Stories, Signs & Superstitions

Chapter 1

The White Lady

The White Lady is the best-known ghost story in Pictou Island folklore. Several versions have circulated through the community.

The most familiar account tells of a young island woman who fell in love with a sailor visiting Pictou Island. They became engaged before he left for the fishing season. His ship encountered heavy weather near the island and did not return. The woman continued walking the island road and shoreline, hoping to see the vessel come home.

Stories passed down on the island describe a young woman in a long white gown appearing along the main road and beaches. Other versions connect the White Lady with a child lost early in life and describe her searching the road for the child.

The details vary, but the image of a solitary white-clad figure waiting and searching has remained part of island storytelling for generations. The White Lady is not a single fixed historical account with one confirmed identity; like many oral traditions, the story has absorbed memories of shipwrecks, departures, and people who left the Island and never returned.

Pictou Island’s roads, beaches, open fields, and changing coastal light are part of the story’s power. Fog, moonlight, blowing grass, or a distant figure can appear very differently from one night to the next. Whether understood as a ghost, a remembered person, or a story shaped by generations of retelling, the White Lady represents waiting, uncertainty, and the emotional presence of those whose lives were bound to the sea.

Chapter 2

The Devil at the Card Game

Card parties were an important part of Pictou Island’s social life. The earlier island folklore page describes gatherings held throughout the community and the traditional observance of Sunday as the Sabbath.

Against this background, island tradition preserved a cautionary tale about a Sunday card game. A quiet stranger joined a group playing cards. Visitors were not unusual in an isolated fishing community, so no one initially questioned his presence.

The game continued until one player dropped a card beneath the table. When someone bent down to retrieve it, the stranger’s feet were revealed to be cloven hooves rather than ordinary human feet.

The visitor was understood to be the Devil. The story warned that playing cards on the Sabbath could carry spiritual consequences, turning a familiar island pastime into a lesson about community rules, religious observance, and the dangers of disregarding tradition.

The tale belongs to a wider family of stories in which the Devil appears as a stranger at a card game and is recognized by a hoof beneath the table. Helen Creighton recorded a related Nova Scotian card-and-Devil story in Bluenose Ghosts, but there is currently no evidence that she collected the Pictou Island version. Her work is included here only as regional comparison.

Chapter 3

WHAT CEMETERY TALE IS COMPLETE WITHOUT A GOOD GHOST STORY!

This tale, from the early to mid 20th century, is based entirely on eyewitness accounts and gives a little glimpse into life on an isolated Island with its traditions, superstitions and tragedies …

A young Island lady, still in her parents home, 18 at the time, was due to give birth. Their house was generally considered to be haunted by ghosts who had followed from the old country (Scotland). The Island nurse, attending each evening as her time grew near, feared this was going to be a difficult birth, but the Strait was so full of February ice that even the man-powered iceboat was travelling only as conditions permitted. The difficult, hours-long trip to the mainland would be impossible for a young lady so late in her pregnancy, never mind in labour.

One night, after her regular visit, as the nurse walked down the lane to the main road, the girl’s mother watched in fear as a ball of fire followed her. The very next day, labour began, and three difficult days later, a son was born. Tragically, he passed before the day was done. While women on the Island were experienced with labour and delivery, a C-section was out of the question and, due to complications of the difficult labour, the young mother also passed away two days later.

The Island nurse, acting now in her role as undertaker, prepared the mother and child and laid them out in the casket that had been assembled. Tradition dictated that the remains be kept at home and, to guard the newly deceased from the Devil, that they should not be left alone. The nurse took the first shift and, as she sat reading her book, a black cat with no tail enter the room and scurried under the casket. For a superstitious Islander, there was nothing worse than a black cat, but try as she might, she was unable to locate the cat - it had simply disappeared.

The next night, two gentlemen, both respected members of the community, were to sit with the remains. The night was uneventful, but just before sunrise, the men heard the sound of chains scraping on the outside of the house, a certain sign of the Devil. They ran for the door, and it is said that they did not stop running until they reached their respective homes.

The funeral was set for that morning, which dawned a beautiful day, sunny and warm for February. The church was seldom used for services in the winter as it could not be easily heated, so the community gathered at the family’s home. With no minister during the winter months, the nurse and the teacher prepared to lead the service. As they began, the flue suddenly went on fire and balls of flame fell from the chimney and exploded from the fireplace. Though they landed on people, they were strangely cold and did not burn. As suddenly as it had begun, the fire went out, and the service was concluded.

