Lookin' for Lighthorse Harry

“A labyrinth of symbols,” he corrected. “An invisible labyrinth of
time. To me, a barbarous Englishman, has been entrusted the
revelation of this diaphanous mystery. After more than a hundred
years, the details are irretrievable; but it is not hard to conjecture
what happened. Ts’ui Pe must have said once: I am withdrawing
to write a book. And another time: I am withdrawing to construct
a labyrinth. Every one imagined two works; to no one did it occur
that the book and the maze were one and the same thing.”

-Jose Luis Borges, The Garden of Forking Paths


Hey! You’ve got to hide your love away.

-The Beatles



It was a hot mornin’ in late July, when me and THE ONE TO DIE FOR confabulated on what course of action to take for the rest of the day. It was her birthday, you see, and I was intent on havin’ an adventure so’s to satisfy the curiosity and wonderment of the blond child of the sunny South. I had gotten her up early and driven her out to Tybee Island, to climb the big lighthouse, and to welcome the dawn. That was also where I planned to float my proposal.

She was a bit frustrated because it seemed like everythin’ was gittin’ off to a late start. We had come all the way up here and now I was tryin’ to convince her that we needed to get back in the van and take our picnic a couple of hours away. This wasn’t the end of the journey. Hell no. This was just the beginning. I had also brought a replica of an old lookin’ glass to try and point out where I hoped our ultimate destination might theoretically be.

Fin’ly I brought her around to the idea of shooting down to Cumberland Island, a couple hours south of us, near Brunswick, just outside St. Mary’s. I’m not sure that the little speck I pointed out in the ‘ancient’ lookin’ glass was actually the correct land mass but that didn’t matter. Supposedly, there were wild horses still roamin’ the island. And, of course, there was the legend of Dungeness, an ancient plantation owned by Caty Greene, the widow of Nathanael Greene, the Revolutionary War general and George Washington’s closest military confidant. Rumor had it that Caty Greene’s ghost still haunted the grounds. Now, I had some other reasons for wantin’ to head down that way but we’ll get to that in a moment. All she seemed to care about was the wild horses.

We’d been livin’ in Savannah for some time now. Must’ve been a couple of years or so. At this point, I think, we were in the midst a’ chasin’ a master’s degree at the big art college in town. Always next year it was “off to the West, off to Austin! To break free!” Planning for the future made the present ripe with possibility. And there was an amber glow of enchantment around our present. We didn’t have much money but we had an old van with the seats taken out in the back as well as access to the latest camera equipment from the school. We also had a penchant for making strange and otherworldly connections that seemed to produce strange wrinkles in our itineraries. On special occasions, we’d have ourselves a real trip, takin’ pictures, makin’ movies, and gen’rally acting as lovers do, all the way.

To make extra money on the side, I had been givin’ Civil War tours in the Historic District of ol’ Savannah. They wanted me to dress up lak’ a Confederate soldier and tell people about how romantic the Old South was, playin’ the mandolin, fiddle, or banjo and reemphasizing how the War was also about the balance of power and states rights and not just slavery. I mean, who ever heard of a war fought for a humanitarian crusade that wasn’t shot through with the worst kind of hypocrisy? Huh? Yeah, that’s right. Most of all, the war in the South was about Honor! It was about defending a sacred territory that was being invaded. Period. Slavery or no slavery, the situation involved our most intimate domestic relationships. It was our problem and we were mature and civilized enough to handle it on our own. That is what they wanted to hear, after all. Confederates and Yankees alike, these days. All those who loved American History and disregarded the modern indictment on our culture were ready for some o’ that ol’ time religion.
I made the most out of hammin’ it up, reciting dates and miniutiatic details, between the lines of a poem or discussion of a memorable Faulknerian literary figure, a Joel Chandler Harris tale, or even a Northern caricature like Chic Sale’s Lem Putt, the southern carpenter who built outhouses for a living with existential gusto. I ate fire like no southern fireeater had ever done since the War. In downtime I did a lot of reading and researching deep into the bowels of the Georgia Historical Society, seeking for the hidden gems of truth my fathers before me embedded in old texts. This had become my daily treasure hunt.
I met a lot of interesting people on my tours. People who cared about American history were seeking something, just like me. We were all struggling against an odd spell of cultural amnesia. Something just wasn’t right. The official version was no longer adequate. I debated the various causes of the war until no one could surprise me with an argument that I hadn’t heard before or for which I didn’t have a ready answer to give. I was the son of the South incarnate. But she was the sun of the South. And, ultimately, I did all things for her. I was willing to break any and all boundaries in the name of her love.

