Keepers of Roan Island: The Lighthouse That Guards Against More Than Storms

The deteriorating remnants of the Roan Island Lighthouse exist on Maine's craggy northern shoreline, about fourteen miles from the nearest mainland harbor, Eastport. This lonely station, built in 1879 to direct ships across the perilous Fundy currents, gained a reputation for claiming lives rather than saving them.

The Foundation and Early Years

Following the loss of three merchant vessels in the winter of 1877, the United States Lighthouse Board commissioned the Roan Island Lighthouse. The little, rocky island—less than half a mile across—was chosen as the ideal site to warn ships away from the deadly shoals that had claimed over forty lives in the preceding decade.

The first keeper, Thomas Blackwood, arrived with his wife Martha and their little son on November 3rd, after construction was completed in October 1879. The family's inaugural email characterized the island as "desolate but serviceable" with "unusual echoes that carry across the water on still nights."

According to all accounts, the Blackwoods meticulously maintained the lighthouse during its first sixteen months of service. Passing vessels' logbooks mentioned the continuous beacon that kept them safe during winter storms and summer fog.

The first incident occurred on March 17, 1881.

On March 17, 1881, the supply schooner Northern Star made its planned delivery to Roan Island. Captain James Holloway wrote in his ship's log that he arrived at Roan Island at about 10:15 AM and found the lighthouse dark due to severe fog. When we docked, we discovered the keeper's rooms were unlocked but empty. The Blackwood family's things are still in situ, with beds made and a supper partially consumed at the table. T. Blackwood's final entry in the journal, dated March 14th, simply states: 'Something watches from the rocks below. M. insists that we are not alone on the island. A careful search found no trace of the family. Most curiously, the lighthouse door was locked from the inside with the key remaining in place."

A comprehensive search of the small island revealed nothing. No remains were ever found, and the three Blackwoods were later assumed lost at sea, even though no storms had been reported in the days preceding their disappearance.

The Gardner Family: 1881–1883

After having problems finding new keepers ready to fill the position, William Gardner and his brother Robert accepted the duty in June 1881. The brothers, both bachelors and Civil War veterans, reported no strange incidents during their first year of service.

Their quarterly reports were detailed and professional until the winter of 1882 when William began demanding a transfer to another lighthouse. In his letters to the Lighthouse Board, he described "unexplained noises from beneath the rocky foundation" and "the distinct feeling of being observed when alone in the tower."

His demands were denied due to a staffing shortfall. On December 12, 1882, Robert Gardner wrote in the official logbook: "William refuses to sleep." He claims to have seen someone observing him from the seashore last night, even though we are completely alone on this island. The creature stood stationary for more than an hour before dissolving into the surf. W. now carries his service revolver fully loaded at all times.

Three months later, on March 15, 1883, the supply boat arrived and discovered just Robert Gardner manning the lighthouse. According to the official report, Robert appeared very emaciated and was found trapped in the oil storage room. When asked about his brother's whereabouts, he continually said, "He went to them. They called from the water, and he came to them.

William's body was never discovered. Robert Gardner was withdrawn from service and put to the Eastern Maine Asylum, where he died in 1889, never giving a cohesive account of what transpired on the island.

The Isolation Years: 1883–1901.

Following the Gardner incident, the Lighthouse Board assigned only rotating short-term keepers to Roan Island, with no individual serving for more than three months. This tradition lasted eighteen years, and at least seven keepers reported unexpected occurrences:

In June 1887, Keeper Alvin Morris observed "faces that appear in the lighthouse windows during storms, visible only from the outside looking in."

November 1890: Keeper Peter Lawson quit his job after only six weeks, forfeiting his salary. He just said, "No Christian man should set foot on that cursed rock."

August 1895: Keeper Samuel Crawford's log became increasingly obsessive, culminating with his accusation that "they come from the sea caves below, scratching at the foundation stones after midnight."

The most frightening event happened in October 1897, when Keeper Frederick Walsh was discovered on the mainland's shore, fourteen miles from his post, suffering from cold and exposure. When Walsh was awakened, he said he had swum the full distance to avoid what he called "the congregation beneath the lighthouse." Walsh's clothes were discovered neatly folded at the island's pier during the ensuing investigation.

The Matthews Family: 1901–1904

To bring stability to the ailing lighthouse, the board appointed veteran keeper Jonathan Matthews, his wife Eleanor, and their two teenage daughters to Roan Island in April 1901. Matthews had successfully maintained three other lighthouses and was respected for his practical, no-nonsense attitude.

