The Baldoon Mystery | 1870 Book (Modern Language Translation)
Chapter 1: A Settlement on the Edge of the Wilderness
“Come roam with me the unsettled forest through,
Where scenes sublime shall meet your wandering view;
The settler’s farm with blazing fires o’erspread;
The hunter’s cabin and the Indian’s shed;
The log-built hamlet, deep in wilds embraced;
The awful silence of the unpeopled waste.” — Anon.
The broad and beautiful St. Clair River sweeps with majestic force between the great inland seas, Lake Huron and Lake St. Clair. About thirty miles from its source, a tributary stream, called by the early French settlers the Channel Ecarte, winds its way into a low-lying tract of country which, at the time of which I write, was a desolate region of marsh and forest, with here and there a cleared settlement.
In 1803, the philanthropic but unfortunate Lord Selkirk, troubled by personal difficulties and inspired by visions of establishing a second utopia, resolved to found a new colony. This settlement, he hoped, would restore his shattered fortunes while also benefiting his dependents, whose lives, as was common in many old English and Scottish families, were closely tied to their lord’s interests.
Actuated by these motives, he set out on an exploring expedition through Canada. After various adventures, he decided upon settling the vast waste lands through which the Channel Ecarte flowed.
Having secured the land, the adventurous nobleman sent for his followers, who were anxiously awaiting his commands in their homes in Argyleshire. But when the clans were gathered, farewells spoken, and the pain of leaving their homeland endured—for few people are more patriotic than the Scots—the little band of pilgrims encountered a serious obstacle. The war between France and England was then raging, and when the party reached the small seaport town of Kincubright, they found the voyage across the Atlantic too dangerous to attempt. They scattered themselves among the neighboring peasants and, with that remarkable adaptability characteristic of the Scots, managed to make ends meet during a year’s unexpected stay in a strange place.
In 1804, however, they successfully crossed the vast ocean and, after weeks of weary travel across the pine-clad slopes of Ontario, found themselves at the long-sought destination of their pilgrimage.
There are few subjects in history more engaging to thoughtful minds than the stories of the first European settlers in the Western World. Whether we follow the journeys of large groups like the wandering Huguenots or the daily experiences of a single emigrant family, the tale of human endurance, perseverance, and triumph over hardship never grows old.
Yet, despite the long delay, Lord Selkirk’s preparations were far from complete when the settlers arrived. The rough log houses were not ready for occupancy, and for weeks they were forced to live in tents during the harsh onset of a Canadian winter. It is little wonder, then, that as one contemporary writer observed, “most of the heads of families died off the first year.”
According to Lord Selkirk’s arrangements, each family was allotted a homestead of fifty acres. Thus began the fortunes of many who, in later years, would achieve comfort and, in some cases, considerable prosperity. In time, the town of Wallaceburg would rise among them, a thriving community marking the results of their years of arduous labor.
The founder reserved nine hundred acres for himself and built a residence for his agent, which he called Baldoon, a name that eventually came to be associated with most of the surrounding settlements.
A mile or two farther west than any of the other settlers, one sturdy emigrant built a large frame house on the Channel Ecarte. This was Daniel McDonald, who, after years of honest industry, found himself at the head of a prosperous family.
Among his children was a son, John T. McDonald, who inherited his father’s industrious habits and steady demeanor. There was great joy when John came of age and married, and a second frame house was built to accommodate the young couple.
This house would become the scene of the Baldoon Mysteries.
For a time, John and his wife lived happily there, eventually welcoming the cheerful sounds of children at their doorstep. But it was a fool’s paradise, for they were soon to awaken to a series of mysterious persecutions of extraordinary nature.
To properly understand the events that follow, it is necessary to mention another family living nearby. As I do not wish to implicate them by name, I will refer to them as the people of the Long Low Log House. This family consisted of an elderly woman, her two sons, and a daughter. They were not well regarded, known instead for their sullen and resentful demeanor, and they made few friends. In a sparsely settled community, few faults are less easily forgiven than unsociability, and it is not surprising that this family became unpopular among their neighbors.
Young John McDonald had acquired a piece of land that this family coveted, and they approached him with offers to purchase it. These he firmly refused, and to this stubbornness—whether rightly or wrongly, as the reader may decide—he owed all the miseries he would later endure during the terrible events known as the Baldoon Mysteries.
Chapter 2: The First Disturbances
“If sweet content is banished from my soul,
Life grows a burden and a weight of woe.” — Otway
When spring returned after the long winter, each passing season saw the frugal Scottish families living in increasing happiness. They had few cares. The earth yielded generously to their labor, and they were bound together by the strong ties of family and clan that they had brought with them from the land of the heather.