Once upon a rainy day, I was giving a private tour to an old gentleman. The man was a well-respected neurosurgeon in South Carolina. His said his name was Dr. Lawrence Ashley and that he was originally from Alabama but that he had some old relatives in these parts, especially in Charleston. He wore a white linen suit and had a yellow rose pinned to his lapel. He carried an odd cane that had a small crystal ball with beveled angles on the head. He walked underneath a crimson umbrella that had The Crimson Tide in white, arcing across the top portion of the mechanism. His eyes danced in a light blue sparkle of merriment and genuine curiosity. There was a distinctive strain on his vocal cords that made his voice somewhat scratchy. But it was not unpleasant and the flaw was unable to mask his rich accent.
Dr. Ashley was very intrigued by my talk and requested an extended tour. For some reason he seemed to perk up when I told him that General Robert E Lee had visited Savannah shortly before his death in 1870. The main part of my discussion on that point had been Lee’s rendezvous with the Andrew Low family and ol’ General Joe Johnston, who had taken up in Savannah after the war. Apparently, I came off as knowing a good deal more than the average guides the old man had been talking with in the past couple of days. He said he liked my sincerity about the subject and that it was rare to see a young man so passionately defend the place of his origins.
I didn’t have anything else going on at the moment so I agreed to the extension and thus took him deeper into the heart of the old city; deeper than I had taken anyone before. Nightfall came early. And the lights of Savannah illuminated our walk despite the steady rainfall. He went on to tell me that he came from one of the oldest families of the South and that he had possession of trunks upon trunks of old memoirs, letters, and special belongings from even before the Civil War, stretching all the way back to the Revolution itself.
I began to wonder now, who was really giving the tour? The long street of history peeled back like the red sea or the crimson tide, and we kept walkin’ under a mossy tunnel of live oaks down the avenue of heroes until we hit the north end of town, a bluff overlooking the Savannah River.
When we were crossing down onto the ballast cobblestones and the hustle of River Street, the old man brought up Lee’s visit again, inquiring about the reason for the journey. I told him that the general consensus was that Lee was en route to Cumberland Island, two hours south of Savannah. He had had such fond memories of being in Savannah when he was a young man that he decided to spend a couple of weeks meeting old friends and reminiscing. He was sick and was going to die soon of a broken heart. His physicians hoped that a trip South would have a positive effect on his constitution.
“And why did he want to go to Cumberland Island?” the doctor pressed into my arm, looking at me intently.
I paused for a moment, disconcerted by the eruption of the man’s gentle demeanor into a temporary passion. There was a fiery glimmer in his eye now. I noticed a red tinge to what had before appeared to be a simple yellow rose. That rose was a Jacob’s Ladder! I thought I saw him wink before I resumed with attempted cordiality.
“Well, sir, apparently, Lee’s father, Lighthorse Harry, Washington’s most esteemed cavalryman, was buried there in 1818. Lee wanted to pay his respects to his father. In the final years of his life, he had been editing his father’s memoirs, regarding the American Revolution in the South.”
“Why was Henry Lee buried there?” he asked with the same intensity.
“Well, he had debts after the Revolution and was forced to leave the family when Robert was only eight. He went down into the Caribbean and tried to make things back through some speculations. But he didn’t succeed. Years later on his return trip to Virginia, he caught a tropical fever and died. The ship was close to Cumberland Island when the tragedy occurred and because of the close friendship between Lee and Nathanael Greene, the party decided to commit his remains to the cemetery at Dungeness. Caty Greene had died a few years before but her family still ran the estate. Nathanael had died 30 years before, in Savannah. She had remarried a man named Phineas Miller and together they had moved down to Cumberland to start a new life.”
“That’s it!” the old man exclaimed. “Here, let us get a drink. Now, I have something extraordinary to tell you.”
We ducked into an old Irish tavern and took a seat in a shadowy corner in the back room of the pub. A Celtic bard played the fiddle on the stage nearby. A girl with long red hair and plump cheeks introduced herself as our waitress. Dr. Ashley ordered two drinks and commenced to lay it on the table.
First he pulled out a pack of papers and demonstrated how he was a descendant of Lord Anthony Ashley Cooper, the chief proprietor of the royal colony of South Carolina. Ashley, along with his physician, John Locke, drafted the original constitution and laws for South Carolina. In such a position, the Ashleys maintained close ties with all of the powerful families in the tidewater region even after the Revolution and well into the mid 19th century. That was how he had come into possession of so many heirlooms.
He asked me if I knew whatever became of George Washington’s sword. I told him that my knowledge of Revolutionary history was not as strong as my knowledge of the War Between the States and that I did not know. He grabbed my arm again, looking intently into my face.
“Lee had it! He carried it into battle! Yes, it’s true! He believed that he was destined to achieve what Washington had so gloriously accomplished two generations before…”
I was stunned. I stared over at the fiddler. Time weaved into the old reel. Robert E. Lee’s father was George Washington’s most respected cavalry commander. Robert E Lee had married George Washington’s granddaughter, Mary Custis. That must’ve been how he had gotten the sword. Arlington must’ve been chock full of Washington heirlooms. In my imagination I saw a young Robert E. Lee charging on a white horse down in Mexico carrying the exact same blade that Washington had used to conquer Cornwallis with at Yorktown.
Dr. Ashley resumed his discussion.
“After the War began in 1861, the Federal Government seized control of Arlington, which had been a Washington estate and was, at that time, the primary Lee home. Immediately prior to the confiscation, about a week after Ft. Sumter, Lee was asked to be supreme commander of the Federal Army. He refused for honor’s sake and for love of Virginia and the Constitution. He immediately proceeded South.
Lee had forewarned his wife about the barbarians in their midst and she was able to make her way safely into Richmond with her essentials to wait for him. The army looted the great majority of the family heirlooms in the house. For a few weeks, trunks and trunks of George Washington’s personal accoutrements were unknowingly hocked on the streets of the city that bore the great man’s name. Those people…Lee in time would come to say, in reference to the impostors.”

Apparently, Ashley had an ancestor named Lloyd Ashley who was in the know regarding antiques and old collectibles back in that time. He was able to procure a single trunk from all the wild auctioneering. The trunk had nothing but packets of letters. Mostly these were letters between Robert E. Lee’s mother and George Washington.”
“And what’d they say?” I interrupted the old man with curiosity of my own.
“Oh, many, many things… In the only picture remaining of Lee’s mother, she is wearing a brooch with Washington’s likeness. But what’s really important is that there was a secret compartment below the letters, that held the deteriorated scabbard of a sword.” he insisted.
“A secret compartment with an empty scabbard underneath piles of letters between Robert E. Lee’s mother and George Washington. And no one had detected the sword before you?”
“Oh, no, someone had detected it before me. For someone had taken the sword!”
“But who would’ve taken the sword?”
“Lee, of course!” He shook me.
“Oh yes, of course.” I blushed.
“But the real question, my boy, is what did Lee do with the sword?
“That’s easy,” I replied. “Lee surrendered to Grant at Appomattox. And it is the ancient tradition that the one who surrenders yields his sword to the victor.”
The old man laughed at how forthrightly I had uttered those words.
“Yes, that’s what one might think. But Lee did not give that sword to Ulysses S. Grant. I can promise you that, my boy. For Lee had not surrendered in his heart. And thus, it was impossible for him to surrender the sword of the great Washington! He still believed that he was the better man and the one who had more boldly dared. And by that point, he had already become a guerrilla for the Lost Cause.
He gave Grant a sword that he used before he had met young Mary Custis. No one was the wiser.
That was the secret that continued to break his heart. That sword was burning his life up and within five years of the war, he was on his deathbed. How could that sword be handed down through the generations so that it would someday reach the right hands?
This is what brings me to Savannah, my boy. I am trying to retrace his steps because I believe that he hid the sword somewhere along that final trip out of Virginia. I believe that somehow it involved a final act of sacrament between Lee and his father down on Cumberland Island on the estate of Dungeness. Now, I am sure of it since you have provided the final link in the chain.”
“But how do you know that Lee did anything with it on that final trip?” I asked.
“There was a note in the hidden compartment.” He chimed back.
“What did it say?” I said.
“It said…the scabbard lies below the mother, the sword lies below the father.”
There was a prolonged silence.
“Are you serious?” I uttered in absolute disbelief.
“Yes. Of course. Look…You will just have to trust my hunch that it was leading me here, to Savannah, to discuss this matter with you. You will be receiving a copy of all necessary and pertinent information if you agree to my proposal.”
“What?” I cried in disbelief.
“You must retrieve that sword for me, at any cost. It contains enormous power. The man who wields that sword…” He shook his head and then his voice trailed off. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled an envelope with $10,000 dollars in it. “You are just the man, I am quite sure of it. Yes. Indeed.” He leaned back and smiled. “There will be much more of that available if you should succeed in discovering any concluding information on that sword. But you mustn’t tell anybody of the plan…” His voice trailed off and the fiddle music filled in.
After watching me cogitate for a couple of moments, he picked it up again.
So…are you in?”
I backpeddled.
“I’m just a tour guide, man. Christ…”