The pallbearers proceeded to move the casket to the front door. Outside a young white mare, hitched to the Island’s hearse, pawed at the snow as she waited. Strangely, try as they might, no one could open the front door. After some struggle, they had no choice but to remove a window and pass the casket out. Once loaded, the hearse proceeded to the cemetery with the pall bearers walking along side. Women seldom made this journey because, given the distance and the winter conditions, it was a difficult trip. About halfway to the cemetery, a wind picked up and snow began to fall - the wind built to hurricane force and the mare struggled to haul the hearse along the frozen, rutted road to the cemetery where a gravesite had been prepared earlier. (With no refrigeration, waiting until spring was not an option, so the islanders would build a fire on the proposed site to thaw the frost and then dig the grave by hand). Upon arriving, they found the hole filled with snow that needed to be shovelled out before the casket was lowered. By the time the casket was in place, the men were all exhausted and, given the terrible conditions, it was agreed they would close the grave the next morning. When they got back to the house, the pall bearers found the front door, that had been strangely stuck, was wide open. Then, as quickly as the storm arose, it fell away.

At dawn the next morning, with visions of spirits swirling about the open hole, a crew set out to close the grave. To their surprise, when they arrived at the cemetery, it had already been filled in. By whom? Nobody knows. Just a few days later, the young white mare unexpectedly fell over dead - one assumes from the exertion required to move the hearse that day, but the actual cause of death is unknown. Surely there is a natural explanation for what transpired around this tragic loss of a young mother and her son—but for the islanders, it remains a mystery.

You won’t find a stone for this young mother and her son, they lie in one of the many unmarked graves in the Pioneer Cemetery. Money was often scarce and a monument in marble or limestone was an expense not everyone could bear.

But, as you look around, you’ll see many older stones that were carved in Pictou town on marble imported from Vermont. Murdoch Morrison, a master stone cutter from the Isle of Lewis, followed by his sons then grandsons, maintained a business on St Andrew’s Street in Pictou from at least 1870 until the 1930’s. Many memorials in cemeteries of Pictou and Antigonish Counties, and beyond were the work of these gentlemen.

Chapter 4

The Island Hearse

William “Billy” MacMillan from Wood Islands, PEI, came to work in a lobster cannery and married Islander Annie Jane Maclean. With nine children, and no lot in the old cemetery they purchased a large lot in the north west corner. When he died, “Billy” is reported to have been the last to ride in the old hearse.

That horse drawn hearse, now on display at the Heritage Centre, was purchased in 1910 from McLaren‘s Funeral Home in Pictou to allow for the “dignified transfer of remains”. It was drawn by a black horse with black palls for adults, and a white horse and palls for children. Pallbearers walked beside each wheel, ready should it become stuck in a rut. As horses disappeared from the Island the hearse was modified to fit on the back of a pickup truck.

Residents who passed on the mainland, as Billy MacMillan did, had their remains borne home by ferry, accompanied by pallbearers and mourners, with the casket resting in a place of honour.

Chapter 5

Forerunners

A forerunner is a premonition, event, or sign believed to warn of tragedy or a death. Belief in forerunners is found throughout Nova Scotian folklore and reflects older Celtic traditions carried into island communities.

Pictou Island stories describe periods of uneasiness or distress before sad news reached the community. Horses that pulled the island hearse, livestock, and household animals were sometimes said to become upset or unusually difficult to manage.

Other accounts describe doors or windows moving unexpectedly while a family prepared to leave a home after a death. More dramatic versions include apparitions or unfamiliar sounds heard around the home of the person concerned.

Whether understood as experience, coincidence, or superstition, forerunners became part of the island's shared cultural memory. The Hearse House now protects the historic island hearse and preserves a physical connection with these stories.

Chapter 6

The Phantom Ship

For generations, people living along the Northumberland Strait have reported seeing a ship in the distance with its sails and rigging glowing as though on fire. Pictou Island is one of the places associated with this enduring maritime legend.

