by Bill Jessome
The Law House Ghost
T here is a home in Gagetown, New Brunswick, that was built in 1863 by a John Law and is to this day known as the Law House. It is haunted.
As of this writing, the home is owned by John Stewart. John’s late wife, Ann Stewart, kept a journal of her life in the Law House, in which she describes her first impressions of the home: “The last rays of the afternoon sun cast a feeble gleam across the field where remnants of dusty snow lay.” Mrs. Stewart also wrote of the day when she and her husband visited the home with the landlady, and she encountered an apparition. It happened as Mrs. Stewart and her dog, Suzie, were walking down the hallway. Suddenly, the dog stopped and refused to go any further. “What is it girl? Do you see a mouse?” Ann Stewart asked. She bent to pat Suzie’s head to reassure her, when she felt a cold chill sweep up her spine, making her hair stand on end. When she looked up, she saw a spectral light outlining a figure or form. The vision was clear for the thirty seconds in which she and Suzie stood transfixed, then it moved toward the back wall. Ann followed the disappearing figure, trying to discern how on earth it could travel through the wall.
When she returned to the living room, the landlady noticed something strange about Ann.
“Did you see a ghost?” asked the owner.
“No, no I didn’t see one” responded Ann. “I felt something. There is definitely a presence in the back hall.”
The owner then told Ann that when she had lived in the house and whenever she was ill, the ghost would appear at the side of her sickbed. It seemed concerned over my well-being,” she explained.
There were other encounters between Ann and the spirit of Law house. She believed the ghost would fulfill any and all her wishes—perhaps the spirit knew what Ann was thinking.
Ann had a friend by the name of Rosemary, whose company she very much enjoyed. Rosemary became very special to Ann because of an incident that was much more than a coincidence. One cold and damp morning, the telephone rang and Ann fumbled into her housecoat and hurried down stairs to answer it. As she was running downstairs she lamented aloud that she wished she had a shawl.” I could grab a shawl quickly and wrap it around me instead of trying to get into my housecoat and wasting time,” she thought.
The next day, Rosemary came by and over her arm she carried a shawl. Ann and her husband looked at each other with wide eyes. “Did you ask Rosemary for the shawl?” her husband stammered.
“No, I didn’t,” Ann assured him.
“I was about to put this is the Salvation Army box that we keep at home for old clothes,” Rosemary told them, “but for some reason I thought you might like it.”
“I like it very much,” Ann told Rosemary, thanking her. She hung the shawl on a peg in the hall where it remains to this day. The shawl for Ann was a kind of symbol of faith. A coincidence? Ann thought otherwise.
Ann does not name the spirit anywhere in her journal. There are speculations of who the ghost might be; some previous owner, perhaps, or a lost soul. Today, Ann’s husband, John, lives alone in Law House. Well, perhaps not entirely alone.
Chapter Two
Restless Spirits and Unfinished Business
The Ghost of Lucy Clark
S he was waiting for me on the banks of the old mill damn. Her legs were tucked up close to her chest, arms folded around her knees. She was rocking back and forth. Something inside told me to turn and run; something else was pulling me toward her. When I came closer, I noticed her hair was so long it touched the ground. And when she beckoned me to sit by her, her hair was the only part of her that seemed alive. The skin on her face and hands was the colour of slate. It was difficult to tell her age, no more than sixteen, perhaps even younger. She was wearing a long white dress.
When she turned toward me, her head moved in a jerking motion, and she kept her neck hidden from me by deliberately letting her hair cover the left side of her face. There was something she didn’t want me to see. When her eyes—deep set and lifeless—met mine, a chill went through me. The smell of death was all around her. I wanted to run, but couldn’t. Something I can’t explain kept me there. When she spoke, a deep, rasping whisper came out of her throat: “My name is Lucy Clark.”
Lucy Clark! My blood ran cold! Lucy Clark has been dead for over a hundred years and the story of her appearances are still told in every household in the village, and for a hundred miles beyond.