It took us longer than we thought to get down from the lighthouse. That sucker was tall. Round and round we spiraled down. Dizzily, Lizzy and I jumped in the van at 10:30 AM. It was going to be damn close. We had to get to Cumberland by 1 PM because that was the last time that the ferry crossed over from St. Mary’s to the actual island. First we had to swing by the art college to check out camera equipment so that we could document the journey as we went (and spin it up into something bigger, of course). I could’ve bought one with all that money that Lord Ashley had given me but I was still intent on keeping that choice cut under wraps. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed crazy as hell. Spending that money would’ve sealed my fate.
THE ONE TO DIE FOR ran inside to get the stuff while I checked on the freeon levels. She did not like to drive in a car without a little AC to cool off. It was real hot in these parts during the Summer, especially late July, so I can’t say that I blamed her much.
Soon enough the wind was in our hair as we tore down coastal highway 17. The Bells of St. Genevieve boomed through the car speakers, our souls, and the windows so rectangular. Snap, Snap, Snap, went the camera. Frame the scene, darlin’, as we zoom so fast along the way. The dream began to be a reality.
The day before, we had picked out pistols at the gun shop, for each other. A Glock 9mm for me and a little Smith and Wesson .38 snubnose for her. It was all part of her birthday extravaganza. I had been saving for months. We thought it would be wise to arm ourselves against the barbaric world and also to have something to go and shoot targets with. Things were gettin’ hostile these days, or so it seemed. We had also just watched ‘Bonnie and Clyde’ and thought it would be cool to be like them. So, Bonnie waved her new revolver out the window as I used one hand to take a picture and the other to drive. I had to keep lookin’ away from the road to focus on the lioness as she waved her six-shooter and shrieked like a valkyrie. I almost ran into an eighteen-wheeler but she was none the wiser. She shot her pistol at a big red Stop sign outside of Darien. We didn’t.
Unfortunately, we just missed the ferry over to Cumberland. I made a few wrong turns in Brunswick that threw us off for about 15 minutes. We raced up to the water as the ferry’s wake was rippling waves against the dock. We tried screaming and yelling and waving money in the air but it was all to no avail. I ran inside and checked with an office person. A lady at a counter said that that was it for the day.
“Well, are there any private boats that could make the trip?”
The lady shook her head and said she didn’t know of any motorboats but that there was a sea kayak rental place not far down the road that might be able to help us out.
The sea kayak feller rented us a big red tandem boat with an aerial map of the area taped onto the front. He was a funny guy with a baseball cap crunched down tight on his head. He wore highly reflective orange sunglasses that prevented us from seeing his eyes.
“What you want to do once the island comes into view, heh, heh, is make for the boundary between the dunes and the oak trees. If you aim for that point, eventually you run into what seems like a fountain bubbling up out of the ocean. That’s where there’s a hole in the aquifer and fresh water is able to thrust its way up. When you hit the fountain, you’ll want to take a 45 degree turn to the right and make for the shore. Then you’ll see some tidal creeks that snake into the heart of the island. Just pick one, any one. You may have to maneuver around a bit but they all roughly lead to some higher ground where there is a boardwalk on stilts outlining a good portion of the real shoreline. Once you see the boardwalk, you’ve discovered access to the interior of the island. Just follow the red line on the map that I’ve taped onto the front of the boat.” The sea kayak vendor did his best to virtually navigate for us.
“And, be careful for the waves once you hit the ocean. It can get a bit choppy. There is a lot of interesting wildlife in and out of the water between here and Cumberland. I’m sure that you will enjoy. You’ll probably hit a manatee or two. Don’t worry. They’re big but harmless. But make sure you try to stay in the boat….” His voice trailed off as we shoved off with wide eyes and nervous laughter. We were no longer listening. I jokingly rocked the boat until the Lovely became irritated. “Just playin’,” I implored. “Come on…”
She had the camera up front with her, in the dry compartment in front of her feet. I had the pistols. At first it was disconcerting because we were so close to the level of the water. The thought passed through my mind briefly that we must’ve looked a bit like floating ducks in our yellow life jackets.
It had been years since either one of us had really paddled in a boat. I had gotten a lot of experience much earlier in my life as a Boy Scout. She had done some whitewater paddling during summer camp when she was a teenager. When we hit the ocean we had a couple of close calls with waves until we worked out a rhythm for our paddle strokes. Then it was great fun. The sun beat down on us. The water was blue-green, cool, and clean. A couple of times I splashed her intentionally with my paddle. She tried to get me back but kept missing because she had to turn around backwards to aim. And I could always do a crazy rudder effect to throw her off balance. There were little white crests on the tops of waves gently rolling all around us.
The island in the distance began to loom larger. What had previously been dark green fuzz now began to differentiate into recognizable flora. Eventually we passed near the strange geyser fountain bubbling out of the ocean. I ruddered us to the right at 45 degrees just as the feller back at the shop had told us.
Right before we passed into one of the many tidal creeks, a manatee greeted us with a playful dip under the boat and a clumsy leap out of the water with a half-turn on his belly. He was very big. I felt my heart palpitate with the strange sea creature’s visitation. The ocean was deep and dark and there were lots of big, mysterious things down there that a land lubber such as myself generally preferred not to deal with. The mermaid at the bow, however, was in her element.
Not long after that, Guenevere saw something pink on a log about 50 yards into the creek. When we got closer, it became clear that it was a feather. When she was within reaching distance, the marsh grass blew back, and a flamingo was revealed standing there, looking at us curiously with his head cocked to the left.
She asked the flamingo if she could have the feather and after receiving an invisible acknowledgment from our new friend, she thanked him, grabbed the feather, plugged it into her hair, and shoved us back into the middle of the creek.
“Hey!” I yelled up to her.
“What?” She yelled back.
“Give me the camera before you try another stunt like that. That could’ve been a great shot.” Interaction with the animal world was always a worthy recording event in our annals.
“Do you think it’s safe to get it out yet? I mean, we’re still on the water, you know?”
“No, I think it’s safe. There are no longer any waves. C’mon. Just toss it back here. I’ll be careful.” Such promises were not always taken seriously.
“Ha!” She begrudgingly reached into the front and pulled out the steel camera box and pushed it slowly into my reach.
“If you lose that camera, we will not be going back to Savannah.” She warned.
“You know what? I’ve got $10000 dollars in my pocket that says that one way or the other it doesn’t matter what happens to that camera.” I yelled carelessly off the cuff.
“Where did you get $10000 from?” She uttered with suspicion.
I was caught. Oh, no.
“Uhhh….There’s something I haven’t told you yet…”
“Yes???...” She said, turning her voice up. She succeeded in splashing me with her paddle this time.
“Well, there’s more to this trip than the wild horses and the legend of Dungeness…There’s this old man---“
Suddenly, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye, wiggling forward towards the kayak. It looked like a big snake. It was headed straight for Ophelia.
She yelled at me. “Quick! Toss me my pistol from your compartment!”
I set the camera down slamming the continuous frame button, reached for the compartment, grabbed the pistol, and tossed it to my Love. Without blinking she swung the pistol around, directly facing the serpent as it approached. Bringing her other hand to bear, she cocked the gun, and pulled the trigger with a speed so graceful that the snake must’ve been mesmerized as a flying silver bullet split its skull and sent it to the shining land of no return. Take 1. Rewind, slo-mo replay.
Take 2. The tide was out so the creek wasn’t able to get us all the way to the walkway. We had to get out of the boat and trudge through swamp mud up to our thighs. Oh, the muck seemed unbearable. The situation was exacerbated by razor sharp oyster shells embedded in the mud and on the surface waiting to slice through human flesh. We cut our legs in several places. Then the sand gnats and mosquitoes began descending upon us, trying to suck our blood. I had to do most of the pushing because she was carrying the poor dead snake that she had shot, wrapped in an extra t-shirt that we had brought along with us. Soon we noticed the boardwalk. We reached the tall marsh grass, which was itchy but a pleasant alternative to the sludge we had been trudging through.
Take 3. Now we were ashore, just beyond the boardwalk, attending the snake’s funeral. THE ONE TO DIE FOR always demonstrated amazing kindness, even to her enemies and those who wished to do her wrong. Thus, we were carefully committing the snake’s remains to the earth. A tear dropped from her face as she finished filling the grave. It had been necessary but she would still retain sorrow for the loss of a life.
After walking quietly along the wooden walkway under the oaks and above the shoreline root undergrowth and the receding tide, she asked me about the old man that I was trying to tell her about before the snake had approached.