They were strict Baptists of the old Covenanter character: determined, steady, and not easily led astray by flights of imagination. Regular religious services were held in their homes, and from time to time, as was the custom of the day, an itinerant preacher would find a warm welcome among them. Content to remain apart from the wider world, they tilled their land, enjoyed their well-earned rest, and lived in a state of peaceful simplicity.
But soon the fair scene surrounding them was to be shattered by a desolation of unimaginable severity.
It is said that a sailor watches a cloud on the horizon, no larger than a man’s hand, which gradually grows until it bursts upon him in the full grandeur of a storm. So too did this innocent family witness small signs and warnings of the terrors to come.
In those days, the women of the household wove homespun cloth for their families, while the daughters became skilled in weaving straw into hats to shield the workers from the summer sun. Many a cheerful gathering took place in the barns during hat-weaving time, and the industrious young women were always ready to lend their hands to useful work.
One bright summer day, while the men were away attending to their farm duties, the young women of several families gathered in the barn to prepare straw for the afternoon’s work. It was a lively, carefree group, full of laughter and high spirits. The rafters of the old log barn rang with their merriment.
Inside the barn, poles had been laid across from side to side, forming a kind of loft upon which flax was stored. As the girls sat talking and working, they were suddenly startled when one of these poles fell directly into their midst, though it struck no one.
Once the initial shock passed, they dismissed the incident as accidental. But soon another crash followed, and a second pole came down. Alarmed now, they searched thoroughly for an explanation, but found nothing.
They resumed their work, though uneasily. After a period of quiet, they began to relax again when, with a loud crash, a third pole fell to the floor.
This time, thoroughly frightened, they fled in panic back to the house.
“What could it be?” they wondered, offering various explanations and attempting to reassure one another, though none truly felt at ease. Eventually, household duties distracted them, and they returned to their tasks.
While they were working, a sudden crash of glass startled them. A leaden bullet had come through the window and dropped harmlessly at their feet.
“What a shame,” one exclaimed, assuming that a careless hunter had fired too close to the house. “Someone could have been hurt.”
But scarcely had she spoken when another bullet followed, and then another. Soon a shower of bullets came through the windows in the same strange manner, each piercing the glass as if fired with force, yet falling gently to the floor.
Terrified, the young women fled to a neighbor’s house, unwilling to remain any longer.
Shortly afterward, Mr. L. A. McDougald of Wallaceburg—whose account informs this narrative—arrived and persuaded them to return. He found the house exactly as described. Each bullet had pierced the glass as though violently shot, yet none had caused injury, and all lay quietly upon the floor.
When John McDonald returned home and found his family in such distress, he was overcome with a deep melancholy, as though some instinct warned him of the trials to come.
For days, the strange events were the sole topic of conversation in the neighborhood. Visitors came from afar to witness the phenomenon. Some carried away the bullets as curiosities, and the incident became a brief sensation, even inspiring a certain pride in the attention it brought.
But the disturbances were only beginning.
One night, around midnight, John McDonald was awakened by his wife.
“Hark! There is someone in the kitchen.”
They listened.
Then came the sound of slow, steady footsteps, pacing back and forth with a hollow, measured tread. Then silence. Then again: tramp, tramp, tramp.
Driven by fear for his child, who slept in a room adjoining the kitchen, John rushed forward and flung open the door.
There was nothing.
The room stood empty, undisturbed.
This occurred in the summer of 1829, and for the next three years, the family would endure many such manifestations.
At first, the footsteps were the only disturbance. But even this was torment enough. Imagine lying awake each night, listening for those ghostly sounds—hearing them approach your door, fade away, and return again. Imagine walking across a room and hearing footsteps following behind you, only to turn and find nothing there. Such was the daily experience of the household.
Soon, however, the disturbances increased.
The mysterious bullets continued to strike the house, until every pane of glass was shattered. John replaced the windows with solid wooden boards, but even these offered no protection. The bullets passed through them as easily as through glass, leaving no visible mark.
Then stones began to fall in the same inexplicable manner.
By this time, the entire region was stirred with excitement. People came from near and far to witness the events, but none could offer a satisfactory explanation. Nearly all left convinced that the occurrences were supernatural.
One day, a bold and cheerful young man named Neil Campbell came to investigate. He laughed at the reports and declared himself more than capable of facing any ghostly trickery.
Hardly had he spoken when a heavy stone crashed through the window and struck him on the chest. It did not injure him, but the color drained from his face, and he trembled visibly.
He picked up the stone and threw it into the river.
Moments later, it fell again at his feet inside the room.
Never had a skeptic been so completely convinced that he was witnessing something beyond his understanding. From that moment on, Neil Campbell became a deeply interested observer of the strange events at this house of mysteries.