I will put down all the facts of this story as I have heard them, so in your own time and wisdom, you can decide for yourself whether the story of Lucy Clark came out of a too-fertile imagination or a bad case of indigestion. If, in the end, you’re still not convinced, then go down Londonderry way and ask the good folks there. See what they have to say.
The first time Lucy Clark came back from the grave was on the old Cumberland road, the route the stagecoach travelled between Truro and Amherst, Nova Scotia. This incident occurred in the community of Lornevale, tucked in between the regions of Londonderry and Folly Mountain.
This is the way the story unfolded:
A handsome team of six horses were harnessed and ready when Ned Purdy, the stagecoach driver, came out of the depot and climbed aboard. He cracked the whip over the heads of the two lead horses and the coach moved out of the depot yard and onto the old Cumberland road. The horses kept up a steady gait and the passengers were reasonably comfortable. It was a warm summer evening with little or no wind to speak of. There was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that is, until the stagecoach rounded the first sharp curve on the road. The lead horses bolted almost pulling Ned off his seat. Standing in the middle of the road was a woman wearing an ankle-length white dress. “Who the Hell...” Ned blurted out. When he got the team under control and looked up the road again, she was gone. Was his imagination playing tricks on him? But what spooked the horses? Sometimes a bear or deer crossing the road can set the horses off. Perhaps that was it, thought Ned. He was about to sit down, when out of the corner of his eye he saw the woman standing just below his seat, blood oozing from a torn jugular in her neck. She was reaching up with outstretched arms. Fear took hold of him, but it was a fear that also made him whip the horses on. Ned Purdy didn’t know it at the time, but he was the first to encounter the ghost of young Lucy Clark.
It was some years later before Lucy’s ghost appeared again. This time it was to Tom Adams of nearby Westchester. One day, Tom decided to exercise his dogs on the old Cumberland road. He had heard many times Ned Purdy’s story about his encounter on the same road with the ghost of Lucy Clark. It’s not that Tom didn’t believe the story, he just wasn’t thinking about it on that day.
Tom and his dogs were no more than a quarter of a mile into their walk when it happened. Coming toward him in the middle of the road was a woman in a flowing white dress. Tom shook all over as a chill went through him. The whimpering dogs backed away. Tom Adams then remembered the story of Ned Purdy’s experience with the ghost of Lucy Clark. He knew that if it was Lucy Clark, it was too late to run. She was now upon him, walking quickly—or rather more like floating than walking. Her arms were outstretched, and when she spoke her voice was but a rasping whisper: “My name is Lucy Clark and I beg of you not to be afraid; not to run off like the others have. You must listen to me—hear why I cannot rest in my grave until the truth is known. It is said that I was carried off by a bear. That is not true. I was murdered! Murdered by the hand of my own brother!” Tom was in a state of shock; he was frozen. The ghost began telling the tragic tale of her death. “One day, my mother and father left my brother, Frank, and me, to care for the farm animals while they were away for the day. Sometime after supper, our prize pig got out of his pen. My brother had a mean temper and he screamed at me to corner the pig, but the pig was too fast. In a fit of rage, my brother grabbed an axe and struck me across the neck—he killed me. Frank then took my body to the old mill dam. He let the water run out of the dam, and then buried my body under large stones. He then let the water flow back in. When my parents returned
home late that evening, he told them a bear had carried me off into the woods. My parents and the authorities believed his story. If you tell what really happened, I will be free and my soul will forever rest in peace.”
Tom Adams was unable to speak; he could only nod in agreement. Lucy Clark then vanished before his eyes. When Tom Adams returned home he collapsed from the ordeal. It took several weeks before he could bring himself to talk about what Lucy Clark’s ghost revealed to him that evening on the old Cumberland road.
Tom Adams’ grandson, Arden Mattix, confirms his grandfather’s encounter with the ghost of Lucy Clark. What she told Tom about the way she died was confirmed many years later by her brother, Frank, who, on his death bed, confessed to the murder of his sister and revealed where the body was buried. When the authorities drained the old mill dam, they found the skeletal remains of Lucy Clark!
