Lore - Legends 55: Different Paths

Episode Date: June 9, 2025

Some regions of North America might have taken different routes through history to our own, but that doesn’t mean the legends they’ve collected are any less terrifying. Narrated and produced by Aaron Mahnke, with writing by Alex Robinson and research by Cassandra de Alba. ————————— Lore Resources:  Episode Music: lorepodcast.com/music  Episode Sources: lorepodcast.com/sources  All the shows from Grim & Mild: www.grimandmild.com ————————— Sponsors: Mint Mobile: For a limited time, wireless plans from Mint Mobile are $15 a month when you purchase a 3-month plan with UNLIMITED talk, text and data at MintMobile.com/lore. Smalls: Smalls cat food is protein packed recipes made with preservative free ingredients you’d find in your fridge, delivered right to your door. For a limited time only, get 35% off plus an additional 50% off your first order when you head to Smalls.com and use code LORE. Goldbelly: Get the most iconic, famous foods from restaurants all across the US, shipped free to your door anywhere in the country. Go to to GoldBelly.com and get free shipping and 20% off your first order with promo code LORE. MeUndies: Slide into game changing comfort with MeUndies. Get 20% off your first order, plus free shipping, at MeUndies.com/lore with the promo code LORE. ————————— To report a concern regarding a radio-style, non-Aaron ad in this episode, reach out to ads @ lorepodcast.com with the name of the company or organization so we can look into it. ————————— To advertise on this podcast please email: [e-mail]. Or go to: https://advertising.libsyn.com/lore ————————— ©2025 Aaron Mahnke. All rights reserved.

He learned about it through a letter. Now George Washington got a lot of letters. Even before he became our nation's first president, he was a very important man. This was the guy who led a shabby, underfed army against the world's largest empire and won. But in early 1776, it didn't look like the revolution was going to pan out. Most of Washington's troops didn't even have shoes, let alone the tools they needed to take down the British.

So yeah, their fight against a superpower wasn't going all that great. It seemed that the American dream was going to stay just that, a dream. As you can imagine, most of his mail was depressing, usually just messages from angry politicians. But not this one. This particular letter was, essentially, fan mail. Seriously, this writer really liked Washington. He even addressed him as Your Excellency. There was a lot of additional flowery language thrown about, but the gist of the whole note

was that he wanted to express his support for the liberty of the colonies, or as he put it, an indelible anxiety for the happiness of his country. Now, the letter was anonymous, but it came from the very far edge of British North America, specifically Nova Scotia. At the time, Nova Scotia wasn't a part of Canada, because Canada as we know it today didn't exist. It was just another British colony, and the unsigned author of this letter was simply a patriot who also wanted to be free from the shackles of empire.

It was a somewhat popular sentiment, too. But Nova Scotia never joined the rebelling American colonies in the Revolutionary War. Plenty of folks there wanted to, but in the end far more people were worried about the dire consequences they might face if they lost the war. So they stayed loyal to the crown. Finally, in 1867, Canada did become its own nation, and Nova Scotia was one of the four original colonies that made it happen. Different paths in different locations with very different approaches to freedom. But that's not the only thing that's unique about the people who live there, because across

the centuries they've also gathered a very special collection of tales that are sure to frighten any fan of folklore. So I think it's time that we did a bit of exploring. I'm Aaron Manke and this is Lore Legends. It is the most photographed lighthouse in all of Canada. Peggy's Cove in Nova Scotia is a popular tourist destination known for its stunning views overlooking St. Margaret's Bay. Now, historians say that the town was actually once named Margaret's Cove in homage to the beautiful shoreline and that it was the latter that's been shortened

to Peggy, a common nickname for Margaret. Others say that the town had originally been named after a real Margaret, the Lady in Blue, and today she is the most famous ghost in Peggy's Cove. Now for such a famous woman, people sure have a hard time agreeing on her story. There are multiple versions of her legend, and each one is just as likely to be false as the other. One story claims that in the year 1800, Margaret was the sole survivor of a shipwreck. The schooner was dashed against the rocks of the cove, killing everyone on board, including

Margaret's own children. Despite her grief, Margaret managed to swim through the stormy waters and make it to shore, but she must have hit her head because once she got to dry land, she didn't remember her name. The locals took her in and they named her Margaret after St. Margaret's Bay. And yet, no matter how kind everyone was to her, Margaret couldn't make a life for herself there. Losing her children had made her too distraught to ever

find peace again, and so she would pace up and down the shore wearing a blue dress and calling for her children. And she still does it today, even years after her death. In another version of the story, Margaret immigrated from somewhere in Europe to Nova Scotia, but she couldn't afford to bring her children with her. Every day she paced along the shore in that blue dress, missing her children across the sea. And the most commonly known story doesn't even involve children at all.

