In the early evening of November 10, 1975, during a heavy storm on Lake Superior, the S. S. Edmund Fitzgerald sank. Her captain and crew of 28 were never found. No one knows why the ship sank so quickly or why the captain never sent out a distress call. And though many years have passed since the incident, mystery still surrounds the tragedy.
Psychic Marie St. Clair investigates the mystery and delivers a message of love from a lost crew member.
The Connection
At 1 AM, I got into my relaxation mode and successfully connected to the Edmund Fitzgerald. The connection was frightening at first, because I arrived before the ship sank while it was being battered by a terrifying storm, what’s known as the dreaded “Witch of November.” It was as if I was watching the ship on a television screen, and, at the same time, I was there. I couldn’t feel the cold or water as I was there in spirit and not in bodily form.
Yet I could almost feel the malevolent essence of the storm as I watched great and punishing waves turn the water into jaws with the strength to cut metal. All the while, great winds launched their own assault, prying at the deck and pummeling the already compromised hatch covers. She was heavily loaded with iron and traveling low in the water, which only contributed to her taking on water from the unimaginably huge waves.
And the captain and crew in the pilot house realized that the ship was taking on a lot of water and that there was a problem with the hatch covers. I saw two men go on the deck–perhaps to close a hatch cover that had blown off. A great wave lashed out at the deck and carried the two men away. The captain said something else that I couldn’t make out, and then the bow was abruptly hit by another wave, while the stern was rocked by another.
Below, I saw water rising up through big stacks of metal pellets. I saw metal pellets shift toward the bow and could almost feel the ship strain from the unimaginable tug on her bones. I saw the bow listing precariously. Yet on the radio, the captain said something along the lines of: “We’re holding our own.”
And then the vessel was swamped by water, literally beaten and broken by waves and gales. And–much to the crew’s shock–the ship split at a point that was about two thirds of the way down from the bow. There was no time to react. The ship went down headfirst, almost instantly, and the stern followed, taking the crew with it.
I watched the undulations of the black water for some time, reflecting on what I’d seen, an overwhelming sense of dread and fear welling up inside me as I pondered the crew’s terrible fate. I was afraid to follow them into the depths and had to remind myself that I must in order to find the information that I sought, and that it was entirely safe for me to do so as I was not there in body. And finally, I summoned enough courage to take a dive where I came upon the wreckage.
I was met by an older, gray-haired man in the front of the ship who identified himself as the captain. He told me his name was “Sorely,” or at least that’s how I heard it. He was evasive about the ship’s sinking, seemed not to want to discuss the incident or maybe he didn’t know how to mentally convey information to me. He didn’t seem opposed about my being there, but was somewhat intimidated about my presence. The other members were too and stayed away, hiding within the ship’s stern, but I knew they were listening to the conversation with great interest.
This is not the first time that I’ve experienced this strange “fear” reaction from those I’ve made a connection to. Read some of my other Case Files to see what I mean. Since I was meeting this resistance from the men, I started to explain to the captain that I’d come for research purposes, telling him that the world wants answers about why the ship sank and about the men who went down with her. He seemed to relax, and so I began to ask questions.
I asked why the ship had sank, and he said: “Storm.”
I asked again and was told: “Brittle metal”
When Questioned further, he said only, “Metal fatigue,” and I got a strong mental picture of the weak metal and the great stress going against it. It had to cut itself loose from the grind, could no longer contain itself. It broke in two just as I’d seen.
I asked why no distress signal was issued and why no one tried to abandon the ship.
He said: “No time.”
Such short statements from spirits are not uncommon. I would be more surprised if the person I connected to issued full and descriptive sentences. The short replies don’t generally represent the person’s reluctance to tell their story. Instead, I believe that the lack of verbosity is due to some kind of physical resistance or block. It could due to the spirit’s difficulty in relaying information to another like someone talking on a defective phone line. After all, we’re thinking to each other, not using our lips. I believe that it’s not easy for all to accomplish this feat and is a skill that must be mastered. I also believe that spirits are, for the most part, not allowed or are unable to convey information to me unless I ask them something specific. Sometimes, however, that’s not true, as another spirit aboard the ship reveals.
There was a strong and passionate voice among the men. Though I could make out few details about him, since he continued to hang back in the shadows, I, nevertheless, sensed that he was a younger man with brown or reddish hair. He yelled repeatedly: “Tell Elaina (or Alena) I love her!” He virtually yelled this message at me often during the connection. It was important to him that I carry this message to the world, and I assured him that I would deliver his message if possible. If there’s an Elaina out there who had a loved one on board the ship, I would certainly appreciate it if you’d let me know. It would make me feel so much better to know that you’d received the man’s heartfelt message.
As the captain escorted me about the battered remains of the vessel for what I can only call a tour, the others started venturing closer. By the look of things, I’d started out many years after the wreck–in the ship’s present state, but as we proceeded, its condition changed. It didn’t seem like the ship was wrecked or under water. Instead, it was suddenly in perfect condition, and I could have been on board during a beautiful day when it was getting ready to set out on its next adventure.
I believe this is how the crew perceives the ship and their surroundings.
The tour ended in a room with a long table. I sensed that it was the men’s favorite room, the place where they most liked to gather–perhaps the galley. And we talked for some time. Unfortunately, I don’t remember what we said, but I apparently gained the men’s trust, and they no longer feared me. In fact, many of the men who’d seemed fearful about my presence earlier now seemed to want to be near me, seemed glad that I was there. Many of the men wore big smiles as they gathered around the table.
I don’t wish to upset any family members with my account, but I feel that I must be truthful when revealing what I saw and sensed during a connection, and I’m sorry to say that despite this amiable environment, in which I found myself, I feel that many of the men are not entirely at peace. Some had not accepted the tragedy or their own death. Even the captain, on some level, seemed unwilling to accept his fate. I also strongly felt that not all 29 men were there. Some had either moved on to the other side or were still hiding from me.
I told the men that I believed it would help them if we prayed together. They honored my request. Holding hands, we formed a circle and prayed. I asked God to give these men peace and comfort and to let his healing light flow through them and lead them home.
Then I snapped out of the vision. Stunned, I could only sit there for a long while, hoping that my prayer had been answered. I realized that I’d had a greater purpose in going there than merely to learn information about the tragedy. I unknowingly went there to help those men cross over. And perhaps I’d accomplished this as, following the prayer, I was suddenly ejected from the scene from some unseen force. I knew that God had had another purpose in my mission there. I was supposed to connect to those men and help them.
I glanced at the clock. It was 5 AM. I had been on board the ship for more than 4 hours. This was the longest that I’d ever been in a vision. I was ravenous, something that often happens after I make a psychic connection, especially a very strong one like this. I immediately began to evaluate what I saw.
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