Dungeon Rock, The Real Story!

Dungeon Rock The Real Story? By John Bourgeois   Copyright 2012 No part of this book may be copied or used in any format without the expressed written permission of the author. Preface When I was a child, I really didn’t appreciate the things presented to me at the time. It wasn’t until years later, that I came to find out the usefulness of the information. The things that I learned could not be taught in any classroom or school. So keeping that in mind, I dedicate this book to my Dad, who took my brothers and me to places where the average kid never gets to go, and when we did travel, we traveled in style! We did it in such a way, that what we did learn would never be forgotten. We didn’t stay in fancy hotels, or eat in any restaurants along the way either. Heck, we couldn’t have afforded them anyway. We received our education in a back to nature way, by camping in tents, sleeping on the ground, and by cooking our meals over the open campfire. We thoroughly enjoyed these trips, in a way that allowed us to explore what this country has to offer, and always with a historical perspective attached. To be given the opportunity to grow up and live in Massachusetts, with Maine, New Hampshire, New York and Vermont, all at our doorsteps, right there within our reach. They all had their unique histories, put right there for us to grab. It was a knowledge that could never be taken away, an education that would last a lifetime. One that would never be lost, or forgotten and one that money could never buy. While most other kids our age would only be able to read about these places, we received an education that no college or university could ever supply. My Dad made sure we grasped the history of our country, by visiting such places as Fort William Henry, Fort Ticonderoga, Old Ironsides, The Freedom Trail, Lexington and Concord Battlefields, the National Sea Shore, the Old Man and the Mountain, Lake Champlain, and other great places of interest. We visited Yellow Stone National Park, Bryce Canyon, the Grand Canyon, and Yosemite, just to name a few. He took us too many other places throughout this great country. These road trips have left me with lifelong lasting impressions. They have given my brothers and me an appreciation for our great country, an appreciation that cannot be put into words. So I dedicate this book to my Dad. He was the boy who left High School in the tenth grade, as did many others in his home town, so he could go off, and serve his country by participating in a World War II to protect us, the citizens of the United States. After the war was over he returned as a man, one who earned many medals by helping to save this country. Yes, he left as a boy, and returned as a man. But one of his highest achievements he ever received was when his home town awarded him the High School Diploma he never got the chance to earn. Although this was bestowed many years later, by the citizens of his home town, (the people whom he fought for) it was an honor that he deeply appreciated. Thanks Dad, for without you and the education you provided, I would have never been able to put this literary work together. Chapter 1 ……… In the beginning? When I was a young boy, growing up in the small city of Lynn Massachusetts, in the late nineteen fifties and early sixties, I had the privilege of exploring and playing in a forested location of Massachusetts called the Lynn Woods Reservation. Although many years have past since I last visited there, I believe it is now known as the Lynn Woods Recreation Area. This is a public preservation area, which still to this day has been untouched by any development. It has not been developed or altered in anyway, and it still remains as it has always been for hundreds of years. The “woods”, as we referred to them, were such a fun place to go to. My brothers and I would accompany my parents on day long “car trips”, usually on a Saturday or Sunday outing, driving along the dirt roads that inter-weaved with each other as we explored what the “woods” had to offer. Sometimes we’d stop and pick wild blueberries. One of my favorite things to do was picking and chewing on the wild Wintergreen Leaves that were spattered on the forest floor. Other times we’d go exploring, as we listened to my father tell us the tails that accompanied each location. He’d tell us stories of when he trampled through the very same places as a young boy in the nineteen twenties and thirties. One generation, teaching a younger one. Today though, times have changed, and driving on those roads is no longer allowed. So if one still wants to adventure there to enjoy the same pastimes, they’ll have to do it on foot. There were many things to see and do in these woods, and I was always fascinated by the folklore, and the legends attached to the various locations my father took us to. These different sites, and attractions, were all contained within the confines of the forest. For, he too enjoyed them as a child, and his parents had taken him to the very same places, while sharing with him those very same stories. It was these fascinating tales that kept us coming back, time after time. One generation teaching another, passing down along the genealogical line the things that had not been written down. His knowledge was deeply imparted upon us, while he always made sure we understood what he said, as he took us to the different locations, pointing out the various sites, and sharing the ancient histories that accompanied each one of them. As I grew older, somewhere between the ages of eleven to fourteen, I frequently spent time in the woods with my cousins and our other friends. After all, by this time in our lives, we were full fledged Boy Scouts, and what better place to practice our scouting skills, than right there in “our” woods. Today’s urban child cannot appreciate the time frame, and will never have any opportunity to experience the enjoyment this area brought to each and