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We have mentioned Cockspur Island in our overall history of the Atlantic Coast of Georgia. Now, we will once again go back to the 1840s, when a pair of lights were placed on two small islands to guide vessels through the confusing channels on the north and south sides of the Savannah River and further on up, into Savannah Harbor. One of these, the North Channel Light, stood on an exposed outcropping of white oyster beds. This tenuous bit of land has long since disappeared, along with the small, brick lighthouse tower it once supported. However, the South Channel Light still stands.

Let’s grab our deck chairs and set down by the edge of the Atlantic Ocean, open up a CoCola and enjoy the sounds of the surf as we go back in time.

The South Channel Light was lit in 1848, along with its companion the North Channel Light. These two guided ships to the Savannah River, ushering the way past Tybee Island, around Elba Island and Cockspur Island, then, on into the busy port of Savannah. Like most lights along the southern most coast of the United States, these two lighthouses were darkened during the War Between the States. However, the North Channel Light, built on an always changing oyster bed, did not survive the fighting. However, the South Channel Light was built on what turned out to be, a more stable place.

Established on what is now called Cockspur Island, the South Channel Light served mariners for more than a century. The survival of this little, thirty-five-foot tower, was a near miracle, considering that it was caught in the middle of one of history’s fiercest artillery barrages, which took place during the War Between the States. This famous battle was for the defense of Fort Pulaski, which was built on the southern tip of the island and opened in April, 1833.

Although, the South Channel Light stood in the direct line of fire during this terrific artillery duel between the Confederate battery at Fort Pulaski and the big Union guns on Tybee Island, this light escaped the battle without a scratch. Ironically, the lighthouse survived because the guns used by the Union turned out not only to be more powerful, but were also more accurate. Had an old fashioned cannon been used to fire on the fort, stray shots would almost certainly have battered down the little tower.

The South Channel Light then became the Cockspur Island Light and was relit after the War. It continued in service until 1949, when it was permanently retired. After several years of neglect, the lighthouse was deeded to the National Park Service and was restored in 1978. It is now open to the public.

However, we all know that the Cockspur Island Lighthouse existed for a long time and as the legend says, it was also a place where a love affair between Florence Margaret Martus, the sister of George Martus, and whose father, Charles,  served for many years as the keeper of the Cockspur Island Light, and a sailor who traveled all over the ocean.

Florence was born on August 7, 1869. The family enjoyed living on the island and enjoyed the sounds of the pounding waves, which was the only sign of nearby life. However, there were friends who did come to visit the Martus’s, but only when  the tide was right.

Florence and her brother found life on the tiny Cockspur Island, both joyful and at times, frightening. On beautiful spring afternoons, when the gentle breezes cooled their natural playground, they entertained themselves with games of hide and seek, fishing or crabbing. But, when the storm winds blew in off the Atlantic, and enveloped the island with angry skies, it could be frightening and lonely.

As a young girl, Florence enjoyed playing with her dolls and taking them for a walk down the sandy sidewalk her father had made that went to the sea. She also enjoyed collecting shells. However, most of all, she loved climbing the staircase up to the top of the lighthouse, where she would sit for hours, dangling her legs below the rails. From here, she pretended to be Queen of the Island and would wave at the captains as they passed by.

For most of her life, Florence lived with her family in a little cottage on the island. Then, on a beautiful day, in 1887, several sailors, whose ship had docked at Savannah, were curious about Cockspur and the now well known, waving girl. They rowed across to see it and enjoyed spending the next few days with Florence and her family as they sat on the porch. They enjoyed hearing the stories told by Florence’s father, who had fought at Fort Pulaski. While her father reminisced about his War days, Florence caught the eye of one of the seamen.

This handsome, young sailor was Andrew Kellum. He was enchanted by Florence, especially because of her knowledge of the sea. She was like a well-trained but very beautiful, helms men and they would set and talk for hours as he shared his adventures knowing that she understood all of what he said. Also, he was intrigued by her wanting to wave to all of the ships that came by the lighthouse on their way to Savannah Harbor.

The day came when the sailors had to leave, for now the ship was ready to continue on. Kellum told Florence that he must come see her again before he left. Then, as the sea gulls flew overhead, and dive down to catch their breakfast of fish, Kellum realized that he would enjoy nothing more, than to spend a life time with Florence. This is when Kellum asked Florence to marry him and she said “Yes!”

With joy in their hearts, they parted and looked forward to when the ship would be coming into port again, probably in a month or so. “I will wait for you always”, she told him.

Before he left, he headed for town and went to the silversmith, where he sat down at an old wooden table and sketched out the wedding ring that he wanted the jeweler to make for Florence. It was a thin, silver band, with a loving message engraved on it, “From Andrew to my Love”. With the assurance it would be ready when he came back into port, he left Cockspur Island.

As his ship sailed with the high tide on the morning following what was to be their last meeting, Florence stood up on top of the lighthouse and waved a white handkerchief. No one knows if Kellum saw her and waved back. I like to think that he did.

