heard crying coming from there. The area where the bridge stood has been known to emit the smell of burning wood. Some see a ghostly manifestation of Conductor Sturtevant, believed to be patrolling the bridge to prevent another accident. Others see the ghost of a young child in 19th century clothing, hovering above the river, staring at where the crash occurred.

In the doomed coaches, scenes of death and escape were taking place. Dartmouth students Veazey and Dillon were cast out of their shared sleeping berth, Veazey only slightly injured, his roommate fatally pinned under debris. Mrs. W.S. Bryden, retired for the night in her sleeping berth, was barely able to be extricated through a broken window, only, she said, because she had practically no clothes on. That she survived in the bitter cold under the circumstances is a marvel of her determination and stamina, as well as a tribute to her rescuers. A father from Canada, probably David Maigret, was so pinned down in the wreck he was unable to get out, and gave his personal belongings, watch, and pocketbook to his young son and bade a tearful good-bye before the creeping wall of flames engulfed him. Conductor Sturtevant had taken a fare in one of the coaches and went down with it, suffering severe burns, a mangled shoulder and arm, and a crushed head. Death came mercifully the next day. Some passengers were identified by bits and remnants of clothing or personal gear; others, not at all. One of the most heart-rending remains was that of a parent and child fused together in a final poignant embrace, burned beyond immediate recognition.

The stunned crew members in the remaining units on the bridge reacted immediately to the catastrophic descent. Engineer Pierce, shovel and lantern in hand, with his fireman, Thresher, jumped from the cab and slid down the embankment to the broken heaps of the four coaches. Brakeman George Parker, who was on the second coach, had correctly assessed the vibrations and jolting and leaped from the coach before it went over, sliding down the bank at the south abutment. He then took a team from a nearby house and brought the alarm to the White River Junction station and the community. In no time fires started in the demolished wooden coaches. 

Pierce shoveled snow in a vain attempt to put out the flames, but they were increasing at a faster rate than his efforts could overcome. His next action was to break windows to get survivors out of the flaming wreckage; eight made it out thanks to his efforts. This was most likely the Boston coach, the unit nearest to the mail coach, and was probably the first in line that he came to. 

Conductor Sturtevant was in this coach, clothes ablaze, and Pierce tried to douse the flames by showering him with snow. Henry Tewksbury was also in that coach and was luckier; he got out, but with difficulty and with injuries he suffered from for the rest of his days. Others were not so fortunate; there was “darkness and confusion, the smoke was “dense and the fire burned rapidly.”

No sounds came from the stricken coach as Pierce and Thresher continued their efforts. At the other end of the piled-up coaches, or what was left of them, the two mail agents, Armington and Perkins, and the express messenger, Robbins, worked with baggage master Cole to extricate passengers, some of whom pitched in to do what they could. By now the flames were clearly threatening the bridge, so Pierce had Thresher move the engine and remaining cars forward and well clear of the bridge. 

From the moment of derailment, toppling off the bridge and onto the frozen river and with flames reaching upward to the wooden lattice-style bridge, no more than twenty to thirty minutes had elapsed. Thirty-seven people were to die, including five of the train crew; fifty were injured and twenty-eight escaped with minor injuries or were otherwise physically unharmed.

Two buildings stood at the ends of the bridge: the Pingree house at the southern end and the Paine farm at the northern end and on the right (east) side of the track. Both immediately became hospitals, refuges, recovery rooms, and morgues. The crushing and maiming of crew and passengers, adults and children, was horrible in itself; but the outside temperature, approaching −20° F, presented the additional threat of frostbite and hypothermia and dictated that rescue efforts be made as quickly as possible. Those able to exit their sleeping berths were likely to be very thinly clad, some with nothing on but night clothes. The injured and dying were stretched out on floors in all and any rooms, “kitchen, sitting room and parlor, bedroom and two large upper rooms to the number of fifty or more.”

"The response from White River Junction, a relief train with physicians, wrecking tools, and volunteers, was soon underway. Some of the people in the Paine house who were not injured or slightly so boarded the train and continued their trips to Montpelier, St. Albans, and Montreal. Engineer Pierce pulled away with the baggage and mail sections at 8:30 that same morning. He estimated that five or six passengers were on board, but D. Roy counted “about a dozen” names on the conductor’s list, including Jacques, Beauregard, and Lacaillade.  

Euclide Chagnon of Manchester, New Hampshire, was quick to escape the turmoil, so quick that he was listed among the missing and unidentifiable dead, and a friend from Manchester was dispatched to collect his remains. A telegraph from Montreal later confirmed that he arrived there Sunday evening in good health. The same occurred to Charles C. Domett of New York (or Boston). Barely escaping with his life from the sleeper “St. Albans,” he claimed he “went over to St. Albans” and refitted himself with clothing. He, too, had been listed among the dead, not because of a body count but because he wasn’t around to be otherwise accounted for. Upon his return to the White River Junction hotel, he collected his watch and money that had been picked up and was eager to continue on to Montreal. 

The same can be said of Dr. C. F. Clark, who telegraphed his family that he was safely in Montreal. These three were representative of others who, uninjured, thought their best plan of action was to avail themselves of an offered route out of the valley on the northbound mail train and put behind them as quickly as possible the traumatizing aspects of the situation.  

Sunday, the day following the tragedy, saw throngs of onlookers swarm to the scene, some searching for relatives or friends, others to aid in the grisly job of picking over remains, and others souvenir hunting or just gawking at the burned-out residue of what had been four proud coaches of the popular Central Vermont."
- vermonthistory.orq

TODAY

Since this event, the imagination of many have been stirred. At the sight of the railroad bridge where over 30 people died, the original wooden structure was almost immediately replaced by a stronger steel bridge, however the original concrete footings still stand.  