I apologized for not telling her sooner and said that I thought it kind’ve sounded crazy and frightening and that I wasn’t even sure if I was going to go through with it and that I thought that the whole thing might scare her off before we even got started. After I got done explaining the best that I knew how, she looked at me wisely and spoke to me softly with her velvety voice.
“So, you tricked me into coming here on my birthday so that you could dig up the grave of Robert E. Lee’s father and retrieve the sword of George Washington for an old man who gave you $10,000??? That’s just fabulous!”
“No! That wasn’t my intention. It’s all for you. Don’t you see?”
A rhythmic pounding sound entered the aural zone in the distance.
“Yes, exactly. That’s exactly what you’re trying to do. You brought me here so that you could get a sword, a big manly sword to wave around your head…but it’s my birthday, not yours! I’m the one who’s supposed to get presents—“
“And so you shall,” I stated while pointing to a herd of galloping horses across the green grass that now became visible as we emerged from the thick forest. It was true. There were wild horses. Hundreds of them. All was immediately forgiven.
We froze as the spectacle overwhelmed our senses. I started fumbling to get the camera out before they passed. She was already in their midst, running with her hands up high in the air. I jumped off the walkway, doing my best to catch up. This was futile but some of the horses slowed after a while, to eat the lush grass.
By now, we were in an area that looked a little more civilized. There were old fencerows and rusted ruins of antique cars from the early 1900s slowly returning to the earth. Kudzu and ivy climbed up on some of them. There were chickens roosting on the rusted car tops and black cats perching on the fence posts.
The trees were more separated in this area, still offering shade and an interlocked ceiling of branches. The Princess walked slowly up to one of the horses.
“There, there now…Click,click,click…” I heard her clucking to the animal. She reached down and picked up a handful of green grass.
He snorted and leaned over toward her, still a little shy. She started at his feet and tickled his haunches with the clump of grass, brushing gently against his hide. He accepted the gift from her hand carefully. I caught a great picture of it. It was a beautiful sight.
As the horse was eating the grass, she slid over to the side of the animal and began rubbing his back and wiping it clean of any debris. She was going to try and mount the horse. The horse was not disturbed by her proximity. She was his friend. But as she tried to gently throw her leg over his back, the sound of an approaching automobile nearby spooked the animal and she fell into the tall grass with a sigh.
An old white truck appeared around the bend and made its way over toward us. There was a pretty middle aged woman with her hair in a ponytail in the driver’s seat. When she got near us she rolled down the window. At that point, Lucy had not lifted herself from the embrace of the earth where the horse had tossed her.
“What are you doing, here?” She asked me bluntly. “The ferry is about to leave over on the other side of the island to go back to St. Mary’s. You better hurry up and get in the back of the truck here if you want to make it in time.”
I paused and took a picture of the lady as the sun bounced off her windshield. Then I replied.
“Well, we kind’ve missed the ferry over so we’re not too worried about catching it the other way. We kayaked over so it’s all right. We can take our time.” THE ONE TO DIE FOR stood up and walked over to me and put her hand in mine.
“Do you live on the island?” she asked curiously.
The woman smiled and nodded her head in the affirmative.
“We had no idea that people lived here.” I replied. “Are there many of you?”
There is a small community of us,” she said. “Mostly folks who have the resources to fly back and forth to the mainland once or twice a week for groceries and other conveniences. There are about a dozen old families here, tucked into the depths of the island’s wilderness. We like it here. There are no paved roads, no prescribed moral codes. My husband loves it. He can walk out naked into the front yard and yell at the top of his lungs and no one in the rest of the entire universe gives a damn.”
“Does someone live at Dungeness?” the Goddess interjected.
The lady in the truck laughed. “Nobody lives there in the flesh,” she replied with a coy grimace.
“But we are haunted by some sort of life force that comes from the old mansion. At least that’s what the tour guides like to say. Would you like to see it? It’s not far from here,” she offered. “Come on, jump in the back and I’ll give you a tour. My name is Grace Edwards. My husband inherited an old estate not far from here and we’ve recently transplanted ourselves from Virginia, more or less permanently. I was on my way to check on the cows in the barn and make sure our horses had enough water for the evening.”
We eagerly jumped into the back of the truck, relishing our good fortune. I wondered what the Edwards could tell me about the grave of Lighthorse Harry. The afternoon sun broke through the clouds and bathed us in a surreal light as the truck bumped along the dirt road and we penetrated into the interior of the cosmic mystery.
Grace had a basketful of fresh eggs on the seat next to her that I was keeping my eye on, while my Mistress-So-Glorious gazed into the westering sun. After one particularly rough bump, one of the eggs flipped out of the basket and landed flatly on an exposed hammer on the seat. I could see that the egg cracked. Then I could hear Grace exclaiming at the small disaster, reaching for a paper towel, and cleaning the mess.
Periodically, we rode past horses that were grazing on the grounds. Most of these horses were red but there were a couple that were almost black. I also noticed one Palomino as well as an Appaloosa.
Soon, the ruins of Dungeness loomed up. I was surprised at the size of it. It was an enormous estate with an old dried up fountain in front of it. The house overlooked the water back towards St. Mary’s. There were a variety of gardens and greenhouses and old barns at different spots along the way. Finally Grace stopped the truck in front of one of the courtyards adjoining the house. I was confused as I hopped out of the truck and approached the window of the driver’s seat.
“Grace, this was a Revolutionary era home, right? I was expecting something a little more Neo-Classical. Dungeness looks like the ruins of a grandiose Victorian mansion from the turn of the twentieth century.”
She smiled at me humorously. “Were you not aware that Andrew Carnegie purchased the entire island about twenty years after the Civil War? He rebuilt Dungeness according to the styles of the late 19th century. Northern money scooped up about 50 million of the best acreage across the South in the generation ensuing the unpleasantness. A particular favorite of the new capitalist power that had displaced the agrarian, was the luxurious coastal plantation. The Northern elites, though despising his “peculiar institutions”, envied the Southern gentleman’s lifestyle and mannerisms. I quietly listened and then helped the Beautiful One descend upon the turf beside me.
“Well, thank you, Grace. I think we’d like to explore the ruins a little bit and take some pictures.
“Okay, suit yourself. It’s a bit strange. We don’t see many visitors who are not with the ferry tours walking about. It might even be illegal. These grounds are now under some sort of federal protection. But I guess it’s okay. I’m not going to tattle. But you really don’t want to try to kayak back after dark. Please consider staying over with my husband and I for the evening. Allen is an excellent host and we’re actually throwing a little summer soiree tonight for the island’s inhabitants. You would be most welcome. Really!”
Violet spoke for me.
“We may take you up on that, Mrs. Edwards. Thank you for the invitation.”
“Great. Do you have a cell phone with which you could reach me? She asked.
“Yes, as a matter of fact.” I answered.
“My number is 357-1716. Call anytime you want me to come pick you up. Please. We would really love to have you.” She smiled again sincerely and then cranked up her truck and backed away.
We turned toward the old house, now draped in afternoon shadows. We began to wander through the old halls and decrepit ballrooms of another age. I thought I heard the echo of old music bouncing off the walls. Was it just the imagination? I tried to convince myself but my ‘illness’ caused the inevitable question to recur. Is there really a clearly demarcated boundary between this world and that? Is the world my dream alone, or am I a small actor in a larger cosmic drama? After all, everything is possible.
The rest of the day was taken up with a thorough photographic analysis of Dungeness and the grounds surrounding the place. We even found the old cemetery where Lighthorse Harry and Caty Greene were buried. I decided that the ground was best left untouched. Again, I had been careful not to spend any of Ashley’s money in case I decided against disturbing the grave. After all, there were serious consequences, legally and metaphysically, for one who dared to desecrate such hallowed ground. Originally, it had seemed like an exciting prospect, but standing before the grave of Robert E Lee’s father had a sobering effect on me. If Lee had buried the sword with his father, then surely he meant for it to remain under the ground forever. I grinded my teeth and was content with a photograph of the tombstone. The Beloved appreciated my discretion. After all, it was her birthday. Neither grave digging nor necromancy was high on her list of desirable adventures.
It was getting close to dusk. We walked through some pretty tree groves, investigated a derelict building that contained old spinning wheels, and wandered unknowingly up to the park ranger’s cabin. A stocky bald man was sitting in the shadow of a screened-in porch, watching our approach, while he smoked a pipe. Through it all, I could still hear that strange and wonderful music in the distance.
“You know you’re not supposed to be on this island if you’re not with the certified tour groups?” he grumbled at us.
