The Sea Witch of Sailors’ Tales
Out beyond the last glimpse of land, when the sea darkens and the wind hums through the rigging, sailors once whispered the name Mother Carey. She was said to be the sea witch herself – mother of the winds and the waves, conjuring tempests and calling home her “chickens,” the tiny storm petrels that flitted fearlessly above the swell.
To spot these birds in a rising sea was to know Mother Carey was abroad. Some called them bad omens, others saw them as good luck, guides warning sailors to reef sails and stand firm.
Mother Carey’s Origins
No one knows exactly where the name came from. Some claim it derives from Mater Cara “Dear Mother” a reference to the Virgin Mary, patroness of sailors. Others believe she was born of older sea myths: a spirit of the waves, beautiful and merciless.
The poet John Masefield wrote that Mother Carey was “the mother o’ the wrecks, and the mother of all big winds as blows.” Her consort was none other than Davy Jones, and together they ruled the deep.
Sailors feared to anger her but they also respected her power, for she embodied the sea itself: unpredictable, wild, and alive.
The Witch’s Chickens
Storm petrels are among the smallest seabirds in the world, yet they are the most abundant, their numbers far greater than all the albatrosses, gulls, and shearwaters combined. Barely the size of a sparrow, they thrive where few others dare to fly, fluttering low over the waves as if dancing on the surface of the sea.
They feed on plankton, tiny crustaceans, and scraps of fish oil that rise in the wake of storms, pattering their feet on the water to stir up prey, a motion that once made sailors swear they could walk on the sea. Most breed in vast hidden colonies on remote islands, from the frozen cliffs of Antarctica to windswept rocks in the North Atlantic. Under cover of darkness they return to their burrows, raise their downy chicks, then vanish again into the open ocean.
Some petrels migrate thousands of miles each year, tracing the great winds between hemispheres. A bird hatched in the Antarctic summer may later be seen off the coast of Scotland or Newfoundland, following the endless cycle of storms. To the sailors who glimpsed them far from land, the petrels seemed like spirits of the deep – small, tireless, and utterly at home in the tempest.
A Nantucket Connection
There may, however, have been a real Mother Carey and she lived on Nantucket.
Elizabeth “Betsey” Swain Carey (1778–1862) was a widow who kept an inn and shop in the fishing village of Siasconset. Known locally as “Mother Carey,” she supplied sailors with food, drink, and tackle, and was immortalised in an 1860 sketch with a whiskey bottle in each hand.
Local lore claims that Betsey’s “Mother Carey’s Chickens” were the scrawniest poultry ever served to a paying sailor, and that the men began jokingly calling the tiny storm petrels by the same name, comparing their size and scrappiness to her suppers.
Whether the nickname drifted to Nantucket from old English sea tales, or the other way around, remains one of maritime history’s delightful mysteries.
Between Myth and Memory
Perhaps Mother Carey was the witch of the waves, combing her hair with sailors’ bones.
Perhaps she was a shrewd Nantucket innkeeper, serving chicken chowder and whiskey to passing mariners.
Either way, her “chickens”, those fearless little storm petrels, still dance above the foam, as they always have. Watching them ride out the storm with effortless grace, sailors took heart. If such small, fragile creatures could thrive where wind and water raged, then perhaps they too need not fear the sea’s wild moods, but trust in their own seamanship, and in the mercy of Mother Carey.
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Featured Image: Mother Carey and her Chickens by J.G. Keulemans, 1877
Storm Petrel by Simon Tan
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