Cold Flames and Constant Terror
Although some of the fires at Caledonia Mills clearly did ignite objects in the house, others had a strange, non-combustible quality. Leo MacDonald, who was present during the night of the 38 fires, said that the entire house seemed strangely illuminated “as if a short circuit had occurred on a high-tension wire” and that some of the flames were a pale blue colour and not hot. He especially noted that they did not singe the hair on the back of his hands or his eyebrows.
The MacDonald house and barn
There was a haunted house researched by Helen Creighton in the 1950s. It was on Devil’s Island, a small bleak island off Halifax, where fires often broke out and would seem to burn fiercely, but the flames were actually cold and looked blue. The house was later demolished, but while it was occupied the families that lived there went in constant terror of their lives.
Helen Creighton, in her book Bluenose Ghosts, described the mysterious manner in which fires used to occur in this house. “You could put your hand on the shingles and they would not be hot even though you could see the fire burning. All of the people who have lived in the house have been Roman Catholics, and they always put palm in the rafters for protection. This palm, blessed in the church and given out on Palm Sunday, would never be touched although fire would burn all around it. Different families lived in the house, and they all had the same experience. One man described the fires as five or six blue blazes that were not ‘natural’ fires.”
The house itself seemed almost to be alive. One night, when everyone was asleep, the building buckled as if it was about to collapse, or so the family believed. They struggled out of bed and gathered together to join in saying the rosary, thinking their last hour had come. This time surely they would not escape the evil that constantly made their lives a misery. To their amazement, when their prayers were completed, the house righted itself and regained its normal shape.
Fires still continued to break out, and the experience of the house contorting led the family to think that things might improve if they moved the entire building onto a new foundation. Perhaps it had been built over a site that was already haunted. So, they moved the house. Unfortunately, the move did not help. Fires still broke out mysteriously, even under the rafters where the holy palms still hung.
Added to the horror of constantly dealing with outbreaks of fire, and never knowing straight away whether they were dealing with supernatural flames or an actual conflagration, the family was regularly faced with the nightmare of how to extinguish the blaze. Since the only water supply was from a well, the threat of a calamitous fire was always dreaded in small isolated communities such as this.
Flames That Consume the Body From Within
Enough cases of spontaneous human combustion (SHC) have been documented in recent years for the condition to be classified as a recognized medical category. Nevertheless its origins still remain extremely mysterious.
One case of human combustion was discovered in Halifax in 1862. The dreadful event concerned a woman and was believed to have been caused by demonic intervention as a result of a depraved lifestyle. A contemporary report read as follows: “At about 10:00 o’clock the smell of smoke induced a young man passing up stairs to push open the door, when he saw her lying on the floor burning. Help was called and the fire extinguished; but she was quite dead. There was no fire in the fireplace, no fuel, no candle or matches, nor any trace of fire but around the body. The mouth had the appearance as if a flame had issued from it, destroying the lower half of the nose, and burning the upper lip to a cinder. The tongue was also so much burned that the half of it fell out while the body was being washed. The other parts of the face were not disfigured. The young man said that the flames had a peculiar appearance, ‘sparkling like burning fat.’”
In a different kind of phenomenon, the ghostly figure of a Passamaquoddy woman burns to ashes once every seven years at Indian Beach on Grand Manan Island. She is known as “The Flaming Woman.” She stands at the edge of the sand for a while before phantom flames burst from her lonely figure and slowly melt her agonized flesh. A gurgling sound is clearly audible as she burns. Once her spectral body is reduced to ashes, the sea carries them away until the next seventh anniversary. Whatever the reason for her horrible death, it is deeply chilling.
The origins behind this ghost story are not known, although the Beothuk of Newfoundland are recorded as having practiced a ritual of tribal purification for certain offences by publicly burning offenders.
Chapter 8
The Haunted Seas
Return of the Yarmouth
The young newlyweds Randall and Rebecca McDonald, were at the same time excited and very afraid. In the year 1790, their future in Aberdeen, Scotland, had looked bleak. Scotland was in the throes of a long-term political and economic crisis. There was neither enough work nor food for the existing population to survive and their concern was not unfounded. But to take fate into their own hands and risk their chances in the New World, as they were now doing, required courage and daring.
Ever since 1773, when the immigrant ship Hector sailed into Pictou, shiploads of desperate Scots had flooded into Nova Scotia from the troubled Highlands and Lowlands of Scotland, to carve out a future for themselves in the new colony. So many responded to the enthusiastic posters depicting life in the “Promised Land” of Nova Scotia that the authorities were seriously considering restricting the numbers of immigrants. If the McDonalds were going to leave Scotland they must emigrate now, while they still could.
Talking it over quietly in the secrecy of the dark hours, Randall and Rebecca agreed that they must take the risk. The young couple sadly fled their home and family in Aberdeen and managed to book a passage to the New World. They crossed the rough Atlantic in the living hell below decks of an immigrant ship, and arrived in Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, sometime around the year 1790.
The small coastal settlement turned out to be an ideal community in which to raise a family, and five children were born to the McDonalds within the next few years. Randall became enthusiastically involved in the flourishing new shipbuilding industry for which the small settlement of Yarmouth was already famous.