Chapter 3: A House Under Siege
“The mysteries took such strange, fantastic shapes
That men would laugh even through falling tears.” — Henderson
Among the many who visited the house out of curiosity was William F. Fleury, now of St. Clair. He witnessed one of the strange manifestations firsthand.
A small infant lay quietly in its cradle when, without any apparent cause, the cradle began to rock violently, nearly throwing the child out. With great difficulty, Fleury and John McDonald managed to steady it until the mother, driven by fear for her child, snatched the infant into her arms.
Numerous witnesses testified to events equally extraordinary. Some, were it not for the distress of the afflicted family, might almost have seemed grotesquely humorous.
Dishes of water would rise of their own accord from the table. The tongs and shovel would clash together on the hearth. Chairs and tables would overturn with loud crashes. Even the kettle, resting quietly on the fire, would suddenly toss off its lid, tip over, and dash itself to the floor as if seized by unseen hands.
On one occasion, an Indian knife with a blade ten inches long was hurled against a window frame and stuck fast in the wood.
The Channel Ecarte and the nearby St. Clair River were rich with fish, and many settlers made use of this abundance. One in every several families owned a seine for dragging the river, and though there was no market for such catches, neighbors shared generously, repaying one another with kindness.
John McDonald, always industrious, owned such a net and took pride in it. One day, in the presence of several witnesses whose names appear in sworn statements, a shower of lead sinkers—like those attached to a fishing net—fell into the house. Upon inspection, it was discovered that these weights had been removed from the net without breaking a single thread, a feat that even a skilled fisherman could scarcely accomplish with hours of careful work.
The sinkers were thrown into the river, yet within minutes they would reappear, dripping wet, falling once again onto the floor.
One witness recounted seeing a piece of soap fly from its place and strike one of the McDonald children on the back.
Mr. Alexander Brown, a respected Methodist class leader from near Chatham, described one of the more bizarre incidents. Mrs. McDonald had given a favorite dog a pot of mush to lick clean. No sooner had the dog begun eating than the ladle flew up from the pot and began striking the poor animal repeatedly. The terrified dog fled into the fields, yelping. The ladle calmly returned to its place, but the dog disappeared for several days and was eventually found in Michigan. It never returned to Canada.
One evening, as the troubled family sat together discussing their misfortunes, there came a knock at the door. John McDonald opened it to find a stranger from New York seeking shelter for the night. Though hospitality had always been freely given in happier times, McDonald hesitated. Pressed for an explanation, he reluctantly described the strange disturbances that plagued his home.
The stranger, undeterred, declared that such a mystery would only add excitement to his stay. Reluctantly, McDonald agreed.
In those days, a guest was often welcomed as a welcome diversion from the quiet routines of rural life. But on this occasion, the household was subdued, weighed down by anxiety. The stranger, however, remained cheerful.
“Guess I shan’t come across anything worse than myself,” he joked.
At that very moment, the gun he was holding suddenly discharged. Almost simultaneously, another gun standing upright in the corner of the room also fired. Then, as if animated by invisible forces, both guns began to move about the room, eluding the grasp of their astonished owners.
The events of that night left a deep impression on the visitor. By morning, he departed a far more serious man, carrying with him a remarkable account that would spread to distant places, drawing more curious observers to the house.
At the time, a peddler named Patrick Tobin traveled the countryside selling simple goods not readily available in the region. He often stayed overnight at the homes of settlers and frequently lodged with the McDonald family.
On one such visit, while counting his money before departing, he discovered that twenty silver half-dollars were missing. Confident in the honesty of his hosts, he mentioned the loss. The family explained that items often disappeared and later reappeared, advising him to wait.
During breakfast, a sharp tap was heard against the window. One of the missing coins fell onto Tobin’s plate. Soon after, eighteen more followed, one by one.
The final coin did not return immediately. Alarmed, Tobin gathered his money and hastily left, telling the children they could keep the last coin if it ever came back.
On another occasion, a well-known local man, James Stewart, remarked that he had read of a case in Scotland where an empty bucket moved on its own to a well and returned filled with water. The McDonalds replied that nothing of the sort had happened in their home.
At once, a cup of water sitting on the table rose into the air, moved about the room, and then returned, emptying itself onto the floor before their eyes.
Chapter 4: Fire and Ruin
“Such unheard-of prodigies hang o’er us
As make the boldest tremble.” — Young
After the disturbances described in the previous chapter—mere precursors of far greater trials—the afflicted family was plunged into even deeper misery.
Small balls of fire began to appear, floating through the air before settling in different parts of the house and igniting them. Fires would break out in every room in the most inexplicable ways. Little bundles of cobwebs, flax, clothing, and other combustible materials were discovered constantly, already aflame or ready to ignite. The harassed family struggled continually to put out the fires.
