Maritime Mysteries (15 page)

The Ghost Of Dean Llwyd

L
ate one night in 1933, the Dean of All Saints Cathedral in Halifax rushed from the parsonage on an errand of mercy. Concerned only with reaching the bedside of a dying parishioner, Dean John Plummer Llwyd raced across Tower Road and was struck down by an automobile. Death claimed the good Dean two weeks later.

Following his untimely death, members of the congregation noticed the Dean wasn't where he was supposed to be—in his grave! He was seen, or his ghost was seen, in the church!

Dean Austin Monroe, now retired, was not fortunate enough to encounter the ghost of Dean Llwyd, but he has certainly heard stories of members of the congregation who claimed to have seen him. Dean Monroe tells of one such occasion during Sunday evening service, when a member of the congregation recognized the ghost of Dean Llwyd moving about the church. The young woman claimed to have seen the spirit going into the pulpit and gazing out at the congregation. Then, with folded arms, he came down from the pulpit and disappeared behind the vestry door. When the service was over and everyone had left the church, the young woman, concerned and frightened, told the priest who was still on the altar what she had seen. The young clergyman assured her she wasn't seeing things. He too had seen the ghost of Dean Llwyd on more than one occasion. Sometime later, the church organist reported that while playing the organ during a Sunday evening service, he almost fell of his bench when the ghost of Dean Llwyd passed in front of him on the way to the vestry.

From all eye witness accounts, the spirit of Dean Llwyd appears only during Sunday evening service.

If that is so, perhaps while attending an evening service at All Saints Cathedral, you to may not only be filled with the holy spirit, but be witness to another kind of spirit. You will know when Dean Llwyd is near; you'll feel a cold rush of air as he passes by on his way up the aisle.

A Dollar Ghost

W
e must go back more than a hundred years for this haunting. It involved a man by the name of Dollar who made a lot of money by operating a grist mill in the community of Emyvale, Prince Edward Island. There was just one problem: Dollar was the only Protestant in Emyvale, and since he made his living off the predominantly Roman Catholic community, he should, it was thought, covert to Catholicism. “No thank you,” was Mr. Dollar's response to the proposal. Even his closest friend, Pat McCardle, pestered him to convert. In the end, Dollar gave in. He told his friend that he would never convert during his time on earth, but he allowed that he would probably die a Catholic! That was good enough for Pat McCardle and the good folk of Emyvale. But not for Dollar. The least sniffle, cough, or ache, and the community was ready to call in a priest. In time, old Dollar's days were numbered. His doctor advised everyone that Dollar had only a few hours to live. Pat McCardle hurried to the bedside of his old friend and whispered in his ear the promise he had made. Dollar remembered and agreed to the conversion. Pat wasted no time. He saddled and mounted the fastest horse in his stable and headed for Kinkora, some sixteen miles away, to fetch Father James Duffy. The men were less than a mile away from Dollar's home, when the priest pulled up his horse and told Pat to slow down, “He's gone,” said Father Duffy, “it's too late.” Did old Dollar know all along that he'd die a Protestant before the priest arrived? Some die-hard Catholics thought so.

When Dollar's estate was settled, the grist mill was bought by a Jim McCloskey and his brother-in-law. The new owners continued to operate the mill the same way old Dollar did: opened early in the morning and closed down at 6:00
P.M.
, or when the last customer's order was filled. But, something was wrong. Somehow, things were not quite the same. Late at night when no one was in the mill, the machinery would start up on its own. This appeared impossible, since the mill was powered by a water wheel that had to be opened to start it up and closed to shut it down. People began to whisper that the mill was haunted by none other than Dollar himself. There had been other unexplained and strange happenings since old Dollar's death. One instance involved the new owner's mother who went to the barn one evening to bring hay down from the loft. No matter how hard she tried, she could not push the hay through the loft hatch. It was as if someone was deliberately holding the hay back. When she told the workers what happened, they all agreed that Dollar was haunting the place.

Father James Duffy was called in to cast out the offending spirit. When the exorcism was completed, Dollar's spirit was trapped in a bottle. The elders of Emyvale agreed to bury the bottle across the river from the mill where a strange and large black dog, perhaps a Scottish deer hound, was later seen and heard howling at night. Somehow they felt there was a connection between the dog and Dollar.

Once Dollar's spirit was entombed in the bottle, it was blessed and buried. After that, the dog never again appeared and the machinery in the mill fell silent during the night.

In time, a normal way of life returned to the community and it appeared that Emyvale's only Protestant was finally resting peacefully…or maybe not?

Father Duffy's Wake

Y
ou remember Father James Duffy, the priest who performed the exorcism of Dollar's spirit? Well, there's an amazing story connected with the exhumation of the good priest's body. It's unbelievable, but according to many witnesses, it's the gospel truth. This wonderful tale came my way from Leo Brendan Campbell of North Wiltshire, Prince Edward Island.

Father Duffy was born in Ireland in 1802. Following his ordination into the priesthood, he was sent to St. Mary's Bay, Newfoundland, where he served his community for the next eighteen years. From St. Mary's, he spent eight years in Antigonish, Nova Scotia, before being transferred to Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island in 1858. In time, Father Duffy was given charge of St. Ann's, lot 65, Kelly's Cross, and Kinkora.

During the winter of 1859, Father Duffy became seriously ill and was moved to Charlottetown, where he died on December 1st, 1860. He was fifty-eight years old. His remains were laid to rest in front of the church in Kelly's Cross. There, the gentle and holy father rested for the next forty years.

