In the old Long Beach Island town, Great Swamp,
there once stood a boarding hotel;proclaimed 'round the state as a "Mansion of Health" and reputed to make people well.
Summer clientel came from the cities in stylish wool swim suits, so fine.
These ladies and gentlemen sunned on the beach and romped in the cool, ocean brine.
Native people looked on in amusement as the proud tourists flaunted their wealth,
for they knew that they shared the same sun and fresh air as the guests at the Mansion of Health.
Now, the manager of Great Swamp's mansion served as the Wreck Master, besides.
His duty was to account for the wrecks, and all things drifted in with the tide.
Then, one night, a Nor'eastern blizzard in the winter of eighteen-fifty-four
caused a ship, the Powhatan, to crash on the bar, just opposite of Great Swamp''s shore.
The wreckmaster watched the storm's fury as it raised havoc on sea and land.
By daylight, he trekked down to where the cruel sea spewed dead bodies on the beach sand.
Later on, when rescuers from the mainland crossed the bay to survey damage done.
what they saw was a long row of corpses that were lying face up in the sun.
A custom for travelers in those days were money belts immigrants wore.
The wreckmaster denied he had seen any belts, declared they had been pauper poor.
They questioned the wreckmaster's statement, but, of course he denied any wrong.
It would be difficult to prove otherwise, so they dared not accuse him for long.
On a scow, the men loaded the bodies, more than two-hundred-fifty, in all
to sail for the mainland, for their last earthly trip, covered with an old sail for their pall.
In an Old Manahawkin church graveyard the strangers were buried en mass.
Our story would end here, but in a few months another bad storm came to pass.
Uprooting a cedar-tree stump, it left a deep hole in the ground,
and there, leather money belts, robbed and cut up, without gold coins and jewelry, were found.
Again, the wreckmaster was questioned, still he disavowed the gross deed.
Then one day, he took off, no one knew when or where, but no doubt, with the fruits of his greed.
Time passed, and five young men from the mainland, one evening, crossed over the bay.
They'd stay overnight in the mansion, to rest; come the morning they'd gather salt hay.
The boys found the mansion deserted; it was their night to howl and run wild.
They raced thru' the rooms, 'til they came face-to-face with a young woman, cradling a child.
Neck hairs stood on end as they watched her, then, she suddenly vanished from sight.
Then, they high-tailed it down the ox trail to the beach where they shuddered the rest of the night.
When the boys told the tale, some were skeptics, other sympathized, and thought it must be
a poor restless soul from the Powhatan wreck, returned for her identity.
After that, folks avoided the mansion, 'til one night it burned up to the skies.
In an old churchyard grave, on the mainland, a peaceful young mother now lies.