every one of us. Unfortunately, because of today’s parental restrictions, the changes that have taken place in today’s world, and most importantly for the safety of the children, they’ll never get the chance to enjoy some of our most pleasurable pastimes. There were two separate and distinct avenues of direction one could venture to, for exploration of the area. Sometimes, when my family ventured out on one of these excursions, we would simply park the car at the woods entrance, and walk the path along the North side of the Reservoir, or Breeds Pond more correctly. This area of the woods on this side of the pond has a history all unto itself. Filled with folk lore such as the Wolf Pits, OX Pasture, the Meeting House Swamp, just to name a few. Other times we would simply drive right through the main entrance of the woods, located on the south side of the pond, traveling on old crumbling and rutted dirt roads that took us deep inside the confines of the mystical forest. Similar locations were there also, such as the Stone Tower, Dungeon Rock, Pirates Glen, Penny Brook Bridge, the Steel Tower, Finneys Bay, and the Powder House Foundation. Shall I not forget to include the stone walls that were dotted throughout the forest? These were used to separate different kinds of livestock, such as pigs, oxen, horses or cattle, for grazing, and containment. Within the boundaries of the woods are two city reservoirs. They were man made by damming up certain small rivers and streams. We never really knew their names at the time. We simply called them the “Big Rezzie” and the “Little Rezzie”. Their actual names are Walden Pond (Big Rezzie) and Breeds Pond (Little Rezzie). Once our car was parked along the roadside we all excitedly got out and ventured up the small narrow dirt road to the North Side of the Little Rezzie. We were looking to see what we could find, and what we hadn’t seen before. On that side, the north side, there were a couple of points of interest that always called for us to explore. If you walk about a half of a mile up the dirt road, adjacent to the reservoir, and look up on the hill there will be a large outcrop of large granite boulders. This location was just past a small grove of birch trees situated a few feet to the right of the path. My dad would tell us how the Indians would use the birch bark for making canoes, how they would also use the bark as paper, and also for covering their Wigwams. They would use the branches for bows and arrows, and the leaves to chew on for medicinal purposes. The Native American always made sure he used everything and did not waste anything he used. Dad would also tell us about the Sachem, who was the Indian leader and also the medicine man. He was careful to point out how the Sachem would use the different tree barks and plant roots as medicine to cure most anything. Somewhere also along this path there is a small cave. It is located way up on the side of a hill. The construction of this cave like structure occurred thousands of years ago and had been placed there by glacial activity. I challenge you to go there and try to find it. I am most certain it is still there today. Look for where there are two large boulders, each weighing many tons positioned so that one sits atop of the other in such a fashion that they appear to be constructing a cave, or at least that’s what we pretended them to be. Once we even stacked rocks on one side of the entrance to give it the illusion of being totally enclosed. When I last visited there, as an adult, the rocks we gathered and placed were still there, undisturbed. Within this small cave like structure is evidence of many visits by exploring children who enjoyed hours upon hours of play. Whether it was “Army” “Cowboys and Indians” “Camping” or even “Robin Hood and his band of Merry Men”, these hills and rocky structures supported many rounds of children’s play activity. The type of children’s play activity that is seldom seen practiced and discouraged by today’s parents. Today there are no hero’s like we had back then. On one visit, we tried to carve into the rock, cave carvings to add to the mystery, but the hardness of the granite prevented us from making such a lasting impression. We would use our Boy Scout hatchets and knives to fashion bows and arrows. We were always on the lookout for big game. Our imaginations took over our realities, as we entered into a world of fantasy for hours on end. Our Boy Scout survival kits contained fishing line, a Porcupine quill, and a hook. Sometimes we would go down to the Rezzie, and see what we could catch, which of course was always and usually, nothing! So fearing starvation, we learned to bring our own food, robbing our home refrigerators, and stuffing our knap sacks with much more food than we required. We couldn’t wait to use our mess kits, and our official Boy Scout fork, knife and spoon set, that all snapped together and fit in its neat little case. This was when we explored alone, without our parents. One of the first things we did was to gather our fire wood. We had our official Boy Scout hatchets, and of course we made sure we brought our water proof matches. Once we made camp, and our camp fire, the rest of the day was ours to enjoy. Of course our parents were totally unaware of these activities, and even though there was no camping, no fishing, no hunting, no swimming, no trapping, and especially no campfires allowed in the woods, as was evidenced by the posted signs on what seemed to be just about every other tree, that didn’t stop us. Because we never really felt that it applied to us. After all, we were Boy Scouts, and trained explorers! Walking further along the same road, perhaps a couple of hundred yards just off of the path, you will come to what is commonly known as the Wolf Pits. As far as I remember there were three of them. They were large pits dug into the ground and lined with precisely cut granite blocks of stone. The dimensions of the pits