At times, the back log from the hearth would be hurled into the middle of the room, scattering sparks in all directions. Closets, inaccessible without passing through the main room, were found to contain small bonfires seemingly lit by unseen hands. Cotton batting would be discovered burning beneath the clapboards, and smoke would rise from within the walls. For days, the family lived in a state of constant alarm and bewilderment.
At last, the crisis came.
Exhausted by constant vigilance, John McDonald was nearing desperation when flames suddenly erupted from multiple points throughout the house. There was no time to save their belongings. The fire quickly consumed the entire dwelling, reducing it to ashes. Not even his coat was saved. The home to which he had so recently brought his bride, full of hope for the future, was destroyed before his eyes.
Mr. L. A. McDougall of Wallaceburg gives a vivid account of the scene:
“The first house that was consumed was John T. McDonald’s. I was going up the river that morning in a boat with James Johnson Sr. and William Fisher. When we were opposite McDonald’s place, we saw that John’s house was on fire, but we were too far away to reach it in time. The family were still at breakfast and had not yet discovered the danger.
“Mr. Daniel McDonald’s house was nearer to us, and they hailed us, asking for help to carry out their furniture, fearing their own house would soon catch fire. We landed and assisted them in removing everything. Meanwhile, John’s house and barn were completely destroyed, along with all they contained. The family escaped only with their lives. John came to us without even his coat, saying the clothes he wore were all that remained.”
Utterly broken by the loss, John fell ill, and it required the care and compassion of friends to restore him enough to endure what lay ahead. His misfortune stirred deep sympathy, and people came from far and near to offer help and encouragement. At the same time, curiosity drew many visitors to Baldoon, and the strange events became widely discussed, even in distant cities.
These expressions of support offered some comfort, and John resolved to rebuild his life. His first concern was to find shelter for his family. Though many feared that wherever he went the disturbances would follow, several friends offered their homes.
At last, it was decided that the family would stay temporarily with John’s brother-in-law. But scarcely had they settled in when the disturbances resumed, as persistently as before, threatening to escalate into another disaster.
They moved again, and again the disturbances followed.
At one place where they sought refuge, a remarkable incident occurred, as testified by Mr. Isaiah Brown of Chatham. In those days, large log fires burned in open hearths, providing both heat and light to the spacious “keeping-room.” Instead of iron supports, large stones were used to hold the logs in place.
One day, while Mr. Brown was visiting, one of these stones suddenly flew from its position, crashing through the door, shattering a panel, and scattering burning embers across the floor. Though similar events had occurred before in the McDonald home, the sight deeply affected both Mr. Brown and the host. Years later, Mr. Brown would still speak of the incident with a shudder.
Was ever a family so afflicted?
Their home had been destroyed, their possessions lost, the small comforts of domestic life scattered to the winds. Their spirits were worn down by constant fear and unrest. And now, it seemed that wherever they went, the unseen force followed, bringing with it the same relentless disturbances.
In ancient times, we are told, the leper was cast out from human society, forced into isolation, forbidden from approaching others. But in this case, the affliction extended not only to the man but to his entire family. Wherever they went, it seemed they carried the curse with them.
The constant repetition of these smaller disturbances, like water wearing away stone, was enough to exhaust even the strongest resolve. Yet beyond these daily torments lay the ever-present dread that something far worse was still to come.
Chapter 5: The Haunting Follows
“Wonders and mysteries and marvels strange
Rain on us thick as leaves in brown October.” — Barton
As it became clear that John McDonald could not remain with friends indefinitely—few could be expected to endure such disturbances—it was decided that he, his wife, and their three children would move in with old David McDonald. When all other doors are closed, the father’s hearth remains open, no matter the burden. So the family relocated to a black frame house on the bank of the Channel Ecarte.
For a few weeks, they were left in peace.
In an effort to lift their spirits, small gatherings were arranged, and gradually people were found who were not afraid to visit. Among the most welcome guests was a young female relative whose cheerful disposition brought light into the troubled home.
One day, while she and Mrs. McDonald were alone in the garden, they noticed a small black dog lying on the doorstep, basking in the sun. It was a beautiful creature, with long ears and a silky coat.
“Where could it have come from?” the young woman wondered, attempting to coax it closer. They decided to keep it until its owner could be found and approached it together, calling gently.
As they neared, the dog ran around the corner of the house. Each woman followed from opposite sides, expecting to meet at the back. When they did, neither had seen the animal.
It had vanished.
Returning to the front of the house, they spoke of its strange disappearance. Then, suddenly, the young woman pointed upward. There, on the eavestrough of the two-story house, lay the little dog, its head hanging over the edge, tongue lolling out. There was no apparent way for it to have reached the roof.
