Maritime Mysteries

by Bill Jessome

  Ivan Kent respects what comes over from the spirit world; he wants to keep them happy. He reminds tourists that the picnic table he placed near the lighthouse is reserved for his two permanent guests from 10 P.M. until 4 A.M: a place where they can reminisce about the glory days at sea.

  Should you not heed the warning and sit down at the picnic table, you may feel something or someone pushing you off…

  Mehetible’s Ghost

  S t. Andrews-by-the-Sea has an old world charm and warmth about it, but is full of ghosts of the past. Walk any of its streets when day slips into darkness and the night brings long-forgotten sounds: the rustling of a woman’s skirt, the sounds of horse and carriage rolling over cobblestones. As you make your way down Water Street, you can feel a strong presence of those who first settled this New Brunswick town more than two hundred years ago.

  Natives fished the Passamaquoddy long before anyone else, then the Irish came, followed by the Empire loyalists. Among the Loyalist families that fled the American Revolution were the Mowatts and the Caleffs. Young Captain David Mowatt would eventually marry Doctor Caleff ’s daughter, Mehetible. Very little has changed in this quaint seaside town since Mehetible’s time.

  Old landmarks are still visible and most of the homes and businesses along Water Street still stand, as does Windsor House, the home Captain Mowatt built for Mehetible In 1798.

  Today Windsor house, now an inn, has a new lease on life, brought back to its glory days by Jay Remer and Greg Cohane.

  Those who were involved in the restoration of Windsor House were aware of a strong presence and everyone agreed that it was the ghost of Mehetible Califf Mowatt. Mehetible outlived her husband, who died at sea. She continued living in the home well into her 90s and was, in the end, the last Empire Loyalist living in St. Andrews. Her spirit is felt most often late at night and early in the morning—that’s when footsteps are heard and things get re-arranged.

  If you visit or stay overnight in Windsor House, you’ll notice a marvellous collection of water colours by New Brunswick artist Anthony Flowers, who lived during Mehetible’s time. There is a wall that leads upstairs where Flower’s paintings hang, and every morning they have to be straightened.

  While visiting Windsor House, I asked which bedroom had been Mehetible’s. I was directed to the one at the top of the stairs; the one they have to unlock every morning. Spend time alone in that room and you’ll feel an energy, and the sensation you’re been watched.

  Next time you visit New Brunswick, and you’re close to St. Andrews, visit Windsor House Inn. And, if you stay overnight, remember Mehetible’s bedroom is at the top of the stairs—the one on the left. Pleasant dreams.

  The Strathgartney Ghost

  “S he was a mysterious and unfortunate young woman, Gracie Grey was.” That’s how the old folk put it when they talked about poor, frozen, Gracie Grey.

  Gracie grew up in Bonshaw, Prince Edward Island, in the 1850s. She lived in the grand country estate of Robert Bruce Stewart. Stewart was born in England in 1813 and in 1846, he, his wife, and their five children set sail for Prince Edward Island. They arrived in Charlottetown in the fall of the same year. In time, Robert Bruce Stewart would become one of the Island’s most notorious land barons.

  He settled in Bonshaw, some twenty miles outside of Charlottetown. This home was built on one of the highest hills on the Island and had an excellent view of the Northumberland Strait. Proud of his Scottish heritage, Stewart named his estate Strathgartney, after the place where his father had been born. Today, Strathgartney is a popular inn. Robert Bruce Stewart’s clan eventually included nine children and perhaps, unofficially, one other; Gracie Grey.

  Some Islanders will tell you that the spirit of Gracie Grey still haunts the hollows and hills of Bonshaw. No one of such a tender age as Gracie is expected to die, and least of all become a ghost, but that’s exactly what happened to Gracie.