“Yes, we’ve been informed about that already. Thank you. We won’t be here much longer. Perhaps you could point us in the direction of the beaches. Eurydice and I want to take a dip before heading back to St. Mary’s.” I tried to maintain a naive ignorance to his accusatory tone.
“The beaches are towards the east. Just walk away from the setting sun. And how is it that you’re heading back?” He inquired.
“We’ve got a kayak.” I smiled.
There was a moment of silence as he tried to compute the information.
“And you’re planning on heading back tonight?” He asked.
“Yes. Right after we take a dip into the ocean.”
“The sun is about to set. Do you have a headlight on your boat?”
“Well, no, not exactly. I’ve got a small flashlight(I lied). Look…don’t worry about us okay? We’ll be fine. We’re going to get out of here with enough daylight to at least get headed in the right direction.” I was beginning to get impatient with his prying.
“Did you know that there is supposed to be a nasty thunderstorm tonight?”
“No, I didn’t! Anything else. If you keep talking, we’ll never get out of here.” I snapped at the man.
He chuckled. He seemed to like my attitude for some reason.
“Okay. Yes. I remember being young and in love. Just like you. And look what happened to me. I never escaped the island.
Dorothy! Dorothy! Come here!” He yelled for his significant other, I guessed.
A moment later an elderly woman with curly gray hair and a cherubic face creaked open the screen door to the porch.
“Yes, John? Oh, heavens. Hello.” The lady was startled by our presence.
“These two young foolish romantics have made their way onto our island by means of a kayak and are planning on returning before nightfall.” John looked at his wrist as if to check the time. “Grace stopped by earlier and mentioned their presence and said that they were okay. Perhaps you could make them some sandwiches to eat before they go back. They look a bit rough.”
We relaxed at the clear sign of hospitality.
“Some sandwiches would be great. Thank you very much. Here, let me come and help you.” Iseult spoke kind words for the both of us while I scratched some of the mud from my ear. She rushed up onto the porch.
“Okay, then. Wonderful. Well, boys. Give us just a moment and we’ll be right back out with some treats.” Dorothy smiled and they disappeared into the small white cabin. John remained on the porch, smoking his pipe and eyeing me suspiciously.
“Why don’t ya come up here and sit on the porch with me. We’ve got some extra rocking chairs.”
I obliged although I was gettin’ a little nervous about the daylight factor. I figured I’d ask him a question, seein’ as he appeared to have been in the area for some time.
“John…Do you know anything about Robert E. Lee’s trip down this way in 1870?”
After a few moments of eyeing me with his left brow raised, he said,
“Ahhhh…so…you’re a history buff, eh?”
“Well, kind’ve. I’m really an amateur but I have a personal interest.” I replied.
“Did you see the cemetery near Dungeness?” He asked.
“Yes, I did. It was beautiful. It was on a little bluff overlooking the ocean.”
“I’m well aware of the setting. Thank you…” he tugged off his pipe. “Unfortunately, the gravediggers have preceded you by….ummm…let’s see…about 100 years. Maybe a little less…I guess it was 1913 or so.” He said.
“What are you talking about?” I replied defensively.
“Well, after Robert E Lee died, the family, with the authority of the state of Virginia behind them, traveled to various gravesites across the South, digging up the bones of close relatives and taking the remains back to Virginia to lie in the mausoleum at Lee Chapel in Lexington.”
Damn, I thought to myself. Well, actually, now that I contemplated it, the news came as something of a relief; seeing as I’d wimped out on the operation earlier that afternoon. Surely, the family had found whatever was to be found with Lee’s father. They probably had Washington’s sword in their custody somewhere in Virginia.
“What’s the matter?” he asked as I shook my head.
“Oh, it’s nothing. I guess I just had this sense of mystery about the presence of Lee’s father on this island and Lee’s strange journey down this way near the end of his life. It’s kind’ve depressing that there’s nothing here but—“
“—the scabbard of the mystery?” John suggested.
He laughed. I suddenly felt uncomfortable again.
Dorothy creaked the door open.
THE ONE TO DIE FOR was carrying a big picnic basket and a smile.
“Let’s go to the beach,” she said eagerly.
“Yes…let’s go to the beach,” I agreed.
We found our way to the golden dunes on the eastern edge of the island right as the sun was setting in the west behind us. We took all our clothes off and raced each other into the warm water and crashing waves. The sky radiated with colorful light as we played in the foam of the dusk.
“Everything’s going to be all right,” I heard her say to herself as she meditated with the empyrean in view. I swam out until I could no longer touch the bottom. Something was bothering me in the back of my mind. It had to do with the legend of Lighthorse Harry and Washington’s sword but I couldn’t put my finger on it at that moment.
When I finally swam back to the shore, the Beloved had laid out all of the picnic materials and was readying for our small feast. Dorothy had given us a bottle of wine and some olives along with tuna sandwiches and chocolate chip cookies. There were also a couple of cupcakes with candles jammed in the top. She must’ve let it slip that it was her birthday.
We shared a sacred communion on that beach. For some reason, we just couldn’t tear ourselves away. The sun sank behind the dunes and suddenly we realized that it was going to be dark very soon. We finally managed to disengage ourselves from the Wonder and gather up our belongings and head back towards where we had grounded our kayak.
Rushing along the boardwalk, we realized that the tide had risen drastically. I felt a tinge of panic as we ran faster and faster. The boat was no longer stationary. There was water underneath it and I had to jump over the walkway and into the water to catch it before it floated away from us. Just in time. She took one last picture of where the sun had been while I tried to maneuver the boat over to the boardwalk so that she wouldn’t get wet. There was nothing left in the sky but a pink feather of light. She jumped into the front of the kayak as I pushed us through the marsh grass and towards what seemed like the tidal creek we had come in on. The darkness descended and a storm rumbled in the distance.
The problem was that, with the rising tide, the clear cut of the creeks was no longer visible. Everything was flooded. It became very difficult to ascertain the correct route for our exit from the island’s swampy network. When I got to where I couldn’t touch the bottom anymore, I jumped into the boat.
We were off. As I secured myself, I looked up into the sky just in time to witness a most fantastic thread of lightning followed almost immediately by a rollicking peal of deafening thunder. Then the lightning struck again, fracturing into a thousand different paths. I swallowed hard and locked my jaw.
Determined not to be dissuaded, we began paddling hard and fast through the confusion. Soon we realized that we were not alone in the water. There were enormous shapes floating alongside, in front of, and behind our little boat.
“Are those logs?” I asked.
“No, my Lord. They’re Alligators!” She even managed to pull off a British accent.
Everywhere. I started counting but the numbers got stuck in my throat as I realized the full portent of our dilemma. We were surrounded by hungry prehistoric amphibians with long teeth, who could swim and maneuver better than we could paddle.
So. This was why you weren’t supposed to wait until dark to paddle back to the mainland. Funny. No one mentioned alligators. It had never even entered into our considerations.
This way and that. We tried our best to elude them and find the right way to get the hell out of there. I tossed the Beloved her pistol and I had mine at the ready. Periodically we fired into the water to spook the creatures from getting too close to the boat. She warned me not to shoot to kill unless it was absolutely necessary. Right.
We didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. Because of the tide, one creek bled into another. We were lost, the gators were encircling, and the thunderstorm began to descend upon us. Any minute now, lightning might strike the water and send us on our way to an electronic afterlife. Either that or we would end up as supper for these overgrown water lizards. Floating ducks. Little yellow ducks.
We held our own as long as we could but soon it became clear that we were running low on ammo as well as stamina. We were completely lost. No progress had been made towards the ocean and St. Mary’s. The clouds shrouded the night with impenetrable darkness. The only thing I could make out was the even darker landmass of the island behind us.
It became clear to both of us that the only solution was to head back to the higher ground and try to hold out till the morning and make another start, when we could see better. We had been struggling for almost an hour and there was no telling where we were in relation to where we had been. But we made a beeline for what looked like a good direction and eventually hit something other than a floating predator or another wisp of grass. Land. God, I hate backtracking.
We managed to get up onto the bank without a gruesome encounter. We picked the boat up above our heads and ran a good 100 yards through the tall grass, starting at every noise, bewildered as the rain came pouring down on top of us. We stopped upon reaching the cover of an overhanging live oak tree. The tree’s branches stretched low to the ground. I angled the boat against the trunk and ran along the bottom until I reached the convergence of the branches. So many different choices.
Then I turned and held out my hand to her. Once we were secure in the tree, I looked around and realized that I had left my pack with all of the money, the camera, and the cellphone back on the shore, where we had emerged from the water. I stood up frantically, searching for the phone, hoping that perhaps I had jammed it into my pocket and while I was gesticulating wildly, I lost my balance and fell out of the tree, banging my head on a branch. Everything began to go in and out of focus. I blacked out for a moment. Where was I?

