In 1906, at the age of 85, Portland Barber John M. Todd set out to write the story of his life and his memories his customers, some of Portland's most notable names of the 19th century, including Deering, Fessenden, Noyes; and his brushes with national figures like Jefferson Davis and Fredrick Douglass. He also takes the opportunity to pontificate on his political views (pro-temperence and ardent abolitionist). The result is an intriguing portrait of Victorian Portland from the perspective of, "Those who live in the humble walks of life."
This story of his early life, before he took up his vocation as "hairdresser" in 1845, is taken directly from his book, "Reminiscences of John M. Todd; Sixty Two Years in a Barber Shop". The events described would have occurred around 1835.
John M. Todd writes...
At fourteen I shipped on board the schooner Fairdealer, Capt. James Dunning of Freeport; we went to Yarmouth, Me., for a cargo of potatoes to take to Boston.
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After my return from Boston I shipped on board the schooner Olive, Capt. Samuel Colley of Freeport, for a fishing trip to the Bay of Chaleur. On that trip I had an experience that was new and fearful to me.
The first night out, was a Monday, a lovely evening, a full moon shining making it light as day, and not a cloud to obstruct the moon's rays. Ahead of us was the schooner Crusader, commanded by Capt. Robert Soule of Freeport, who sailed, out with us. A young man, a schoolmate of mine, whom I loved as a brother, and I stood watch together, as we had desired. His name was Francis Card, of Brunswick, Me. He was walking the decks and I was at the helm. We were steering east-southeast, with a fine southwest breeze about six or eight miles an hour, the ocean as smooth as a floor. The vessel was a schooner of sixty-two tons' register. Her deck was so near the water I could almost reach it. The rays of the moon shone on the starboard and windward side, and the waves for miles away shone with silvery brightness from the south.
Suddenly Frank walked aft, saying, "Look, look, quick, John, there is a man overboard; don't you see him?" I was at the rail at his first call and had there been anyone there I should have seen him, for no man had better eyes or clearer vision than I, and as we were sailing through that blaze of light that the moon makes, no daylight was ever clearer. He said, "Can you not see that man, John, standing in the water about waist high?"
"No, I cannot, for there is no man there, Frank, to be seen." I thought he was fooling me. He jumped upon the taffrail, grabbed me by the arm and took me from the helm, saying in painful tones, "See, do see that man before he sinks! There, he has gone, sunk beneath the waves." He had pulled me to the rail in violation of all rules of seamanship, for troubling a man at the wheel is a high offence aboard ship. I had thrown a rope over the wheel, so she had not changed her course. With much emotion, he said, "John, I know I saw a man standing waist high in the water, and I cannot account for your not seeing it, for no one on board can see better than you." I said, "Don't you know, Frank, why I did not see him?" "Why did you not see him?" he said. "Because there was nothing there to be seen." "No, no, John, you should not say that to me, feeling as I do. I tell you the Crusader has lost a man overboard and you will know it when we arrive at the Straits of Canso." I said, "Why did she not heave to if she had lost a man and try to save him, and why did he not speak to us to save him? Why did you not speak to him as we passed by, and you declared to me that you were looking at him all the time you were walking aft? You were abreast of him while you were coming aft to call my attention that I might see him also. It is very strange to me, whatever you think of it. Why did you not throw him a rope? Surely, if it had been a man he would have spoken." "Well, I was frightened, for he stood trembling and gazing at me," he said.
I had been taught by my mother that there was no such thing as a spirit and that premonitions and forerunners, haunted houses, witchcraft and hobgoblins were all a humbug. Still, there it was, a visible something that I could not see, but Frank could. I had become convinced that he really thought he saw a man. I was so affected by it that I was afraid to go below and made him go ahead of me, and he held back through a little fear; there was no one below, for the rest of the crew slept aft, and he and I slept forward.