In 1898, a new church was built on the site of the old one and it was necessary to exhume Father Duffy's body and bury it, as had been his wish, in the shadow along the pathway to the church, so those who passed by would remember him.

On Saturday, September 15th, 1900, an event took place that the people of Kelly's Cross and surrounding areas would remember for the rest of their days—the date of exhumation. This was no ordinary exhumation—this was a saintly priest; a friend to one and all. Because of his status, the event became of interest to the local newspaper editor, who sent a reporter to cover the story.

This is what appeared in the
Charlottetown Examiner
:

Sunday, September 16th, 1900 was a day long to be remembered by the parishioners of Kelly's Cross. From early morning, streams of carriages could be seen converging on St. Joseph's Church and the reason for this immense throng was a four-fold ceremony to be performed that day. On Saturday, the day before, the body of Father Duffy, was disinterred and placed in a beautiful new casket that was provided by Mr. P.D. Hagan, the local undertaker, and placed in the church where his body lay in front of the main altar until Sunday Morning.

At 10 o'clock Sunday morning, September 16th, a Pontifical high mass was celebrated by his Excellency Bishop J.C. MacDonald, along with several other members of the clergy.

After the reading of the Gospel, an eloquent sermon was delivered by a former pastor, Reverend Patrick Doyle, of Vernon River. In his usual and vigorous polished manner, he spoke of the dignity, the power, the high office of, and the respect due to a priest of the Roman Catholic Church, which has been exemplified in the life and work of this servant of God, whose remains have for forty years enjoyed the peace and quiet in the old cemetery.

I began this Maritime Mystery by telling you that there was a startling revelation when the grave of Father Duffy was opened: To the amazement of those present, the body was in a perfect state of preservation! From the pulpit, Father Doyle said of this revelation, “What a joyous re-awakening of the dead past in the breast of those, who with loving hands tenderly laid away, forty years ago the remains of their beloved “Old Father Duffy,” to gaze once again on that face they knew so well, resurrected for the moment, as it were, in the closing days of the nineteenth century.”

There are a number of people still living who were present when the casket was opened by Patrick Duffy Maplewood, a very respected member of the parish who volunteered to do so, and who also saw the body as it laid in state in the parish church, and who testified to the truth of the event. According to reports of the time, others listed as witnesses were, Joseph Kelly, Gordon Waddell, Joseph Carragher, John H. Trainor, Mrs. Minnie Hughes, and Mrs. Maria Kelly. All were living witnesses to this strange event. Each of them states in his or her own way, “He was as fresh as he was on the day of his burial, there was no sign of decay. ‘They even put a new suit and socks on the good father.”

Since the people of Kelly's Cross had always regarded Father Duffy as a living saint, it was only natural when his body was found to be “as fresh as the day of his burial,” that devotion to him intensified. Prayers were said to him, requests made of him.

Some of the senior citizens who were school-aged when Father Duffy's body was first lain in the old cemetery would go to his grave to offer a prayer and make a request. Some would even apply a pebble or clay from his grave and place it over a sore spot, to make it well.

We must caution that these are only personal and private beliefs and devotions and in no way have any official approval.

Did Father Duffy, lying in a cold grave for all those years, know that his so-called long sleep would be temporary, and that his body would eventual be interred in a more peaceful place? Was there some higher power in force—a power that kept his body from decaying?

Chapter Seven
The Unexplained

The Fork in the Grave

C
an fear kill you? Can you actually be scared to death? Well, that's what appeared to have happened to Peter MacIntyre of Tracadie. This Prince Edward Island tale begins in a general store and ends in a graveyard.

Imagine, if you will, a cold wind blowing in from the sea, washing against the windows of a general store. The oil lamps flicker and cast ghostly shadows off the wall. The local farmers, gathered around the potbelly stove, pause in their conversation and listen to the howling wind out side. After discussing politics, crops, and the weather, the topic turns to the supernatural. Most of the men have already heard Ben Peter's account of a brilliant light he once saw in the old French burial ground at Scotch Fort. But that isn't going to prevent him from telling it again. According to Ben's description, the illumination he witnessed rolled like a cart wheel and lit up the whole cemetery.

“Poppycock,” scoffs Peter MacIntyre, “sheer nonsense and pure superstition.”

To prove his point, Peter, will this very night, go into the graveyard alone and walk out the other side laughing. The other men who are gathered around the stove wink and smile at each other. A challenge has been made by a braggart. They would call Peter's bluff. A pound of tobacco is wagered.

Peter accepts the challenge and the rules are set down. He will take with him a hay fork and go to the centre of the graveyard and drive the fork deep into a grave to prove he was there. In the morning, the other men will go into the cemetery at first light and if they find the hay fork, Peter wins the bet.

Next morning the men go to Peter MacIntyre's cabin, but find it empty. Somewhat concerned, they rush to the cemetery. To their horror, they find the body of Peter MacIntyre slumped over a grave. When they roll the body over, they discover a prong of the fork driven through the tail of Peter's long black coat and deep into the grave.

Was Peter MacIntyre a victim of his own boasting? Or was there some other power at work?

The Dungarvon Whooper

A
banshee-like scream is heard in the woods of the Miramichi. It's the wailing of the Dungarvon Whooper.

A story should not to be kept on a shelf or in a drawer. It should be told. So let the journey to the Miramichi begin.