“Oh, my God!” she cried. “Are you okay?”
After a moment of trying to verify the current channel frequency, I yelled back.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little fall. Nothing serious.
I left my pack with the money and the camera and the phone. Jesus. Back at the waterline. Look. I’ve gotta go back and get it okay? You stay here. It’s dry and safe. You won’t have to worry about the ‘gators. And you’ve still got your pistol. Right?”
“Yes, but I only have one bullet left.”
“Well, that’s more than you’ll need.” I tried to reassure her while holding my bleeding head with one of my hands. “And here’s one of the paddles. I’ll take the other one with me. You’ll be all right.”
“Hurry back!” She implored.
“Don’t worry. I’m going to go get that stuff and return immediately. Then we’ll call Grace and she’ll come pick us up. We’ll have had a good natural shower before the big party begins. I’ll bet they’ll have music.”
She looked at me with those big brown puppy dog eyes. I swear to God. That woman was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen in my life.
“May I have the pleasure of the first dance?” I tried to be serious. She stuck her tongue out at me, playfully.
I ran out in the direction from which I believed we had come. The rain was much worse now. It was really ridiculous. As I walked blindly along, I realized the futility of recovering the stuff, much less finding where I had dropped it. With the waterline continuing to rise with the tide and the storm, the chances of that pack remaining in the same place were not very good.
After running what seemed like the distance we had traveled along the ground, I realized that I was not on the right path. I tried this way and then that. Then I tried backtracking but I couldn’t even find the tree where the Beloved was hiding safely. I yelled desperately for her but the wind and the rain drowned my puny cries.
We were separated and it looked like I was lost. At a certain point, I guess I could’ve just found another tree and hunkered down for the night but I was way too restless and frustrated. I had to keep going. I began walking in ever-widening concentric circles, trying to whack the grass with the paddle in order to mark my trail. How could I have so completely missed my mark?
After about an hour of this madness, I ran headfirst into an old fencepost. It did not appear familiar to me but it was a sign of civilization. It was not in a well-used area but there did appear to be an overgrown path cutting through the fence line a couple of sections to the right of where I was standing. I made my way to the opening and began following the path.
As I was walking along, my mind went back over the day’s material. I tried to rationalize the whole journey to myself. Was it really selfish that I had had the ulterior motive of searching for that sword on Juliet’s birthday? Perhaps. But I was a fool for adventure and, damnit, so was she, and I knew there would be all sorts of fun things for us to explore that she would enjoy probably more than I would. And hell, after all, how often is it that one is approached with such an offer as I had received? The recovery of George Washington’s sword! Of course, I had made nothing of it but it didn’t matter because ol’ Lighthorse Harry had already been dug up almost a century ago. And anyhow, it was more the potentiality kernelized within the whole affair that made for a silver lining. This was my method.
It’s strange how the mind precedes the body to an intersection of meaningful import. Mysterious synchronicities abound in this world if only we open our eyes. There is no such thing as a coincidence. No matter how big, infinite, and bewildering the world seems, somehow we will eventually find ourselves at the center of the meaning for which we had been searching. Rationality be damned. There is a magic substrata underlying every pulse.
I began to recognize my surroundings. The trees thinned out a little and I could make out that I was on high ground with a view to the water. My knee crashed into a hard stone and I tripped on some slippery marble. A grave! I was back at the cemetery! I could feel the outline of a chiseled epitaph under my fingers. I stood back up.
And as I was looking around at the tombstones now ghastly rising from the ground, periodically visible when the lightning struck, Lord Ashley’s voice came booming through my ears like the sound of thunder: “the scabbard lies below the mother, the sword lies below the father…”. That was it! That was what had been bothering me when we were swimming in the ocean earlier.
The sword lies below the father. Maybe, just maybe, Lee had buried the sword underneath his father. If that were true then perhaps the gravedigging party had not gone deep enough. Perhaps they had retrieved the body, leaving the sword, unaware of its presence.
Without another thought, I rushed over to Lighthorse Harry’s tombstone and furiously began digging away at the ground with my kayak paddle. Because it was so wet, the dirt was easy to move.
“Forgive me, oh Lord. Forgive me.” I uttered again and again, periodically thinking of Guenevere back at the tree and the insanity of our predicament. Here I was, mad as hell, intent upon desecrating the grave of the father of the greatest hero the South had ever known. But I couldn’t stop. I had to know.
Deeper and deeper I went. 2 feet. 3 feet. 4 feet. 5 feet. 6 feet. And finally, in a fit of passion, I struck a large rock, breaking one end of the paddle. It was some sort of bedrock, nothing manmade. I cleared an area the size of a large rectangular coffin but there was nothing. It was all just a farce. There was no sword here.
I was soaking wet, dirty beyond comprehension, and tired, as I stood down in the grave. I threw the paddle out and leaned with both hands against the bottom of the tombstone, which was right above my head at this point. I yelled at the top of my lungs. What was my life supposed to be about? What a sick joke! A hint of meaning, a sign to lure me into the forbidden zone. And then nothing, a waste of time. A devil’s dream. An imaginary castle. What do I have to show for all of this struggling! Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
The rain came pounding down. Dirt was getting in my eye so with one hand I tried to wipe the debris away. As I did this, there was a blinding strike of lightning. In a split second of revelation, I saw something jutting from the bottom of the tombstone. Upon closer examination, it looked like the handle…of a sword? Maybe…Ah…surely my mind was playing with me now. I reached over and gripped the handle. Could it be true? Was I the One? I brought my other hand over and with all my might I pulled down on the obtrusion. To my surprise it gave way and as I moved lower, pulling the blade from an encrusted embrace, I brought my right knee to the ground. In that moment I knew that my life would never be the same.
After about ten minutes of devotional silence, I contemplated the significance of my discovery. Finally, I climbed out of the grave of Lighthorse Harry Lee with George Washington’s sword in my hand. I found the paddle that I had thrown and I commenced to refill the grave.
Then I walked slowly and deliberately along the path toward Dungeness. I thought I heard strange music coming from the old ruins, and as I got closer, I was sure of it. No longer were there defunct remains from a burned down Victorian mansion. A proud, white, Neo-Classical home stood there, brightly illuminated by torches, candelabras, and chandeliers placed at periodic points, shimmering in the Summer night. The storm had ceased. The air was hot and heavy and smelled of sweet magnolias. I could see through the windows that there was a party being held. Men and women dressed in antebellum clothing danced in the main ballroom.
I walked around the house. In another room, people were munching on hor’d oeuvres. I turned back to look in the direction I had come. A woman outlined in a glowing light was walking towards me. She was carrying something although I wasn’t sure what it was. I began to move towards her. It felt almost as if I was floating.
It was THE ONE TO DIE FOR. She was holding a scabbard. I looked down at the sword in my hand.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked.
“Yes, of course.” I replied somewhat bashfully.
“I’ve been lost for such a long time.”
She held the scabbard up and I slid the sword into its rightful place.
“Come back to me,” she said.
A magnetic force drew me towards her. I could feel her lips touching mine.