For nearly three years, the Matthews family appeared to defy the norm. Their reports were excellent, and the light functioned well. Jonathan mocked the lighthouse's notoriety in a letter to his brother in November 1903, stating that the ghost stories were made up by lonely sailors. "The only spirits here are those in my private brandy reserve."

Only four months later, on March 16, 1904, the quarterly supply boat discovered the lighthouse abandoned once more. The scenario was unsettlingly identical to the Blackwood disappearance 23 years before—personal things untouched, meals half-eaten, and no signs of struggle.

Eleanor Matthews' diary entry from March 13, 1904, provided the lone clue: "Jonathan insists the noises from below are just sea caves and shifting rocks." But they're too rhythmic and deliberate. Last night, Lily [their daughter] claimed to have seen wet tracks heading up from the shore, even though none of us had been outside. J. finally revealed that he had heard the voices too, calling from the sea at night. "Calling our names."

All four Matthews family members have vanished without a trace. Investigators took note of the date, which was almost 23 years to the day after Blackwood's disappearance.

Automation and Abandonment: 1904–1953.

Following the Matthews family's disappearance, the Lighthouse Board made an uncommon decision to automate the Roan Island Lighthouse, which was one of the first in the country to get such an update. The refurbishment was finished in 1906 and only required quarterly maintenance visits.

Between 1906 and 1953, eighteen maintenance workers reported odd incidents on the island. Eight declined to return for subsequent assignments. The most prevalent reports included the following:

The experience of being watched from the shoreline

Unexplained wet tracks inside the lighthouse

Voices that appeared to originate from the foundation or the surrounding water

The unexplainable breakdown of equipment during March visits.

The final reported occurrence happened on March 14, 1953, when maintenance technicians Gregory Powell and Martin Schaefer were assigned to repair the automatic lamp that had gone out three nights before.

Only Powell returned to the mainland. According to the official Coast Guard investigation, Powell stated that while working in the lamp chamber, they heard something heavy dragging itself up the lighthouse stairs. During the investigation, Powell described seeing his colleague descending the stairs toward what appeared to be several figures at the bottom landing.

Powell confined himself in the lamp room till the dawn. When Powell exited, Schaefer had vanished, and he discovered a trail of seawater leading from the base of the lighthouse to the shore.

The Decommissioning

Following the 1953 incident, the Coast Guard permanently decommissioned the Roan Island Lighthouse. A contemporary, fully automated beacon was placed on a neighboring island, and Roan Island was made inaccessible to unauthorized individuals.

On April 30, 1953, Coast Guard Commander Walter Pierce issued a confidential memorandum stating that he could not sanction additional human presence on Roan Island based on its service history. The pattern of disappearances and mental problems over 74 years cannot be disregarded as coincidence or hysteria. Whatever power occupies this island appears to follow a cyclical pattern, with peak activity around mid-March. I recommend permanent evacuation and restricted status.

The Island Today

Since 1953, Roan Island has been officially uninhabited. The lighthouse still stands, but decades of neglect have left it in ruins. The Coast Guard has established a three-mile exclusion zone around the island, ostensibly for "environmental protection."

Even now, local fishermen in Eastport and the surrounding communities avoid the seas near the island. When asked why, many people express practical concerns about the dangerous shoals. However, some of the elder captains simply say that "nothing good ever came from that rock" and that "some places belong to something else."

Perhaps most striking is a local nautical tradition that has survived for generations: fishing vessels passing within sight of Roan Island after dark will sound three short whistle blasts—allegedly to notify those watching from the lighthouse that they are "just passing through."

In March 2018, marine biologists performing a harbor seal population study reported that their research vessel's electronics failed as they approached the island. Dr. Eliza Carrington, the team leader, reported in her field notes that while waiting for their systems to reboot, they heard repeated calls from the island. The voices appeared to be shouting out specific names, which none of us recognized but felt strangely familiar at the time. Our skipper, a local, quickly began manually starting the emergency motor, saying only, "They know we hear them now." "That's how it starts."

To this day, no one knows what happened to the three generations of lighthouse keepers who vanished from Roan Island, or why the disappearances frequently occurred on the same day. Whatever secrets the island has been sealed within its crumbling stone walls and the dark waters that surround it—a mystery that continues to throw a long shadow over this remote portion of the Maine coastline.