When the men returned and were told the story, they laughed it off. Yet the same mysterious dog was seen again by multiple credible witnesses.
Soon after, the familiar disturbances resumed.
The heavy, ghostly tramping was heard day and night. Furniture moved of its own accord. Large cupboards crashed to the floor. Bullets broke through the upstairs windows, though not those below. Stones were hurled from the river into the house, only to be thrown back and return again.
But a far worse calamity followed.
A terrible sickness struck the livestock. A fine pair of oxen dropped dead in the field. Hogs fell ill and died. Horses collapsed in their stalls. Even the poultry perished, and it was observed that if a hen laid an egg, it would die shortly afterward.
Around this time, a troubling incident weighed heavily on Mr. McDonald’s mind.
The old woman from the Long Low Log House asked Mr. McDonald’s sister to weave a piece of carpet for her. She refused, saying there was already too much trouble in the household to take on extra work.
“Nay,” the old woman insisted, “no trouble will befall your house while you are engaged on my business.”
She repeated this assurance so often that they finally agreed to try. And indeed, while the carpet was being woven, the disturbances ceased entirely.
For a brief time, the family experienced something they had nearly forgotten—peace. Rest, which had long been absent, returned. It was, for those few days, a kind of heaven.
But it did not last.
The moment the finished cloth was returned to its owner, the disturbances resumed as violently as ever.
Not long after, Captain Lewis Bennett of the British Army, accompanied by Mr. John Jones of Corunna, came to investigate the phenomena. Bennett later reported that he witnessed furniture moving, particularly iron objects, which clattered noisily about. His own gun discharged without any visible cause.
Bullets were thrown into the room. Bennett collected them in a shot belt, tied it securely, and slung it over his shoulder. Yet within minutes, the belt would be empty, and the bullets would reappear on the floor, dripping wet as though fresh from the river.
He also witnessed an alarming event involving one of John McDonald’s infants. The child lay sleeping in a cradle when it suddenly began to scream in apparent agony. When the bedding was lifted, a stone—so hot that it hissed when thrown into water—was found beneath the child. Moments later, the same stone was thrown back into the room. This was repeated several times.
At times, the entire house would lift from its foundation by one to three feet, terrifying the occupants.
In those days, shoemakers were itinerant, moving from house to house repairing footwear. One such man, accustomed to staying with Daniel McDonald, arrived and declared himself willing to face whatever dangers the household endured.
He set up his bench and began his work. Soon, however, his lapstone began to vanish from his side, only to return moments later, dripping with water. He endured this patiently. But when the boots he was repairing began to move about the room of their own accord, he abandoned his work and fled in alarm.
The events had grown so notorious that authorities in Toronto, concerned about the spread of superstition, sent officials to investigate and attempt to put an end to the disturbances.
Their first measure was to remove the McDonald families entirely from the premises. Both families relocated temporarily to the banks of Running Creek. Yet this did nothing to resolve the situation. The disturbances followed them, and the abandoned homestead continued to exhibit the same phenomena.
Visitors who kept watch at the empty house reported the same inexplicable occurrences.
Mr. L. McDougald of Wallaceburg provided one such account:
“My father and Mr. John McNeil volunteered to watch Daniel McDonald’s house. As they sat talking, they saw smoke coming from a small closet. Upon investigation, they found a fire burning on the floor, built of corn cobs and coal. There was only one entrance, and no one could have entered without their knowledge.
“They extinguished it, but soon smoke began to issue from the wall. Tearing away the laths and plaster, they found another fire. This continued—whenever one fire was put out, another appeared—until it was decided that whatever force was responsible could just as easily bring the house down upon them. They left the place.”
Meanwhile, the McDonalds continued to suffer at Running Creek, and with no solution in sight, they eventually returned to Belledoon.
Fearing to live inside the house, they gathered old sails and constructed a tent in a nearby field. Though they still had to constantly extinguish fires in the abandoned buildings, they felt somewhat safer outdoors.
But a Canadian winter soon made this impossible. As the cold set in, the suffering of the elderly and the children became unbearable, and even a haunted house seemed preferable to the bitter elements.
While living in the field, further strange events occurred. Clothes taken from the house and stored in barrels would spontaneously ignite. Even single garments, soaked in water and hung out to dry, would catch fire.
On one occasion, Mr. McDonald and his men saw a bundle of sticks fly through the air and land on the barn roof, which immediately caught fire. This happened repeatedly. Fires broke out almost hourly in both the house and the outbuildings.
On the third day, despite all efforts, the barn was completely destroyed, along with all the stored grain.
Neighbors and even strangers, moved by compassion, did what they could to help replace what had been lost. But the coming winter forced the family indoors once more—Daniel returning to the old homestead, and John to the log cabin.