Instead, Margaret was said to be a local who was married to a kind-hearted fisherman. One day he saw her sadly staring out at the ocean, and in an effort to cheer her up, he joined her out on the rocky outcropping and he danced a little jig. And it worked too, because Margaret finally laughed. But then her husband lost his footing and fell. He died as soon as he hit the rocks.

The community tried to rally around her, but nothing they did could bring her spouse back. As the days passed by, Margaret didn't get any better. She spiraled deeper into her grief until one day some of her neighbors saw her walking into the ocean. She was never seen alive again. Her ghost, however, is still there. She's often spotted wandering beneath the lighthouse, her cornflower blue dress blowing in the ocean breeze. Witnesses believe that she is still looking for her husband. Over the years those who have approached the blue lady report feeling an overwhelming sense of sadness, as if her grief is

their own. Some people have thought that she was a living person and was trying to jump into the ocean to drown herself. They fought through their sudden mysterious despair to get to her, only for her to disappear once they got too close. Now, truth be told, there was probably never a real Margaret. The stories are too different, and there doesn't seem to be any consensus on who the Blue Lady truly was. But that doesn't mean that people never died tragic deaths in St. Margaret's Bay. In fact, Peggy's Cove has the highest number of drownings in all of Nova Scotia. The ocean there is rough and the rocks are hard to see under the murky waves. And before modern technology came into play,

that tall lighthouse wasn't enough to save every ship from the treacherous waters off the coast. In the end, if there really is a blue lady wandering about under the lighthouse, then maybe she isn't mourning someone who she lost. Maybe she's trying to make sure that nobody else ever drowns again. George never made it to his wedding. Cassie Allen looked every part the glowing bride as she waited for him at Trinity Church in Halifax.

Under her veil, her cheeks were rosy, flush from both happiness and the chilly November air. Her smile shined through the sheer fabric, and her eyes sparkled with the promise of her newly married life. She had been left waiting in the church for a little while, but that was fine. Her enthusiasm did not wane. Not for a long time, anyway. After all, her nuptials were happening at 6.30 in the morning.

Maybe he had just slept in, but the morning passed, and her fiancé never came. Eventually, Cassie's smile faltered. Her straight spine sagged, and when she finally gave up hope, she forced herself to walk away from the altar with no ring on her finger and no husband on her arm. Cassie slumped into a nearby chair and tried not to cry. But then, she heard a carriage outside. It was like a switch had been flipped. Cassie leapt up and sprinted to the front door, all her doubts completely washed away.

She just knew that her beloved was about to sweep her into his arms and melt her heart with the most sincere apology any man had ever given. But when she finally burst through to the outdoors, her fiancé wasn't there. Instead, his carriage driver had climbed down from his seat, his hat, and his hands with a gentle, quiet voice. He broke the news. Cassie Allen would not be getting married that day because George Edwards had shot himself in the head on the front steps of the Halifax Citadel. Only 15 minutes before their wedding was due to begin. Cassie, of course course was inconsolable.

She screamed and cried, refusing to believe that the love of her life was dead, and when the truth of it finally hit her, she fainted, falling into a dead heap in the clergyman's arms. There was nothing else to be done. Cassie was taken home to mourn in private, and while she sequestered herself, details about George's life began to emerge, presenting a clearer picture of what had gone wrong. George Edwards had served as a member of the Royal Artillery for a total of 19 years. In service to his country, he had moved from Bermuda to Halifax five years prior to his

death in 1895, soon after he met Cassie, kicking off this whole tragic tale. But George hadn't been honest with Cassie. He hadn't been honest with anyone, because after returning to Canada, he never told a single soul that he had left something behind in Bermuda. A wife. George Edwards, you see, was already married to someone else. In a very Bronte-like turn of events, George had left his wife in an asylum before moving