In 1811, by then well-established in the business, Randall had a 200-ton brig built for his own use and christened her Yarmouth in gratitude for the place that had given him such an extraordinary and successful new beginning.
Not only had Yarmouth developed a busy shipbuilding industry, but it also enjoyed far-reaching trading interests, making good use of the ships built in its yards. Vessels from Yarmouth plied regularly between home and European ports. There was also a strong market in shipping lumber and fish to the West Indies, and flour was imported to Nova Scotia from New England. Cargoes of tobacco, sugar and molasses were brought in from the Caribbean, in spite of the dangers posed by merciless pirates who ravaged the shipping routes and by devastating hurricanes.
Shipbuilding back then was part and parcel of adventurous travel and entrepreneurial trade, so it was nothing out of the ordinary when Randall McDonald decided to captain his own vessel on her maiden voyage.
What was unusual, though, was Rebecca’s decision to accompany her husband. It is true that many captains’ wives sailed on long voyages around the world with their husbands, and might even take over the command during times of crisis — but not, said the old timers — on a maiden voyage. They shook their heads when they heard of the McDonalds’ plans, and forecast terrible repercussions. It was never done, they said. To do so would be to act with the utmost arrogance, and to challenge the wrath of Heaven. There was an extremely powerful superstition that it was extraordinarily unlucky to bring any woman, let alone a wife, along on a maiden voyage.
The McDonalds discarded this superstitious warning entirely. They insisted they were good Christian churchgoers — stable family folk. Why should they fear that something awful would happen to
them for defying so seemingly trivial a superstition? The Yarmouth was the first of the ships in the fleet that the couple aspired to build, and they planned to celebrate this initial success together. Besides, look what they had endured on the Atlantic crossing. They had been packed in like sardines below decks, surrounded by death from disease and starvation, yet they survived against all odds.
So it was that Rebecca took her place beside the ship’s rail as she and Randall set sail for Antigua in the British West Indies with a cargo of salt fish and lumber and a stalwart crew of nine men. Randall proudly took over the helm as the smart little brig unfurled her sails and left Yarmouth Harbour, while Rebecca waved goodbye to her young family and the crowd of wellwishers lining the wharf. Although tears coursed her cheeks, it was not from sorrow but from joy and excitement.
Randall and Rebecca were taking off again together on the ship that in every way symbolized the success of their dreams, their years of hard work and their future trading prospects. The view from the deck of Yarmouth towards the small family group waving from shore must indeed have looked encouraging at that moment. She might have been more apprehensive, however, if she had known what lay ahead.
The trip went well, and they sailed proudly into a safe anchorage at Antigua. They enjoyed the sights of the exotic town and mailed a letter home to Yarmouth describing their adventures so far. They expected to sail for home in a couple of weeks. “Look for us within the month,” they wrote.
That was the last that was ever heard of them, their crew of nine, or of Yarmouth. As the weeks went by, no news came in from other returning vessels. After some time, the family and everyone in town had little doubt that she had gone down with all hands, lost at sea.
Then, about a year after the Yarmouth had been expected to return, she “reappeared” in Yarmouth Harbour under full sail late one night.
A watchman was the first to see her. She came racing towards him at great speed, the sails bellying in the wind. When she neared the wharf where he stood, she quickly dropped the mainsail, let go the anchor, and swung gently with the current.
The watchman, who could read her name clearly from on shore, raced to fetch help to unload her and to spread the good news of her return at last. A small crowd gathered, agog at his raucous cries of “Ahoy! The Yarmouth is in! The lost ship has returned! Hurrah!”
He thought it seemed a little strange though, that none of the crew could be seen on deck and that there was no response of any kind from on board. Why wasn’t there any attempt to disembark? Why was the ship still riding a cable’s length from shore?
Still not suspecting that this was a phantom ship, the reception party on the wharf launched a small craft to investigate. Perhaps Yarmouth’s crew was laid low by a horrible sickness on board, but if so, it was odd that she flew no warning flag.
As the small boat drew near Yarmouth, the oarsmen heard a hoarse shout. It sounded like Captain McDonald’s voice. In fact they were certain of it, they said later. He roared, “Keep off! Keep off!” several times in an urgent tone, as if warning them of great danger. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the vessel vanished in front of the group’s astounded eyes.
The men who had witnessed this bizarre event were full of excitement at the story, but since the incident had taken place at night when most people were already in bed, no one believed them. They were teased for having overactive imaginations aided by a good swig of rum, and in time the incident was forgotten.
A brig
That is, until the following year, when the phantom ship appeared again, exactly on the anniversary of the first strange sighting. This time the witnesses on the wharf were taken seriously, but their story was put down to an illusion created by the eerie fog and mist that lay over the harbour that night.
Then, on the third anniversary, in 1814, a small group went on the lookout, and waited for the uncanny craft to appear. Sure enough, the Yarmouth pulled in just short of the wharf and lay silently at anchor, swinging in the current. This time two brave men launched a boat intending to board and investigate her. They almost managed to pull alongside her, and were only six or seven feet away when she disappeared once again.