Chapter 6: No Relief in Sight
“Live you? Or are you aught
That man may question?” — Shakespeare
Among those most interested in the strange and persistent events at Baldoon was a man named Robert Barker, a schoolmaster of some education who lived in Bay County. He had read extensively on the subject of witchcraft and, being of a somewhat brooding temperament, had come to believe that supernatural forces could influence the lives of ordinary people.
The case of the McDonalds provided him with an ideal opportunity to confirm his beliefs. He therefore took up residence at Belledoon and devoted himself entirely to investigating the phenomena.
Before long, his experiences convinced him that the disturbances were indeed caused by supernatural agencies. Having witnessed many of the occurrences himself, he drew his conclusions with certainty.
Following the old custom of attempting to banish evil spirits, he prepared a large placard bearing the words:
“I command you, troublesome spirit, to leave this house, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.”
He also nailed a horseshoe above the door as an additional protective measure.
These efforts, however, had no effect on the disturbances. Instead, they attracted the attention—and displeasure—of the authorities, who had little tolerance for anything resembling witchcraft.
One day, while Barker was speaking with the McDonalds, news arrived that Constable George Barnshaw was on his way to arrest him. The schoolmaster, who had boldly confronted unseen spirits, was far less courageous in the face of the law. Pale with fear, he fled into the nearby Black Creek area.
He remained in hiding for a time, but was eventually discovered by the constable, who confronted him at gunpoint. Barker wisely surrendered and was taken into custody.
The following day, he was transported in handcuffs by canoe to Windsor, the nearest place where a court could be held. There he was imprisoned for six months before being brought to trial.
During his confinement, Barker suffered greatly. Beyond the humiliation of his situation, he was forced to associate with hardened criminals of the frontier. He was poorly fed, his clothing became infested with vermin, and by the time of his trial, he was so emaciated that even his friends scarcely recognized him.
His suffering was made worse by constant anxiety for the welfare of his family during his imprisonment.
When the trial finally took place, many neighbors gathered to hear the outcome. It was soon determined that no legal action could be sustained against him, as he had received no payment for his services.
After months of hardship, he was released with little more than a formal pardon from the Crown—essentially absolving him for having done nothing at all, and advising him not to repeat it.
Barker left for the eastern United States to rebuild his life and was never again heard from by his former neighbors.
After this, some Catholic friends advised the McDonalds to seek help from the clergy of their church. Accordingly, an appeal was made to Reverend Father Troyer of Longwoods. Though the McDonalds were not members of his congregation, he agreed to assist them.
The priest took up residence in the house for a full week, conducting prayers, rituals, and religious observances. Yet all his efforts proved ineffective. The disturbances continued unabated.
Father Troyer suggested that the events might be a divine punishment for some past wrongdoing committed by a member of the family and urged them to confess and repent. The family, however, firmly denied any such guilt.
Unable to provide relief, the priest returned home disappointed.
Soon after, another figure appeared—an Indigenous medicine man who claimed to possess the knowledge needed to end the disturbances. He declared that the source of the trouble lay in a buried object composed of many dreadful elements, including fifty human tongues, hidden beneath a tree he identified.
He promised that, on a certain day, he would summon this object—a kettle—from beneath the ground and thereby put an end to the affliction. However, he warned that performing this act would cost him his life. His spirit, he said, would depart his body and ascend to the “happy hunting grounds.”
Desperate for relief, the McDonalds placed their trust in him. On the appointed day, nearly two hundred people gathered to witness the event.
But the medicine man never appeared.
Whether he had lost his nerve or never possessed the promised power at all, no one could say. The crowd eventually dug beneath the indicated tree, but found nothing.
In the end, most concluded that the man had been more skilled in deception than in supernatural ability.
Chapter 7: The Girl With The Second Sight
“Even in our darkest hours
Comes blessed hope.” — Gower
As the old proverb says, the longest lane must have a turn, and even the darkest cloud has a silver lining. So, though nearly worn down by relentless persecution, the McDonalds were at last approaching the end of their afflictions.
In those days, before the world had become so strictly rational and scientific, most people held at least some belief in the supernatural. It is therefore not surprising that the Reverend McDorman, a Methodist elder, entertained the idea of a remedy that did not entirely align with the doctrines of his church, but which he believed might, with God’s blessing, prove effective.
While traveling on one of his itinerant visits, he stopped at the home of Daniel McDonald, who, despite all his troubles, continued to offer hospitality to travelers. After some hesitation, the elder confided that he knew of a doctor whose daughter possessed the gift of second sight and the ability to read mysteries through a stone.