I began this tragic tale by telling you that Lucy Clark was waiting for me on the banks of the old mill dam. Well, yes, but only in one of my many recurring dreams—or nightmares.
The Lady in the Blue Dress
T his is not one of those “a long time ago” ghost stories—it’s a 1990s tale.
When the story of the Lady in the Blue Dress came to my attention, I immediately set off for Indian Harbour, Nova Scotia, where this sad tale unfolded.
Sitting behind the wheel of my car as I approached Peggy’s Cove I noticed how abruptly the landscape changes. There’s a sparseness to the land. It falls away to a flatness and disappears behind a seawall of boulders that keep the pounding surf at bay. Above the high cliffs, the steeple of a church rises above the tiny cluster of houses that dot the landscape.
On the whitecaps, a lone Cape Islander was barely visible against the rays of the sun. And above the village, a fluttering of gulls left the sanctuary of the church steeple and flew off to circle above the incoming vessel. They would circle high above and wait until buckets of fish-waste were thrown over the side and then they would fold their wings and dive.
When I arrived at Indian Harbour, I met with two of the principals involved in this remarkable story. One was the daughter of the Lady in the Blue Dress and the other was Donna McGuire, an artist, and the owner of Rogues Gallery.
I’ve changed the family name of the Lady in the Blue Dress to avoid any embarrassment to those distant relatives who may still be living in the area. Here, then, is the story of the ghost who walks the rocks of Indian Harbour.
It was destined to happen. No one could prevent it, least of all Marlana, a popular Toronto radio psychic. Marlana was looking forward to a holiday in Nova Scotia with her friend Donna Cameron. A few days after Marlana arrived, Donna decided that she, her two children, and Marlana would head for Indian Harbour to visit her good friend, Donna McGuire.
Sometime after arriving at the McGuire’s home, Donna Cameron decided to explore the rugged shoreline with her son. In the meantime, Marlana went on a driftwood hunt with Donna’s daughter, Christine.
When they returned, Marlana asked Donna McGuire if there was a legend in the village about a woman who was seen out on the rocks. Donna looked somewhat puzzled and told Marlana that she had never heard of such a legend. Marlana pressed on, “Nothing about a woman in a blue dress?”
“No,” Donna replied, “Nothing like that.” Everyone now became interested in why Marlana was so concerned. What was the reason for her questions.
There was a long silence. All eyes were on Marlana. She then told them what happened. “When Christine and I arrived at the shore, I was suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of loneliness. I didn’t mention it to Chris, but told her that I didn’t like the place. And then I had this feeling that I had come to Indian Harbour from Scotland, and that the people here didn’t like me. As we moved closer to the high rocks, the feeling of loneliness and separation grew even stronger. Suddenly, a woman in a long blue dress appeared out of nowhere. She stood on the rocks staring. Then, as quickly as she appeared, she vanished. I didn’t mention what I saw to Chris. However, on the way back I saw the woman again. I felt certain she was trying to make contact with me; trying to tell me something.”
When Marlana finished her story, Donna McGuire suggested they she should visit Hattie Sutherland, the oldest resident in the village. If anyone knew of a legend and a strange woman seen on the rocks, it would be Hattie. They were received warmly by Mrs. Sutherland, and nothing would do until the traditional afternoon tea and cakes were served. Marlana waited for the right moment, then told Hattie of her experience on the beach and what the woman she had seen looked like. There was a moment of silence as Hattie listened while sipping her tea. “The woman you describe sounds like the stories I’ve heard about my mother. She came to Indian Harbour as a war bride from Scotland. I’m the youngest of five children and was far too young at the time to remember very much about my mother and what happened to her. According to what I’ve been told, though, it wasn’t long after she arrived in Indian Harbour that she was not accepted by her in-laws. I suppose they were bitter over their son marrying someone from overseas. Anyway, it was a difficult time for her. My father was a fisherman, and he spent long periods of time at sea. It was a lonely time for my mother and she would stand on the rocks and stare out to sea as if she was trying to will herself back to Scotland.