Yarmouth continued her annual appearance for 60 years. The visits were well documented by many witnesses, but the phantom became fainter and fainter, until she disappeared entirely in 1872.
Nothing was ever learned about what happened to the ship and her crew. However, the old superstition is still taken seriously. To this day many sailors think very carefully before taking a woman on as passenger during a maiden voyage.
The Sinking of the Bristol Hope
It was April of 1867, and a beautiful spring morning in Harbour Breton, Newfoundland. The sun sparkled off the lazily moving waves that lapped the wharves and fishing stages. The sea was so transparent that it was possible to see clear to the bottom, even in the depths. Workmen bustled around Newman’s wine warehouses along the waterfront, strutting and shouting orders, preparing to shift loads of wine. Harbour Breton was a very busy and commercially successful outport.
The manager of Newman’s was handed a telegram. He nodded in satisfaction. The Bristol Hope, he read, was about to sail with a cargo of wine from Bristol, England, and he should expect its arrival on or about May 19. He issued orders to prepare space for the storage of the incoming cargo.
When the ship was sighted on May 19, then, she was unquestionably expected. The Bristol Hope sailed in smartly on a brisk wind in beautiful weather and under full canvas. A small crowd gathered to watch the inspiring sight. They lined the wharves and craned their necks to see her name. A ship from overseas never failed to create excitement. It was also always a relief to witness a safe arrival. The crossing from Europe was extremely dangerous, and many ships were lost at sea in storms or among the ice fields. “All’s well!” rang out among the spectators, “’Tis the Bristol Hope.” Her name could by now be clearly read from the shore. Those on the wharf who were expecting loved ones among the crew began to wave vigorously as they saw the sailors on board scurrying over the decks and climbing the masts to hand the sails, preparing to dock.
It was to the onlookers’ utmost horror, then, when tragedy unexpectedly overwhelmed the cheerful scene. Without any prior hint of trouble, Bristol Hope suddenly sank under the waves. One minute she was coming in at a good clip, the next she was simply gone. Heads craned in disbelief as the fine ship disappeared without a trace. Cries of despair rippled through the crowd as more and more people urgently begged to know what had happened.
It did not take long for the manager of Newman’s to organize a rescue party, and small boats were speedily launched to search for wreckage and to pick up survivors. But now an even greater surprise awaited the would-be rescuers. They could find no trace of either the crew or the ship. It was as if she had never existed.
Completely baffled, the authorities ashore finally gave orders to dredge the harbour. Even this yielded no clues. Where could the wreckage be concealed?
It was clear to the large crowd of witnesses on shore that Bristol Hope had arrived safely. Since the ship had been seen so clearly, and particularly because her name had been read by many of those present, not one person doubted that they had seen a real craft and its living crew. The sinking remained a frightening mystery.
A week later, however, more shocking news arrived. The manager of Newman’s was devastated to receive another telegram from Bristol concerning the itinerary of the Bristol Hope. The departure of this sailing ship, he read, had unfortunately been delayed, and she was just about to set sail. He should expect her arrival in a couple of weeks.
The real ship never did arrive of course. She did depart from Bristol late, but that was the last that was heard of her. Months later people concluded that the first, mystery ship had been a ghostly forerunner that had come to comfort those who lost loved ones on board her, and in her own way
to signal “goodbye.” It had to be assumed that the actual ship was later lost at sea with all hands.
Guardian Spirits
Guardian spirits have actually organized complicated rescues at sea. One such incident was documented in March 1874.
A mighty gale blew up as Captain George Albert Hatfield of Fox River, Nova Scotia, sailed between Cuba and New York. Mountainous waves battered the sailing vessel and the crew despaired of their survival. But hour after hour the captain miraculously maintained his ship’s course.
At last, when there was a lull in the ferocity of the weather, Captain Hatfield snatched the opportunity to go below for a brief rest. Still fully dressed, he immediately fell asleep on his bunk, exhausted.
He woke abruptly when a heavy hand tapped his shoulder and a man’s voice said, “Keep her off half-a-point.” He was furious at being disturbed so soon, and especially for being given an order, since it was he alone who decided the ship’s course. Back on deck, he confronted the mate. The man could not understand what the captain was talking about. He had never once left his post since the captain went below, he declared, and every sailor had implicitly obeyed orders. Convinced that he must have had a vivid dream, Captain Hatfield gruffly apologized and went back to his cabin to lie down again.
He had scarcely fallen asleep the second time when the same thing happened. Again the mate vigorously denied that anyone had been near the captain’s cabin, and again the captain had to accept that it must have been a dream.
The third time, the tapping and the voice were so urgent and authoritative that the captain forced himself awake so that he could catch the culprit red-handed. Hatfield saw a man staggering his way up to the deck of the tossing vessel, and was surprised that he was not wearing the usual sailor’s rig but was dressed in old-fashioned civilian clothes. The captain followed close on his heels, and then lost sight of him on deck. When he questioned the mate once more, the man adamantly reiterated that he had seen no one.
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