were about three feet wide and about eight feet long. Originally they were dug deep, probably around eight feet or more. Legend says they were built to capture the many wolves, which were plentiful in the early days. There was even a bounty placed on the wolf, placed by the Commonwealth. Simply put, you catch and kill a wolf, cut off his ears, turn them in, and collect your reward. As children we always wondered, “Where there still wolves in this forest?” If not, then how come we never saw any deer, fox, rabbit, or beaver? Is this because there still were wolves and the wolves still hunted these animals, depleting the forest completely of any wildlife, we wondered? Our imaginations were filled with all kinds of suppositions and theories that we constantly tried to resolve. There may be another explanation for these pits, and I will put herein further on my suggestion as to what they really are. But in present time, and through the years, these pits have been filled in with debris and fallen leaves. This residue composted year after year and over time started to fill the pits in. Now they’re just big compost pits, but we’ll discuss that further along in our story. Traveling further on down the path, about a mile or so, there will be a fork in the road. At this point the road really narrows and is more of a path than a road. If you take the right path, you will come upon a wooded foot bridge that traverses a swampy area, this is called “Meeting House Swamp”. This is way up on the north end of Breeds pond. Walking over the bridge and a bit farther the trail finally ends at what is now Route One, but prior to that highway being built, the path continued further West into the Camp Nihan Reservation where the Boy Scouts maintained a camp, the Conservation Workers also during the 1930’s, and probably the local Indians before them. All of this is well within walking distance to the Saugus Iron Works, a National Historic site, and also a main focal point of our story. Turning around and returning back to the beginning of this road, where we parked the car, there were the remnants of a building that had long ago burned down. We always understood that this was a log cabin, and the only thing left was the stone fireplace. I believe this still stands today. What really was this structure one might ask? My research has concluded the following. Back around the turn of the century, the preservationists of the time wanted all of the residents to enjoy the nature and beauty of the Lynn Woods.   Hiram Marble, who originally dug Dungeon Rock and then his son after him, would give tourists tours of their cave. People came from all around to enjoy the area, and see for themselves where the pirate treasure might lie. Later, after Mr. Marble’s and his son’s death, and in order to make the woods easily accessible to everyone, by providing easy access, a station house was built, and a trolley line was constructed to transport visitors to the woods entrance from the city center. As a child, I do kind of remember remnants of the tracks in the road surface, close to where the front of the building might have been. However, all that remains today is a stone chimney due to a fire that burned the building down. It is said that one night vandals broke into the building and torched it to the ground, and it was never rebuilt or replaced. Something the historical society should consider rebuilding. The road on the south side of the reservoir, the main entrance, had two large stone columns to guard the entrance. These were built in the thirties by the Works Progress Administration or WPA. The columns seemed to be held together by a long chain that traversed one column to the other dangling across the road. This chain was removed daily by the caretaker of the woods, the Ranger as we called him. He would unlock and replaced the chains on the entrances each day at sunrise and sunset. Those were the times that the woods were open to visitors. Lined up on each side of the dirt road, when entering the park, were many large granite boulders place in at an imaginary curb on both sides of the road outlining the roads surface area. This entrance road led to our first point of interest, or the “Stone Tower”. This structure was also built by the WPA. The WPA was formed by the government to put men back to work and help get the country back on its feet after the Great Depression that ensued after the crash of 1929. Our next stop on this road is the focal point of our story and the location of what is known to most everyone and called Dungeon Rock. Anyone who has ever lived in Lynn Massachusetts has probably paid a visit to this historic and fascinating cave. Once you visit it, and see it for yourself, you have to wonder, was there really a Pirate treasure? Was there really a Pirate cave? Was this place it? Was there any basis in fact to this tale, or was someone just fabricating these stories with another goal in mind? Was Hiram Marble actually correct? Was this the right location to begin his exploration? If not, then what ever happened to the real cave, if there ever was one, and this one isn’t it? Did anyone ever find it, the real treasure I mean? Well this story will not only try to answer those questions, but will more than likely raise some new ones. The treasure might still be out there, or maybe it’s not. Why, once you read this tale, it might also promote a whole new generation of explorers, who will participate in a new adventure and look for the treasure themselves. But what I am trying to do here, in this document, is put together a fictional story based on some historical fact. I want to bring to life all of the characters within the legend, and also introduce some new ones. The reader will have to use their own imagination to figure out if what I state herein has any possibility of ever having happened or they may begin their own research to poke holes in mine, or use mine to complete theirs. I welcome the excitement.