  It was a cold winter’s afternoon in 1888 when death claimed Gracie. She had set off for the village to buy some needed staples for the Stewart’s table. On her return, she was caught in a sudden and violent snow storm, so bad, it would be known as the great blizzard of 1888. No one in the Stewart household was concerned when she didn’t return to Strathgartney. The Stewarts knew Gracie would find shelter in a neighbour’s home. But that was not to be. Just yards from the warmth and safety of Strathgartney, Gracie, struggling against the punishing storm, collapsed. Her cries for help were lost in the howling wind.

  Three days later, searchers came upon the basket Gracie had hung on a tree branch. Buried deep in the snow below was the frozen body of young Gracie Grey. The searchers carried her frozen body inside Strathgartney to her bedroom on the third floor.

  It was not long after her death that strange things began happening. Her ghost first appeared roaming the grounds, or standing down by the gate where she had died. Other times people reported seeing her ghost walking along the road. The former premier of the province, Walter Shaw, wrote in his book, Tell me the Tales, that his father’s and Gracie Grey’s paths crossed on St. Catherine’s Road near a place known as Gloomy Blues Hollow. When he told his friend this, he was warned to watch out for the ghost of Gracie Grey.

  Most of the time, though, her spirit remained on the third floor of Strathgartney wandering in and out of her bedroom. A weaver’s loom that Gracie operated would often start weaving by itself; a sure sign that Gracie was in the room.

  The most frightening incident, however, occurred when Gracie’s brother was riding home over the same road that Gracie had travelled the day she died. Her brother felt something pulling on the right stirrup of his saddle. When he looked down, there was his sister, or the ghost of his sister, walking alongside the horse.

  When he arrived at Strathgartney, he collapsed and was under doctor’s care for many weeks.

  Today, those who know their Bonshaw history, will tell you that when you’re inside Strathgartney Inn, or walking down by Gloomy Blues Hollow, you are not alone!

  The Ghost of Jenkins House

  N ew Brunswick has a rich, diverse history full of bountiful folklore. A mere mention of the Miramichi, for example, and up pop tales of the ghosts of the headless nun, and of the Dungarven Whooper.

  For this gem of the paranormal, we return to the year 1810 in the village of Gagetown, where a Scotsman by the name of Hugh Johnson built a two-and-a-half storey mansion. It became, with its four chimneys, quite a head-turner. In later years, this stately mansion became the residence of the world-renowned weaver and tartan designer, the late Patricia Jenkins. The home is still in the Jenkins family and it is now known by that name. The mansion stands as a reminder that if there was joy in the home, it was also a place of tragedy. The eldest daughter of Hugh Johnson died there in childbirth. And one of his sons and his fiancée were killed when their carriage overturned.

  During the last century, several people who lived in Jenkins’ house have reported seeing the ghost of a woman moving from room to room. She is, according to those who have lived under that roof, not a mean spirit; she’s more benevolent than anything else. There have been times, however, when she has sent a certain picture crashing to the floor. Why? No one knows. Some theorize it was an attention-getter or that she simply didn’t like it!

  While visiting relatives who owned the home at the time, a young girl retiring for the night sat straight up in bed when a woman came out of the closet and walked past her to the window. The girl described the woman as wearing a white dress and having shoulder-length hair. Thinking it was her aunt, she asked, “What’s wrong?” The woman neither turned around or spoke. She simply vanished!

  Years later, while attending a family member’s wake, that same girl, now an adult, listened to her uncle tell the story of a young woman from Saint John who, along with her younger sister, travelled to Gagetown, where the woman’s engagement to Hugh Johnson’s son was to be officially announced. But the young man took one look at his fiancée’s younger sister and fell deeply in
love with her instead. Needless to say, the marriage was off.

  Sometime after that, and feeling sorry or guilty, the couple invited the jilted sister-in-law to come live with them. Unable to accept, or bear seeing her younger sister in the arms of the man she still loved, the woman got a rope went upstairs and hanged herself in the closet of her bedroom. The young woman listening to her uncle’s story remembered her own experience as a young child and even before she asked her uncle which bedroom, she knew what the answer would be. But the elderly uncle wasn’t through telling about that old house and what he had seen there. One night, he told his frightened and captive audience, while in bed in that very same room, he saw a woman in white walk into the closet. Thinking it was one of the women looking for some clothes, he waited, but she never came out.