McDonald, steeped in the old traditions and beliefs of his Scottish upbringing, eagerly seized upon this possibility. He begged the elder to take him to this gifted young woman.
Reluctantly, McDorman agreed.
“It is a long and difficult journey,” he warned, “and perhaps it is wrong to seek such aid. I cannot be certain that good can come from it. But if you wish it, I will accompany you.”
With gratitude, McDonald accepted. Preparations were made, and the two men set out on horseback, guns slung over their shoulders.
The journey was arduous. The route led through vast marshes and dense forests, little more than an Indian trail in places. It would take several days. On the second night, they approached the Long Woods, a stretch of wilderness some twenty-five miles across with no sign of human habitation.
To avoid the heat of the day, and with the moon shining brightly, they decided to cross the forest by night.
It proved to be a terrifying experience.
The tall trees swayed in the wind, producing a mournful sound that echoed through the darkness. Now and then, the cry of an owl startled their horses, or the distant howl of a wolf carried through the woods.
Then, suddenly, as they entered a small clearing bathed in moonlight, they heard what sounded like a vast multitude approaching them. There were indistinct voices, the crashing of branches, the snapping of twigs, and then a rushing sound as though a great host swept past them.
Yet nothing could be seen.
McDonald was overcome with terror. His hair stood on end, and he trembled uncontrollably. But the elder, steadfast in his resolve, began to sing a hymn loudly, urging his companion onward.
Soon they heard another host, as if meeting the first in violent conflict. The air filled with the sounds of battle—the groans of the wounded and the cries of the dying. Then all fell silent.
From the surrounding darkness came desperate cries: “Murder! Murder! Help! Help!” which gradually faded away, as if uttered by voices retreating into the distance.
“Fear not,” said the elder, and continued singing.
At last, morning broke, and the exhausted travelers found rest in the light of day. McDonald would never forget the horrors of that night. For years afterward, he would wake from sleep, haunted by the sounds he had heard.
After another day’s journey, they arrived at the doctor’s home, having traveled more than eighty miles through the wilderness.
The doctor received them kindly and introduced them to his daughter, a girl of about fifteen. She was pale and fragile, with a strange, distant look in her eyes, though when stirred, they shone with an inner intensity.
She spoke simply of her gift of second sight, as though it were nothing unusual. The stone she used, she explained, had been found by her father and was sometimes called a moonstone. However, she warned that using it caused her great physical exhaustion and mental distress, and she had resolved to do so only in extraordinary circumstances.
In plain and earnest terms, McDonald recounted his long suffering. She listened thoughtfully, then suddenly asked:
“Did you ever have trouble about a piece of land?”
“Not exactly,” he replied.
“Did someone wish to buy part of your land, and did you refuse?”
“That is true,” he said, beginning to understand.
“I see,” she said quietly. “A long, low log house.”
She then described the occupants of that house in remarkable detail—their features, appearance, and even minor peculiarities—so accurately that McDonald was astonished.
“I will look into the stone for you,” she said at last.
She withdrew to her room and remained there for three hours. When she returned, she appeared exhausted and distressed. It was some time before she could speak.
“While I looked into the stone,” she said, “I saw fire. One of your outbuildings was burned to the ground two hours ago.”
“Look at the time,” said the elder. “We are eighty miles from home. I shall believe her if this proves true.”
When they later returned, they found that, at the exact hour she had named, one of McDonald’s barns had indeed burned to the ground.
Continuing, she asked, “Have you ever seen a stray goose among your flock?”
After some thought, McDonald replied that he had seen such a goose once and had even tried to shoot it.
“Yes,” she said, “but it escaped. No lead bullet could ever harm that bird.”
“Why is that?” he asked.
“Because your enemy takes that form. In that bird is the cause of your suffering.”
“What must I do?” he asked.
“You must cast a bullet of pure silver,” she replied, “and fire at the bird. If you wound it, your enemy will be wounded in the same place. Do this, and you shall have peace.”
The journey home was made more quickly and with lighter hearts. For the first time in a long while, hope replaced despair.
The world itself seemed changed. The air felt sweeter, the sunlight brighter, and even the birdsong seemed more joyful. Yet McDonald refused to travel through the Long Woods at night again. They rested until morning before continuing on, and by nightfall they were safely back in Belledoon.
With great anticipation, McDonald awaited the next day and began making careful inquiries about the mysterious goose.
His children confirmed they had seen it often. They described it as having a dark, almost black head, with two long dark feathers in each wing. It was restless, noisy, and unlike any ordinary bird.
Chapter 8 - The Black Headed Goose
“What are these,
So withered and so wild in their attire,
That look not like the inhabitants of the earth,
And yet are on’t?” — Shakespeare
Darkness had scarcely lifted before John McDonald rose from his bed and made his way to the riverbank. There, to his great satisfaction, he saw the very creature he believed to be the source of his torment.