While Florence was up in the tower, she noticed that there was a grouping of very nasty clouds. With her experience, she knew that this meant a hurricane was on its way towards the island. She prayed that Kellum’s ship was not going towards the threatening weather.

Her family survived the hurricane that was so dangerous that it sent them up the staircase to the top of the lighthouse for shelter from the rising waters and fierce winds. In the following days, she constantly scanned the horizon, looking for the ship that her, husband to be, was on. It was due to come back into port any time now. She even sat there at night, with her lantern lit, and waved it at every passing vessel, just in case it was his ship. However, she never saw the ship that Kellum was on. She never even got a glimpse of the man she loved.

Florence’s sailor never did return and what happened to him is unknown. However, for more than fifty years, she continued to wave at every passing ship. She may have lost the love of a particular seaman, but she won the hearts of all the mariners who sailed by her. Every year, more and more sailors watched for her waving handkerchief, as they passed by the lighthouse. To them, she symbolized the love that most had left behind. Some brought her gifts from the distant ports that they had visited. One sailor even brought her a llama from Peru!

Even though the months turned into years, she never gave up waving to the approaching ships and hoping that Kellum would be on one of them. Each day she wrote in her diary about the pain that she felt, but no one ever read it but her, until her death on June 1, 1931, when Florence waved for the last time. The small book was never found. Some legends say that it was burned.

It Is said that on a full moon evening, shadows of a woman can be seen leaning over the lighthouse rail, waving with all her might. And on the darkest of nights, there will be two orbs that will glow at her grave, as the two lovers once again meet.

There also is a statue which commemorates the lasting love of Florence, the  Waving Girl, had for her sailor. It is also said, that all men who wave back at the statue, are blessed with good fortune.

St. Catherine’s Island: Music from the Grave

While I am sharing legends, I thought that you may enjoy this one.

Georgia’s Atlantic coastline goes on for more than one hundred miles and has many islands of all sizes, some named some not. In the 20th and 21st centuries, most have been developed. St. Catherines is the exception. However, long before the others became a playground for the rich, Georgia’s islands were inhabited by tribes of Native Americans, mostly the Guale Indians.

In the 17th and 18th centuries, both the Spanish and the British, claimed these islands. It was no surprise that the ideas of all of these civilizations, which were so very different, resulted in clashes between them. As you can imagine, this gave birth to many different types of ghosts and on St. Catherines there are many ghosts.

Grab your tape recorder and we will make a visit. You are probably asking why a tape recorder. Well, our haunting has to do with music, which was as much a part of life long ago as it is today.

Two centuries before Oglethorpe founded Savannah, a Spanish explorer named Lucas Vasquez de Allyson, founded the first mission on St. Catherines Island, in 1526. However, within a year, the mission was gone. Later, in 1565, Pedro Mendez de Aviles, the Spanish governor of St. Augustine, wanted to try again to establish a mission. The result was the Santa Catalina mission, which was the first of thirty-eight missions that were established across the southeastern United States.

The Franciscan friers who started the settlement, baptized and doctored the Guale Indians that lived there. They also taught them church rituals and many enchanting songs in the Latin language. In one friar’s letter home, he tells how the mission’s leader had high praise for the young Guale males in the choir, for they had high voices, which blended well with those of the older missionaries.

Eventually, the Guale Indians did not like the restrictions that were placed upon their lives and they revolted, burning the small missionary outpost, in 1597. Eight years later, the Spanish did make another attempt at establishing a colony but by this time, the British were pretty much in control of this area. The Spanish were forced to abandoned Santa Catalina, in 1680.

St. Catherines sat quiet and alone. The Guale Indians eventually died away, mostly because of diseases brought there by the Spanish. However, it seems that some of the influence that the missionaries had on the Guale Indians did not exactly die. According to local legends, the singing voices of the Indians can still be heard.

Stories tell of many experiences, which those who came to live on St. Catherines, have had. One, which seems to be the most prevalent, happened in the early 1930s. One evening, a woman was relaxing on her porch when she heard a chorus of male voices that sang for a good five minutes, but then, faded away. Being a religious woman, the singing reminded her of the chanting she had heard at the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist, in Savannah, where she occasionally went with friends.

Then, a few days later, she heard the singing again. She remembered hearing about the early efforts of the Spanish missionaries to Christianize the Guale Indians. After doing some historical research, she became convinced that the chanting she had heard was the ghostly singing of the choir from the Santa Catalina mission.

When she told her friends, they looked at her like maybe she had at best, a vivid imagination. Then, because the choir never sang when they were visiting with her, she decided to record these phantom voices using, which to us would be, a primitive type of a recorder.

One night, the singing became so clear, that she could make out every single Latin word. This is when she turned on the recorder and sat back to enjoy the wonderous music. Suddenly, she smelled smoke! Her recorder was on fire! She then threw a small rug over it and extinguished the fire, but her recording was destroyed.

Sadly, she never heard the singing again. However, there still are reports from visitors to the island, that they love hearing the music that seems to be in the air, on St. Catherines Island.