  For most people who lived in the Jenkins Home, including Patricia Jenkins, all they’ve ever heard were odd sounds such as the rustling of skirts going by. But all agree there is a spirit there.

  Chapter Six

  Possessions

  and Church Tales

  The Spook Farm

  T his story was first brought to my attention by my late camera man, Kevin Macdonald. Later, when I began researching this bizarre story, people in the know suggested that I should pick up a copy of N. Carroll Macintyre’s The Fire-Spook of Caledonia Mills—an excellent account of this odd story, they told me. So, I give credit to both of these talented people.

  The journey begins in a place called Caledonia Mills.

  Caledonia Mills is nothing to write home about, unless you like a quiet rural setting. It’s what happened there seventy-five years ago that had many people writing home about the place and its strange occurrences.

  Without drawing you a map, Caledonia Mills is a small farming community some fifteen miles from the town of Antigonish, Nova Scotia.

  The curious will be disappointed if they expect to find the homestead in this tale still standing. The house and barns are long gone. There was a time, though, back in the early twenties, when it was the home of Alexander “Black John” MacDonald, his wife Janet, and their adopted daughter, Mary Ellen. An older daughter, also named Mary, married William Quirk and moved off the farm to Alder River, N.S.

  There were peculiar and unexplained things happening in the MacDonald household that the family kept secret for several years. It began when neighbours found belongings of the MacDonald household strewn near their property. The answer given by the MacDonalds?—blame it on the dog. No one bought that story when they later found pots and large cast iron skillets all over the place. No dog could do that.

  Things became a lot more serious the day that Alex found the animals in the barn loose from their stalls when he went to feed and water them in the morning. He knew he had secured them the night before. The bizarre things that were happening were a harbinger of things to come.

  One morning in the winter of 1922, while Alex was starting a fire in the kitchen stove, he noticed burnt pieces of wood on top of the stove. When he checked for the source, he saw charred areas in the rafters just above the stove. When the family retired that night, Janet MacDonald was awakened by the smell of smoke. Alex raced downstairs and found a chair and sofa on fire in the kitchen. All told, there were thirty-eight fires in the month of January alone! No longer able to cope alone, the family were forced to call in the neighbours for help. A few of the men of the village did help in fighting these mysterious fires. One witness said it was as if the whole house was illuminated by the blue arc of a hot electrical cable during a violent storm. It was a losing battle. Whatever power it was, the MacDonalds were driven from their home. They did attempt to return, but once again the demons had taken over, and drove them out.

  What caused these fires? A poltergeist perhaps? There were several theories advanced. One: Janet MacDonald had taken her mother from the poor house and brought her to live with them at the farm. In time, Janet realized that she had made a terrible mistake—her mother was an uncontrollable raving mad woman. When she attempted to send her back, the authorities told her it was Janet’s problem now. One day, a visitor was witness to one of the old lady’s ravings and saw Janet race upstairs to her mother’s bedroom screaming, “I hope the Devil comes and takes you before nine o’clock tomorrow morning!” Just then, a strange looking black animal came into the old woman’s bedroom.

  There would be no more screams, no more fits of rage. The next morning, Alexander found Janet’s mother dead in bed. Official cause of death was never mentioned. Did she die under mysterious circumstances? By suffocation perhaps? By someone else’s hand? But whose? Surely, calling on the Devil to take someone is merely wishful thinking. Or is it? And was that strange looking animal, thought to be a dog, dismissed out of hand? Did the spirit of that crazed old woman return to reek vengeance on the MacDonald household?

  The professionals:

  Peter Owen “Peachy” Carroll, a one-time police chief of the town of Pictou and a member of the provincial detective force of Nova Scotia, became intrigued by what was happening at the Spook Farm and made arrangement to investigate. Detective Carroll was quite confident that he would solve this Maritime Mystery.