In one island version, a barque left the Pictou area bound for overseas waters. Later, a three-masted vessel was seen near the eastern end of Pictou Island, apparently burning. Concerned observers, including Captain Adam Graham of Pictou, set out toward the glowing ship. Before they could reach it, the vessel disappeared.

The following day, news arrived that the original ship had safely passed through the Strait of Canso. The burning vessel therefore could not have been the real ship. It had been the Phantom Ship. Other accounts, including reports from Cape John and communities facing Pictou Island, describe a large ship with three masts, fire in the rigging, and a red glow across the deck. In some tellings, an easterly storm followed several days later.

The apparition was not limited to the Island. Reports from Cape John, Little Harbour, Brule Point, and the area around Caribou Island place the story within a broader Northumberland Strait tradition. Some versions connect the ship with a vessel lost at sea; others treat it as an omen of approaching weather.

Whether the Phantom Ship was an optical effect, a distant vessel, atmospheric light, or something that cannot be explained, it remains part of the cultural geography of Pictou Island and the Northumberland Strait. It belongs to the same waters crossed by fishing boats, sailing vessels, ice, storms, and ships carrying people away from home.

Chapter 7

Rum on the Reefs

Stories of hidden kegs, dangerous reefs and rum-running vessels connect Pictou Island to the illicit liquor trade of the Northumberland Strait.

Roland H. Sherwood’s 1975 article ‘Pictou Island’ records a local tradition of buried Demerara rum along the Island’s shore. Sherwood says that fishermen had recovered stray kegs and describes a much larger May 1930 incident as the greatest spree Pictou Island had known. In the account, a pursued rum-runner dumped illegal liquor into the Strait; fishermen from Pictou Island and the mainland salvaged the kegs, temporarily abandoning their lobster fishing. Some of the liquor was taken ashore and buried, and later retelling made the lost kegs part of the Island’s maritime folklore.

A separate account concerns an unnamed rum-runner that grounded on East End Reef in 1934. Some versions treated the vessel as wrecked, while Hilton McCully’s account says that it was later refloated after its cargo was thrown overboard. Until the vessel and official record are identified, the safer description is a grounding, not a wreck.

The wider regional setting is credible. Oral-history and community-history collections preserve memories of rum runners, bootleggers, fast boats, patrols and the risks of moving liquor by water. That regional history does not prove that Pictou Islanders operated an organized bootlegging business.

No independent record presently identifies the 1930 vessel, confirms the pursuit, names an Island bootlegger, establishes a precise recovery site or verifies the continuing existence of buried kegs. The story may preserve memories of actual events, later retelling, or both. It belongs to Pictou Island’s maritime folklore because it joins fishing, reefs, weather, salvage, secrecy and knowledge of the shoreline.

Evidence note: This record combines a published local tradition, regional oral-history leads and secondary accounts. The 1930 incident and buried-keg recoveries remain unverified as contemporary documentary events. The 1934 matter is treated as a rum-runner grounding; vessel identity, cargo, crew and official disposition remain unresolved.

Chapter 8

Sea Monsters: The Creature in the South Marsh

Pictou Island folklore includes a story about a strange creature believed to have come ashore from the sea. The account begins in the marshes along the south shore, where people noticed that the grasses and cattails had been pressed down in a broad trail.

The marks suggested that something large had moved through the marsh, but there were no hoofprints—and there were no horses on the Island. Some Islanders concluded that the trail had been made by a creature from the sea that had travelled inland toward a pond.

A group went to investigate. According to the later account, they encountered something that appeared enormous and serpent-like. Uncertain what they had seen, they withdrew to a nearby hunting camp and spent the night listening to movement in the surrounding marsh.

By morning, the men had decided that the safest way to deal with the suspected visitor was to burn the reeds. Once the smoke cleared, however, there was no body, track, or other evidence proving that a large animal had been present.

The story survives in the uncertain space between observation and imagination. Bent vegetation may have had a natural explanation: an animal, weather, water movement, or some other disturbance. But to those who encountered the marsh, the possibility of a sea monster was real enough to inspire fear.

The account appears in Rod C. Mackay’s Whistle Down the Wind, where it is connected with Pictou Island sources including Eric Ross’s Pictou Island, Nova Scotia. Helen Creighton’s regional folklore work provides useful context because she documented supernatural and sea-serpent traditions elsewhere in the Maritimes, while the Island episode itself remains part of the later Pictou Island folklore record.