Without delay, he went to a neighbor’s house, where, in the early light of morning, he melted silver and carefully fashioned a bullet—the one he believed would finally end his suffering.
When the task was complete, he returned home with a quiet sense of triumph. Taking his place at the breakfast table, he appeared in higher spirits than he had shown in years. His wife and children pressed him to explain his sudden change, but he would only smile and say, “Wait and see.”
The children, quick to grasp at hope, brightened at once, and even their weary mother seemed, for a moment, relieved of her burden. It was the happiest meal the household had shared in a long time.
The morning was bright and clear as John slung his gun—now loaded with its precious charge—over his shoulder. He set out to gather a few neighbors to accompany him, though he offered no explanation of his purpose.
As he walked, the beauty of the landscape spread before him. The river lay calm and shining, and beyond the trees he caught glimpses of the broad St. Clair, where white sails drifted across the water. Fields stretched out in quiet abundance, and in the distance, dark against the scene, stood the charred remains of his home, the ruins of his barn, and the burial places of his lost livestock.
Hope stirred deeply within him.
If this could truly end—if peace could return, if his children could once again play without fear, if he could reclaim the strength and dignity of his former life—then all might yet be restored.
He tightened his grip on the gun.
What power could there be in a piece of silver, he wondered, that even the forces tormenting him might yield to it? And yet, whenever doubt crept in, he recalled the face of the stone-reader—earnest, sincere, and unwavering—and his confidence returned.
By the time he reached his first neighbor, his resolve was firm. He gathered several men, asking only that they accompany him as witnesses. Curious and intrigued, they followed.
Together, they made their way to the river.
There, McDonald pointed toward a flock of geese resting on the water.
“See that one with the black head,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
He raised his gun, took aim, and fired.
The shot rang out sharply. The bird gave a strange cry—almost like that of a human in distress—and struggled toward the reeds, its wing broken.
The onlookers were baffled. Seeing McDonald’s intense excitement, they began to suspect that his long suffering had unsettled his mind. To them, it appeared that he had simply shot an ordinary goose and was reacting with unaccountable joy. His refusal to explain himself only deepened their concern.
But his purpose was not yet fulfilled.
Once they had gone, McDonald turned alone toward the marsh, where the Long Low Log House stood among the damp reeds.
He paused briefly at the gate, then stepped inside.
One glance told him all he needed to know.
There sat the old woman who had long been his enemy. Her arm was broken, resting upon a chair, and her lips moved as she muttered curses.
When she saw him, she recoiled.
And in that moment, John McDonald knew—the silver bullet had found its mark.
Chapter 9 - The End
“Now sinking underneath her load of grief,
From death alone she seeks her lost relief.” — Young
With the supposed cause of the disturbances removed, little more remains to be told. Whether John McDonald was correct in his conclusions is not for the compiler to decide. It is certain, however, that he and those around him attributed all their troubles to the woman of the Long Low Log House, and subsequent events seemed to support this belief.
From the moment the strange bird was shot and the woman injured, the disturbances ceased entirely. No further supernatural manifestations were reported in the McDonald household, and peace at last returned to the wooded slopes of Belledoon.
Life gradually resumed its former course. The farm was restocked, and the barns once again filled with grain. McDonald returned to his fishing, drawing his seine through the Channel Ecarte, while the young women resumed weaving straw hats without interruption.
The household itself was restored to normalcy. Furniture remained still, tools behaved as they should, and the strange disturbances that once plagued the home vanished completely. Even the family dog could eat its meal undisturbed, free from the violent antics that had once tormented it. The hearth burned steadily, and the old shoemaker could work in peace without fear of his tools or materials turning against him.
But the same could not be said for the inhabitants of the Long Low Log House.
The old woman suffered greatly from her injured arm. She endured constant and severe pain, which seemed to spread throughout her body. Her condition worsened over time, and at last, death brought her release.
It is said that on her deathbed she wished to see John McDonald, but her children refused to carry the message.
Only one shadow lingered over the McDonald family’s renewed happiness. In later years, one of John’s sons died, and his widow was persuaded—or, as the McDonalds claimed, coerced—into marrying one of the sons from the Long Low Log House.
In winter evenings, the story of these strange events would often be told in farmhouses, as neighbors gathered around the hearth. Half in awe and half in jest, they would recount the tale of the Belledoon Mysteries.
That such stories may carry a lesson is certain. That they should not be forgotten, we have ensured by setting them down in print. We offer no judgment on the events described. We simply relate the story as it was told to us, leaving it to the reader to consider the strange and unsettling occurrences known as the Belledoon Mysteries.