There are 2 accounts of a 13 year old boy, by the name of Joe McCabe.  In one story, people state that he watched his father die in the fire of the wreck.  Anotehr version states that both the father and young Joe perished at this site.  Many people have told the tale of seeing a young 19th Century lad floating above, playing in or wandering around the river. 

An estimated 37 people in total lost their lives during this tragedy, some dying in flames, others trapped inside the cars, and still others were taken away by the icey cold river.  

Surely a disaster of this magnitude would leave the remnants of such tortured souls.  To this day, visitors to the Town of Hartford statte that they detect an odor of burning wood, yet there is nothing to which to match the smell.   



Photos / Image Credits: 
seeksghosts.blogspot.com
raunerlibrary.blogspot.com - Dartmouth College Library
en.wikipedia.org
ctgpublishing.com
berwickrailfan.webs.com
Pinterest - pullman car; fineartamerica;
Tumblr photos

Dream Lake

In 1840, Martin Van Buren was President of the United States of America.  u-s-history.com states, "Martin Van Buren was re-nominated unenthusiastically by the Democrats in 1840; no candidate was nominated for the vice presidency. To many of those countrymen who had suffered through years of depression, he was "Martin Van Ruin."

During post war time, Vermont's economy experienced a very slow growth, but important legislative events were on the rise regarding Women's Rights, thanks to Clarina Howard Nichols.  She was a significant part of women's history in Vermont, who fought for the right of women to vote.

Also, after the Revolutionary War, Vermont had been stripped of it's forests and farmland was poor but people began to rebuild this state by claiming abandoned property such as vacant farms and lands, and slowly our state began to rebuild.

Around this same time, a lowly deserter of the British Army by the name of Eugene Clifford settled into the Fairfield, Vermont in the northern area near Fairfield Pond.  He plotted and married a widow by the name of Elizabeth Gilmore, who just happened to have owned a large farm which contained some 50 acres of land.

Being a British deserter among the tight-lipped, honest Vermonters, he was strongly disliked, but generally accepted among the population.  

But after the marriage, and birth of their first child, Clifford's eye wandered and fell upon another widow, with whom he fell in love.  She also owned land, but it was across the lake....Ah, but here in lies the rub...for he had married Elizabeth and now the scoundrel must figure out a way to have his cake and eat it, too.

Early in the Fall of 1842, he sat among the town's people and discussion arose that if Elizabeth were to perish, then he would inherit the farm and the land.  It was then that this miscreant deserter formed a plan to dispose of his wife and their infant. 

Clifford arrived home one cold October (16th) afternoon to greet Elizabeth and their child where he announced that it was a lovely day for a trip around the lake in the log canoe.  

This is not E. Gilmore 

Mrs. Gilmore was of Irish descent and owned a prized silk shawl, which she generally wore for special occasions.  On this day, she covered herself in her elegant wrap, and swaddled the babe in a shawl made of wool.   

Some of the townsfolk watched them board the canoe and witnessed the beautiful shawl over the shoulders of Elizabeth [Clifford] Gilmore.  They set off across the shimmering blue of the lake against a backdrop of native trees, ablaze with autumn glory.

A few hours passed, and Clifford returned alone.  He feigned tears, and wept.  

Where was Elizabeth and the babe?  The townspeople asked?

His shoulders humped forward to show the agony of his loss, as he shuddered and cried, telling that them that while Elizabeth moved to situate her shawl more comfortably, she rocked and upset the boat.  She and the babe fell into the cold, dark water.  He searched, but could not find them! 

But yet, it was not dark!  The town immediately began to search for the two and they continued into the darkness; yet, their search was in vain.  The next morning, they set out again to attempt to recover their loss and were increasingly suspicious of Clifford.  They found the drowned body of Elizabeth  almost 2 fathoms beneath the cold lake, and the poor dead infant was discovered some distance away on the shore.

What of her beautiful shawl?  And what of the babe's woolen blanket in which it was wrapped?  It should have been found with her!  

The townspeople inquired. 

Again, they searched and foraged but the shawls could not be found.  In fact, people came from miles away to look for the shawls.....they scoured and fished, but alas! nothing was found....and, suspicion grew.  

Elizabeth [Clifford] Gilmore left behind her dearest friend, by the name of Mrs. Abigail Marvin, wife of Steven Marvin.  Abigail profoundly suffered the loss of her friend, and one night commenced to dreaming.  In her dream, she looked for the missing shawls. 

When she awoke, she told her husband of the dream and he promptly dismissed it.  She went to a friend named Bailey, who believed her dream and followed Abigail Marvin to the shore where she had actually never been!  And from only her mind's eye, she followed the paths that were precisely from her dream with Bailey in tow.   

"...she crossed the road in front of her dwelling, got over a fence athwart which a large hemlock tree had fallen; that she got over this fence, walked a short distance on the prostrate tree, and into a patch of woods where trees had been overturned by the wind; thence passed to ground, near the shore of the pond, covered by thick growth of brush; and that there, in a shallow hole of sand, and partially covered, she found the shawls."  -From The History of St. Albans - googlebooks

Reportedly, the shawls were still wet and Eugene Clifford was arrested, tried and put into solitary confinement.   He had been sentenced to death. Eugene went stark raving mad, and died before the sentence could be carried out.  

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