“Wake up! Wake up!” I could hear her voice. Then, her hands were pumping my chest. My eyes opened onto hers as she breathed deeply into my mouth. When she saw me come to, she lifted her head up and I could make out some tree branches above her.
“Thank God! You’re alive. You fell out of the tree. Must’ve knocked your head. Can you hear me!” she yelled loudly into my face.
After a moment of orientation, I found the strength to speak.
“Yes. Yes. What is happening?” I asked.
“You were looking for something and you fell out of the tree. Remember?”
“Oh, yeah. The pack. With the camera, the money, and the phone. I left it back where we got out of the water.” I sat up.
“I have the pack. Remember? When you were pushing the boat onto the shore, you tossed it to me. But there’s no money in it. Is that where you put the $10000?”
It was time to come clean. I had taken it as far as I could. The adventure had gotten out of hand.
“There is no $10000. There never was an old man. I have no idea whatever happened to George Washington’s sword. I created the whole thing just so we could have fun on your birthday. It was about the silver lining, you know? I’m sorry.” I sniffed as the rain continued to come down.
“Look. We don’t have time for this. We have to get out of here. I’m calling Grace Edwards to come pick us up.”
“No.” I stopped her. “We can make it back.” I insisted.
“Are you crazy?” she said.
“Yes, I am.” I stood up, a little shakily, and picked up one end of the boat. “Come on.”
“No. I’m calling her. I don’t trust you anymore.”
She dialed the number and I let the boat drop to the ground.