“When my father drowned during a storm, his family cut off all contact with my mother. Now alone and lonely, she wrote to her father begging him to come over to Indian Harbour and take her back to Scotland. My grandfather did come over, but either couldn’t support, or didn’t want anything to do with her children, so we were left behind in the care of relatives. To this day I don’t know what was on my mother’s mind. Perhaps she thought that in time, we’d all be together.
We never heard from her again; never knew if she was alive or dead. Then, one day a letter arrived from Scotland informing us that she had died. Those who knew her in Scotland said she took the guilt of leaving her children behind to her grave. Maybe that’s why she came back. I mean her ghost, that is.”
What Hattie Sutherland told Marlana and Donna McGuire is pretty much the same as what she told me.
If there is a postscript to this ghostly tale, it’s this: surely Hattie Sutherland must wonder why her mother’s ghost has yet to make contact with her.
If ever you go down Indian Harbour way, walk the rocks if you must, but before you leave visit Rogues Gallery and say hello to Donna McGuire, the artist who captured the Lady in the Blue Dress on canvas; a tragic, lonely, and ghostly figure.
Mrs. Copeland’s Ghost
T here’s much more to Sable Island than natural gas—a lot more. There’s the ghost of Mrs. Copeland. This is her tale of woe.
Sable Island is located some 350 km southwest of Halifax, Nova Scotia. The salty Maritime Mystery that takes place there involves a shipwreck, a murder, and a bleeding ghost.
There are at least two versions to this 18-century mystery that we know of; both are partly fact and partly fiction, although some fishermen will say the story is completely factual. One version, nearly as old as this story, was written by the author of Sam Slick, Thomas Chandler Haliburton, and the more recent one, Fatal and Fertile Crescent, was written by Lyall Campbell. Of course, there are countless oral versions, and folklore always also plays a significant roll in Maritime Mysteries.
So let the journey begin, to a place of broken ships and restless spirits.
A ship laden down with the personal belongings of the Duke of Kent set sail from England in 1799 for the garrison town of Halifax. Among the passengers were a Mr. Copeland—the garrison’s doctor—his wife, two children, and a maid.
When the ship failed to arrive in Halifax, the Duke sent out a search party to look for it. The first obvious place to investigate was Sable Island. When the search party arrived on the island, they found the beach strewn with debris, including many of the Duke’s personal belongings. There were also the victims of the shipwrecked vessel. The officer in charge told his men to bed down for
the night and they would bury the dead in the morning. In the meantime, he would check the other side of the island for any survivors.
There were, at the time, small huts on the island built specifically for survivors of shipwrecks. Realizing it was getting late, the officer decided to stay in one of the huts and return to his men in the morning. He lit a fire then went outside again to continue searching for survivors. When he returned to the hut, there was a woman standing by the stove. Her long white dress was dripping wet and soiled by sand and seaweed. When he asked who she was and where she came from, she held out her left hand. Her ring finger was missing and oozing with blood. When he moved closer, she fled past him and out the door. He followed and watched her flee over the dunes until she disappeared. When he went back inside, she was again standing by the stove. It was then he recognized who and what she was. It was the ghost of Mrs. Copeland, wife of the garrison’s doctor! That was the last time he saw Mrs. Copeland—or rather, her ghost.
On his return to Halifax, the young officer promised himself that he would avenge Mrs. Copeland’s murder by seeking out her murderer and returning her ring to her family in England. As soon as he arrived back in Halifax he went after the most notorious member of the wreckers gang—a local group known to prey on victims of shipwrecks. While talking with the daughter of the man he believed to be Mrs. Copeland’s murderer, the woman told him that her father found the ring on the beach on Sable Island. The child’s mother, however, said that a Frenchman, on Sable Island at the time, had given the ring to her husband. She added that if he wanted the ring back, he could buy it from the local watchmaker. In the end, he did purchase the ring and kept his promise to the dead Mrs. Copeland by returning the ring to her family in England. However, her murderer was never caught. According to those living on the seedy side of Halifax, he suffered a worst fate than the gallows. In his sleep the ghost of Mrs. Copeland would rise up to point an accusing and mutilated finger at him.