  Accompanying Mr. Carroll was Halifax Herald reporter, Harold Whidden, who would have an important role to play in this drama.

  Alexander “Black John” MacDonald agreed to open his home to Carroll and Whidden, and also agreed to stay in the house with them.

  Detective Carroll made a thorough investigation of the interior of the home. He saw the scorched walls, wallpaper, and blinds. He interviewed the MacDonald family and concluded they were God-fearing hard-working folk, and had no hand in setting the fires.

  The only unusual occurrence happened on the second night. When Carroll and Whidden had retired while still awake, Whidden was slapped across the arm. Carroll denied hitting him.

  After reviewing all the “facts,” Carroll concluded, that the fires were not started by human hands, but by an unknown force.

  Carroll and Whidden went so far as to offer a reward of $200 to anyone who could prove the fires were caused by any agent other than the supernatural.

  The news of the fire spook reached far beyond the counties of Antigonish and Guysborough. Interest was shown from all over North America and beyond. From the city of New York, a Dr. Walter Franklin Prince, a member of the American Society for Psychical Research who displayed more than a passing interest, was willing to come to Nova Scotia and investigate this phenomenon. But for a price. His expenses would be underwritten by the Halifax Herald.

  If there were any spirits attempting to make contact with the living, Dr. Prince believed he had the conduit in the person of Harold Whidden, who, again, went along, with other observers, as the Herald’s representative. Mr. Whidden was more than familiar with the Spook Farm, having already spent two days and nights there with Peachy Carroll. Dr. Prince believed Harold Whidden would be a receptive candidate for psychological testing. When Dr. Prince finally got around to doing the test, he sat Whidden down at a table with pencils and paper and instructed him to hold the pencil above the paper and see what happened. The first three attempts failed, but on the fourth try, Whidden felt a sensation in his fingers and the pencil in his hand flew across the page. Not just one page, but several. Dr. Prince then conducted an interview with the spirit.

  Question: Who set the fires in the Alexander MacDonald home?

  Answer: Immediately written down on paper through Whidden’s hand, the word “Spirits!”

  Question: Why?

  No answer. The pencil was taping quickly on paper, but only black marks were made.

  And then, a voice spoke through Whidden. It told the people in the room to leave. Only Dr. Prince was to remain!

  Question: Did you slap the arm of Mr. Whidden when he and Detective Carroll were staying here?

  Answer: The word “Yes” was immediately written down.

  Question: Why?

  Answer: Again, Whidden’s hand flew across the pag
e. “I wanted him to know the fires were caused by spirits.”

  Question: And the animals in the barn? Who let them loose?

  Answer: “I did.”

  The spirit also wrote that it would no longer haunt the MacDonalds, nor would it ever appear to them again, just as long as they did not return to the farm.

  There were many more questions and answers. The spirit, through the hand of Harold Whidden, gave the reason for setting the fires, and gave its name! What followed, according to Dr. Prince, was of a personal and delicate nature. Because of that, the highly sensitive information revealed by the spirit was never released.

  But witnesses confirmed the story of what happened in the room that night.

  Following a six-day investigation, Dr. Prince concluded that the fires were started by the adopted daughter, Mary Ellen. Dr. Prince said no blame should be placed on Mary Ellen because she was in a state of altered consciousness at the time; she had been temporarily possessed.

  MacIntyre writes in the final chapter of his book,

  “This is the part of the strange manuscript of automatic writing by Harold Whidden, which was never released for public knowledge: Whidden of course knew, Dr. Walter Prince knew, others present knew, as did a priest from St Andrew’s, but their lips were sealed. It has only been in the past few months that certain people who knew the true story would confide in me enough to hint as to the deep, dark secret that has been kept so well buried for the past sixty-three years. They knew that Mary Ellen was innocent as to the cause of the strange occurrences, even though they may have acted through her. They knew it was upon the head of Janet “Black John” where the blame should be placed; blame that had kept people guessing for all those years.