Swing Low, Sweet Chariot

One of Harford County’s most infamous residents hasn’t lived here in years. In fact, he hasn’t even been alive in almost 200 years. Yet the fascination with Captain John Clarke Monk lives on.

Legend has it that Monk was a seafaring captain who refused to have his feet touch dry land, even in death. So his loyal crew crafted a small wooden boat to house his remains, which were pickled in rum. He was then wrapped in a lead shroud and the boat was suspended over the ground by chains. These were said to be Monk’s last wishes in his will. He died in 1827, aged 67 years, 9 months, 14 days.

Many years ago, I heard about the hanging coffin in Perryman at St. George’s Cemetery. I’d been dying to see it, dangling from chains, swaying in the breeze. It was high time I saw this for myself.

So, I headed out to Perryman. I proceeded to wander around the cemetery. And then I wandered some more. I figured that this grave ought to be pretty easy to find. But it wasn’t until my third try, armed with directions, that I found Capt. Monk.

The elusive grave was hiding in plain sight. In fact, you can’t drive past the church without seeing it. What an “Aha” moment. There it was, a large above-ground crypt surrounded by chains.  But, what I wanted to see was underground.

I got down on my hands and knees. I peered down through the slate slats on which the tomb rests, into the darkness. At first, all I could see was a flashlight someone had dropped, along with a few packs of matches.

And, then, there he was.  I was finally looking at Capt. Monk, all wrapped up and resting in his boat.

But he wasn’t hanging like the legend says. His, canoe-like “boat” was resting on granite slabs in the brick vault. However, he truly did not touch the ground. 

Now, I was really curious. Who was this man?

After I got in touch with his great-great-great-granddaughter, Dee Burris, the facts began to fall into place.

But a few mysteries remain.

Monk was born in England in 1760, and he came to America with his wife, Mary, and their three children sometime before 1795. In that year he bought property in Abingdon, and over the years, he acquired more than 300 acres. He owned a tavern and a general store.

Say it isn’t so—he was a landlubber.

How Monk came to be considered a sailor or a captain is anyone’s guess. He was never in the British or American Navy, according to previously published accounts.

When Mary died in 1800 in childbirth, she was buried on the other side of the cemetery from where her husband now rests. Go figure.

The next bit of fallacy is that Monk was pickled. Burris said this was “totally false.”  However, he was buried with some mementos, she mentioned, but she had no idea what they might have been.

The inscription on the crypt claims Monk is buried with his “consort,” Sarah Rebecca Lewis. Even this isn’t straightforward. They were actually married at St. George’s church in 1805. The term, “consort,” is an archaic term which meant that she had outlived her spouse. Today, we’d call her a widow.

According to Burris, in 1854, Sarah“was buried in a pine box and laid underneath the, ‘boat,’, but when Monk’s chains broke, her remains were crushed.” 

At some point after that happened, Burris informed me that “the graveyard caretaker went into the tomb and placed Sarah Rebecca’s head on his shoulder.”

Sarah was not the only one buried with Monk. Although the Captain’s daughter, Mary Minerva Monk, was married to William T. Lewis and lived in New Orleans when she died in 1857, she was buried in the part of the crypt visible above ground.  Her husband (now consort) had a lengthy, heartfelt inscription carved into the top slab, which reads in part, “Her heart was an unspotted mirror. No impure spirit dared look into it or breathe upon, and through this she enjoyed sweet communion with her heavenly Father.”

That Sarah and Minerva were also buried there came as a surprise. Yet more surprises were in store.

Having read Monk’s will, there is absolutely nothing in it about the conditions of his burial. Not so much as a hint or suggestion of any of this elaborate interment.

And, as for the lead shroud, that’s another myth. According to Henry Peden, a librarian at the Harford County Historical Society, “It would have been too heavy.”

Why Monk was really suspended from chains is anyone’s guess.  As are the origins of the moniker, “Captain,” and who made the coffin boat. Some things are simply lost to the ages.

But, the fun of the legend lives on. There’s even a song called, “The Swinging Sailor of Perryman,” by local trop-rock artist Captain Quint.

Little could Monk have known that he’d be the stuff of local lore for centuries to come.

Or did he?