Stories, Signs & Superstitions

Chapter 2

The Devil at the Card Game

Picture an ordinary card party transformed by one detail: a stranger joins the table, then a card falls to the floor and someone glimpses a hoof beneath it. The story’s power lies in the contrast between familiar entertainment and a warning about the Sabbath.

Local tradition with regional comparison

Card parties brought neighbours together across Pictou Island. Sunday was traditionally observed as the Sabbath, and one Island tale tells what happened at a card game held that day.

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.

Similar tales were told elsewhere in Nova Scotia. Folklorist Helen Creighton included a related card-and-Devil story in Bluenose Ghosts.

Chapter 3

WHAT CEMETERY TALE IS COMPLETE WITHOUT A GOOD GHOST STORY!

A young mother, her newborn son, a winter funeral and unsettling signs form one of the Island’s longest supernatural narratives. This is community tradition, not documentary identification of a mother, child or unmarked burial.

Community tradition / folklore

This Island ghost story tells of a young mother and child, a winter funeral and a series of unsettling events.

In this version, a young Island woman, still in her parents’ home and said to be 18, 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.

The story continues: 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.

In the telling, the Island nurse prepared the mother and child for the funeral 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 in the story, two gentlemen, described as 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.

In this version, 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 story describes the pallbearers moving 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.

The tale continues 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 - the teller suggests that the effort of hauling the hearse may have caused it, though no one knows why. The strange events surrounding the funeral remain part of the Island’s ghost stories.

The story says that no marker survives for the young mother and child. Their names and burial places are unknown.

Explore the related links to learn more about the Island’s cemeteries and surviving hearse.

Chapter 6

The Phantom Ship

Around Northumberland Strait, people told of a glowing sailing vessel that appeared in the distance and vanished before anyone could reach it. Accounts from the Island and communities along the opposite shore vary in setting and interpretation.

Northumberland Strait regional tradition

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.

In the telling, news that the vessel had passed through the Strait of Canso led witnesses to interpret what they had seen as 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 story was told beyond the Island, too. People reported sightings from Cape John, Little Harbour, Brule Point and near Caribou Island. Some linked the ship to a vessel lost at sea; others saw it as a sign of approaching weather.

Whatever people saw, the Phantom Ship remains one of the Strait’s best-known stories, shared along shores familiar with fishing boats, sailing vessels, ice and storms.

Chapter 7

Rum on the Reefs

The tale of discarded kegs combines fishing, luck, secrecy and the unpredictable Strait. Roland Sherwood preserved a later story about a May 1930 incident; a separate 1934 account describes a rum-running vessel grounding and apparently being refloated after cargo was thrown overboard.

Pictou Island maritime tradition with regional comparison

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

In a story recorded by Roland H. Sherwood, a rum-runner being pursued in May 1930 dumped its cargo into the Strait. Fishermen from the Island and the mainland set aside their lobster fishing to pick up the floating kegs. Some of the Demerara rum was carried ashore and buried. Islanders also told of finding stray kegs at other times, and the lost rum became part of the Island’s folklore.

Another account tells of an unnamed rum-runner that grounded on East End Reef in 1934. Some versions describe a wreck; Hilton McCully’s account says the vessel was refloated after its cargo was thrown overboard.

The names of the vessels and many details of these stories remain unknown. Tales of rum runners and fast boats were told throughout the region, where reefs, weather and patrols could make a secret voyage dangerous.

Chapter 8

Sea Monsters: The Creature in the South Marsh

A broad trail through the cattails led Islanders into the South Marsh—and into a story about a mysterious creature from the sea.

Later published Island account

One day, Islanders noticed a broad trail through the grasses and cattails of the South Marsh. Something had pressed the plants flat, but there were no hoofprints—and, as the story goes, there were no horses on the Island.

Some thought a creature had come ashore from the sea and made its way toward a pond. A group went to investigate and saw something that appeared enormous and serpent-like. They retreated to a hunting camp, where they spent the night listening to movement in the marsh.

By morning, the men had decided to burn the reeds. When the smoke cleared, they found no creature and no evidence that settled what had made the trail.

Whatever moved through the marsh, the story of the mysterious visitor lived on. A version appears in Rod C. Mackay’s Whistle Down the Wind; when the events were supposed to have taken place is unknown.

Chapter 9

Music in homes and gathering places

Folklore was not all fear and omens. Ruth Munro remembered fiddle, pipes, accordion and organ music, as well as Islanders who taught and played for one another.

Music filled Island homes, churches and gatherings. In her 1984 book Pictou Island, Ruth Munro remembered fiddles, pipes, accordions and organs, and the people who taught others to play.

Munro remembered brothers Victor and Dannie MacCallum playing fiddle and pipes, and Robert MacFarlane and George Rankin playing accordion. Kate Rankin and Mrs. Hector MacCallum taught organ, and Catherine MacFarlane played organ in church.

Roland H. Sherwood also described evenings of entertainment, frolics, reels and step-dancing. He wrote of Island songs about wrecks and rescues, though their words and tunes are not known from his account.

Chapter 10

The people who carried the stories

Oral culture survives because someone remembered and retold it. Jack ‘Happy’ MacDonald, John Malcolm ‘Tug’ MacCallum and Lauchie ‘Punch’ Patterson are among the named Islanders whose recollections help illuminate life on the Island.

Stories travelled through families, fishing crews, shops and evening gatherings. Humour, nicknames, tall tales and memories of difficult crossings helped people describe both their neighbours and the place they shared. A story could preserve practical knowledge and a teller’s personality at the same time.

Ruth Munro remembered Jack ‘Happy’ MacDonald and John Malcolm MacCallum sharing stories of work, winter travel and Island life. Sherwood recorded Lauchie ‘Punch’ Patterson’s gift for a tall tale.

The 1924 Trip of Mercy lives on in Jessie MacCallum’s diary, written close to the event, and in Jack ‘Happy’ MacDonald’s later recollection. Their accounts bring a dangerous crossing to life.

The supernatural stories in this exhibit belong to that wider culture of telling. Their changing versions reveal how people remembered loss, danger, belief and place. Preserving a tradition includes remembering who told it—and leaving space for another version.

Chapter 11

Winter rug-hooking

A Canadian Press brief published in May 1964 described an Island resident who made sixteen hooked mats during the preceding winter. It offers one glimpse of household craft work; it does not establish the designs, whether the mats were sold, or whether they survive.