When I was young, just ten years old in 1957, on a warm September night around 9 pm I climbed a hill called Ochre Pitt, a small hill just above our house in Hart's Cove on Twillingate Island, Newfoundland. I used to do this often, just sitting or lying on my side listening and watching the stars in their millions because it was peaceful. Also I could hear the night sounds of owls, bats and ground mice, and in the distance barking of dogs with their own distinct bark. There were no streetlights, only dim kerosene lamplight shining through someone's kitchen window. On this particular night as I was looking out over Twillingate Harbour and the ocean beyond, I noticed a dim light very far in the distance to the northwest of me dancing over the water. It came closer and closer, moving very fast. Dancing like a ballerina to and fro, it would move and get brighter the closer it got, sometimes I could see a blue light within it. The light danced and kept going to and fro until it got halfway in the harbour, then turned and with greater speed danced out of the harbour back to the northwest. In about ten minutes it was out of sight. It was late that night before I went to sleep thinking about what I had seen. Never before did I ever see anything move as fast as this, not even the trains my mother and I took going to Toronto earlier that summer, and for sure it wasn't a fisherman's boat with the old make and break 4 HP engine. Never did I see a light get so bright not even the one in the lighthouse on Long Point. The next morning, I went down in the cove and walked out on the stage head where Mr. Hawkins was doing his fish and asked him if I could cut out the cod tongues. "Aye you," he said. I was bursting inside to tell him what I had seen last night but didn't want him to make fun of me for talking foolish. Then out of the blue I blurted it out. "Mr. Hawkins, I saw a light last night after dark come in the harbour, a bright light going very fast and dancing as it went." He answered very fast, "You saw the Bakers Light. It's a weather light; we're going to have a storm of wind for sure." he said. "I noticed this morning my weather glass was bottom up." He kept telling me about the light. He had seen it a few times and it comes from the ship wreck of the Queen of Swansea in the 1800s on Cape John Gull Island across the bay about 30 miles from here. They all lost their lives; some lived, they got ashore and lived for a while but died from the cold and hunger, as it was in the winter. "December, I believe it was," he said. Two men from here one time ran out of tobacco. In their punt they paddled across the harbor towards E.J. Linfield's Shop, it was open until 9:30 Saturday night to get some tobacco. It was dark and the water was as calm as oil. Halfway across the harbour they saw this light coming towards them, paddling as fast as they could but couldn't get rid of it, and suddenly it engulfed them. "They told me," Mr. Hawkins said, "that there was a hurricane of wind in the light. They lost their caps, their hair stood off straight, lighting was flashing and cracking, their small boat seemed to be spinning around. Suddenly it was moving back out the harbour. All was calm but they couldn't see anything or where to go. After ten or fifteen minutes they got their sight back and heading back in the cove. I was there when they came in and helped haul up their boat. They were shaking like a leaf on a tree. George never did find his cap and Bobby's hair turn white as the driven snow." I saw the Bakers Light once again after that, my buddy and I. The next day we had a Northeaster, gale of wind and torrential rain. These stories I heard when I was young will stay with me always. John Gillett, Twillingate, NL. Author of LEAVING FOR THE SEAL HUNT. Flanker Press.   Submitted By: john gillett