The old man sat across from me in the tavern back in Savannah. We had downed about five beers apiece and were now in good spirits.
“So, you managed to secure the sword, my boy. Fantastic! You must be the chosen one, indeed!” Dr. Ashley gripped my shoulder and shook me a couple of times. I smiled and nodded my head humorously.
“Well, not exactly.” I replied.
“After we found the sword, we hurried back to the boat. There was just enough daylight left but darkness was closing in fast. The tide had come in and it was difficult to make out which one was the right path to take. My girlfriend noticed something in front of us that looked like a log floating. Except it wasn’t a log. It was an alligator. Soon, it became apparent that we were surrounded by them. There was a storm that was just beginning to rage. Lightning was striking in the distance.”
“My God,” Ashley said. “what did you do?”
“Well, to be honest, I was scared out of my mind. Thanks to the Beautiful One, though, we made it through. She had the brilliant idea to periodically slap her paddle onto the surface of the water like a beaver’s tail. It made a fantastic sound and caused the gators to steer clear. I remember watching the concentric rippling effect that it had on the surface.
While she was clearing the way, I was navigating this way and that, trying to find the right path out of the tidal creek network. What a labyrinth!”
“And?…” Ashley asked with increasing curiosity.
“After a long series of trial and error, we finally made it to the ocean. I couldn’t believe it. We even hit the fountain bubbling from the aquifer and from that point on we could make our way by means of the buoys with green lights on them.
Lightning did strike the water but it was about a mile off and the rushing current of electricity across the water dissipated right before it got to our boat.”
“Amazing!” Ashley couldn’t seem to get enough. I continued.
“The storm finally cleared up. Then the moon came out. It was a rich full moon that cast a magical light across the settling waters. The stars were twinkling, too. Bethany began singing a lovely child’s song. I think it was “Row, row, row your boat” or something like that.
This was the best part of the journey because we had accomplished all of the objectives. I had retrieved George Washington’s sword. She had gotten to ride her wild horses—“
“—Wait!” Dr. Ashley interrupted me. “I don’t remember that part. You said she fell off the horse when the truck came onto the scene…”
I scratched my head for a second. “Oh, you’re right. It was at the Edwards’ party that night, after I fell out of the tree. All the island’s inhabitants gathered together on the ruins of Dungeness. There was a band.
She and I wandered off at some point in the middle of a dance. We kept twirling around and around. I guess we just got carried away. Some of the horses were grazing in a nearby glade. There was a large white stallion that seemed not to mind our approach. After some coaxing, he let her swing up on his back.
Then he took off. I don’t know how she held on. I lost sight of them.
Afterwards she said that he had run down to the water and taken her for a wild ride along the shoreline. She claimed that after a while, the horse mistook the reflection of the moonlight on the surface of the ocean for a path and literally began racing into the water, leaping over and through the waves. When she came back she was holding a large conch shell. I asked her if I could see it and she gave it to me to hold.
I put my ear up to it, you know, to see if I could hear the ocean—“
Ashley interrupted me again.
“But how were you at the party during the evening if you had left the island before dusk?” He was now getting suspicious.
“Easy,” I replied. “We were there for two days. Remember? The party was on the first night and we headed back on the second night.”
“Oh, right. I’m sorry.” He apologized. “Okay, so…back to the return home…”
“Yes…so, the moon was bright and she was singing a song. I was keeping an eye out for the green light buoys that were leading us back to St. Mary’s.
Periodically, I would pull out the sword. Just to get a good look at it. I couldn’t believe that I had really found George Washington’s sword. The blade was still bright despite all the years it had been embedded in that stone. It reflected the moon’s light and I bounced the shimmer off of her golden hair in front of me.
Everything was peaceful and I felt as if we had overcome all the obstacles but, unfortunately, there was still more to come.” I shook my head.
“What else could possibly go wrong?” Dr. Ashley inquired.
“With the land in sight in front of us, a shark’s fin appeared above the waterline to the right of our kayak. We both began to panic.” I could feel Ashley getting excited again.
“Didn’t you have a gun or something?” He asked.
“No. We didn’t have any firearms. She doesn’t like guns.” I replied.
“Go on,” he said, drinking down some more of his ale.
“The shark was a biggin’…I ain’t a lyin’ to you. Mighta’ been a Great White. He circled us several times and then on one pass, I could see his head come out of the water. He was goin’ right for my girlfriend!” I exclaimed.
“So, what did you do?” The old man asked intently, now on the edge of his seat.
“The only thing I could. I took George Washington’s sword and with all my might I stood and dove at the shark, driving the blade all the way through his gills. It was enough to repulse the attack. But…he took the sword down with him.” I closed my eyes, allowing for it all to sink in.
After a moment of silence, I opened them again. The old man wasn’t buying it. The spell of the tale had been broken. Dr. Ashley looked at me with disgust.
“Oh, that’s bullshit!” he yelled. “I want my goddamn money back! You’re going to try and keep that sword for yourself. What did you do with it?”
“No, I swear…honest to God…that’s the Truth!”

Row, row, row your boat,
Gently down the stream,
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily
Life is but a dream.