An old pilot, Master Pillsbury of Cape Elizabeth, was told by Frank the first thing in the morning about seeing the man overboard. He questioned him through the day several times, and said: "John, what is it Frank is so worried about? Says he saw a man overboard and you could not see him; did you really try to see if there was anyone there?" "I did, for Frank had so frightened me I was bound to know if there was a man overboard, and had there been one I should surely have seen him." The old pilot replied, "I don't like this story, John, it bodes no good to the ship. I fear something will happen to us." I laughed at him and said, " You are superstitious; that is nothing, Mr. Pillsbury."
The reader can see that my mother's teachings against ghosts had convinced me that there was nothing in the story, and I turned it off as lightly and as well as I could. Still I trembled while Frank was telling me what he saw that I could not see.
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For three days Frank and the pilot talked much together. On Thursday Frank came to me. He appeared very solemn, and said, "John, if anything happens to me I want you to see my mother and explain to her all about what I saw." I laughed and said, "What is the matter with you, Frank, are you foolish? That was nothing. The foolish old pilot has turned your head." "No, John, it is not my head, it is my heart. My whole soul is afraid; I cannot rest or sleep." There were four other Brunswick boys on board : Amos Tappan (my cousin), Kimball Estabrook, Charles Owen and Ran Maxwell. They, too, were much excited over the story.
On Friday, the fourth day out, we drew near to the Straits of Canso. There was a smoky southwester, so-called by sailors. We could not see more than a mile away. A shout went up, " Breakers ahead !" a cry most dreaded by sailors. All were on deck in a moment looking for breakers ahead. I sat down at the lee rail with my left arm across it, looking out under the jib. We were heading southeast to get out from the breakers, the wind blowing fresh from the southwest right abeam. The rail my arm was on is called a "monkey rail," about three inches by four, of Southern pine with iron posts about six feet apart. We had stood close in to the land, hoping to make the Straits, but as it proved afterwards we were 
about twenty-one miles to the south of Canso. It was quite thick and Frank started to go aloft on the hoops of the mainmast. The pilot, who was at the helm, said, "Don't go aloft, Frank, we can see better under the glim than you can from aloft. Come down." But he kept on until he got within four hoops of the gaff, when the throat- halliards parted, and he fell. Seeing the mainsail was coming down and fearing the gaff would strike me, I jumped from the rail. The instant I left the rail Frank struck it in the very place I had had my arm and he pitched overboard. I jumped to the taffrail and saw him sink beneath the waves to rise no more. The pilot said, "John, there is the man you could not see, but Frank saw. It has worried me much ever since he told it to me, but it is all over now."
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I have said there were four boys besides Frank and I who lived in Brunswick Village, his near neighbors; I, at that time, lived four miles away. I had not mentioned to a soul on board what Frank had said to me about seeing his mother if anything happened to him. While in the bay fishing a Freeport schooner hailed us. They passed quickly. Our captain, with his speaking trumpet, told them he had lost a boy overboard, but they did not get the name, so when they arrived in port, a month before we did, they reported the loss of a boy from our vessel. Of course, each mother thought it was her son who was lost.
There was a singular coincidence when we arrived home. The captain said to me, "John, I want you to see Frank's mother and tell her all the particulars about his death," "Can not you go, Captain, or let one of the other boys go ? They live near by, and I live four miles away." " No, I want you to go, as you were the only one with him when he saw the man in the water." "Why, Captain, do you believe that was a man he saw? " "Ask me no questions, John, but it was a very strange thing that you could not see him." I went to see the mother. The house stood a few rods from the street, in a field. She saw me and came to the door. I do not think she had ever seen me. Although a schoolmate, I never visited there. With her apron wiping the tears from her eyes, she said, " I know what you have come for, to tell me of my dear boy's death. I knew it was he, for the night after he was lost he came to my bedside and said, ' Mother, it is Frank.' I worried over it ever since, and when the news came that a boy had been lost from the schooner Olive, I knew it was my dear boy."
Todd died on May 17, 1917. He was such a well known figure that his death was front page news in the morning Eastern Argus newspaper. He rests in Evergreen Cemetery along with several members of his family and many of his customers, both famous and humble.
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