to Halifax. Now, no one knows why he tried to marry Cassie. Maybe he had an ulterior motive, or maybe he truly fell in love with her. But according to one contemporary newspaper report, and I quote, it is believed that the thought of becoming a bigamist so preyed on his mind that he decided to put an end to it all. After losing George Cassie was never the same again nor did she ever forget the man she loved. It said that she mourned him until her death in the 1950s. So it shouldn't be a surprise

that only a couple years after she died, rumors started to spread about a ghostly woman haunting the Halifax Citadel. It would seem that Cassie's spirit had returned to the place where George had taken his own life. Beginning in the 1960s, reports arose of a young, beautiful woman floating through the Citadel. When witnesses describe her, they always mention that she wears an old-fashioned dress, and many believe that it's her ill-fated wedding gown. Some claim that the gown is gray,

while others say that it's white. But gray must be the most popular perception, because this apparition has come to be known as the Gray Lady. She's sometimes seen walking through the halls of the Citadel, her skirts flowing out behind her. Sometimes she's seen leaning on the railings of the veranda, and other times she's looking mournfully out the windows. On more than one occasion, security guards have seen her and thought that she was a loitering guest, and when they approached her to tell her that she had to leave, she vanished. Now Cassie didn't get to the Halifax Citadel on her own power. Many believe that she was actually brought there, albeit by accident.

Trinity Church, the same church that Cassie almost got married in, was torn down in the mid-20th century and its belongings were donated. The chair that Cassie had sat in when she thought that George Edwards had abandoned her at the altar was given to the Cavalier Building in the Citadel. And today, employees sit in that same chair when they greet visitors into the Cavalier Building. Sometimes these employees report seeing Cassie, but as soon as they stand up from the chair, she disappears.

And still, the Grey Lady always seems to come back, over and over again, constantly moving through the Citadel, looking for her lost love. The morning of December 6th of 1917 dawned just like any other for the people of Halifax. It was chilly out, but really, what else would you expect from winter in Canada? Despite the cold, the morning was abuzz with activity. Students ate breakfast before they went to school, ships steered through the busy wharf so they could leave Halifax Harbor, and over on Russell Street, Vincent Coleman got dressed

for his day working as a railway dispatcher. Before Vincent left the house, he kissed his wife. Then he said goodbye to their two-year-old daughter, swinging her in a big hug. She squealed as the blue skirt of her homemade dress swirled around her little toddler legs. Setting his daughter into her mother's arms, Vincent straightened his jacket. Inside his pockets, raffle tickets for a war bond drive rustled. But Vincent wasn't thinking of the war effort when he smiled a final goodbye to his little

family. He was thinking only of them. In 1917, that was a luxury that very few people had. Across the world, World War I was raging. But for the families of Halifax, all was well. In fact, the war had been an unexpected boon for their small community. Halifax Harbor was Great Britain's most strategically located base in North America, so it had quickly become the perfect spot for ship repairs and wartime trade.

And business was booming. And that meant that the harbor was, too. The docks were jam-packed with minesweepers and patrol ships for both the British and the Royal Canadian Navy. Unsurprisingly, that made the waters around Halifax unbelievably crowded. But that's where our friend Vincent Coleman came in. You see, even though Vincent worked at the local railyard, his job was important for maritime logistics as well.

Most of those boats needed cargo and personnel, both of which came into town from the trains. So Vincent's job was to coordinate hundreds of steam engines each day, using nothing more than some quick thinking and a telegraph machine. It was an important job that required a very tight schedule, but that December morning Vincent's entire day was thrown into disarray almost as soon as he reached the station. Once there, he heard a loud crash, followed by a thick column of black smoke. He couldn't tell what had happened, but based on the position of the smoke, he guessed that

it was coming from the harbor. And he was right. Unbeknownst to him, the Halifax Harbor had been thrown into chaos. Prior to this, it had been business as usual down at the wharf. Soldiers were heading to Europe, supplies were being loaded, ships were zipping in and out, narrowly dodging one another in a delicate dance. But at 8.45 a.m., two ships didn't quite dodge each other fast enough. Even before they collided, it was clear that a crash was imminent. The IMO and the Mont Blanc had both exchanged signal whistles, letting the

other know that it wasn't veering from its chosen path, hearing the commotion the sailors and soldiers on the docks all gathered to watch, waiting for the proverbial fireworks to begin. If the spectators wanted a show, then the show is what they got. The IMO eventually reversed its engines, but by this point it was too close to the other ship. With a sickening crunch that could be heard across half the city, the IMO collided with the Mont Blanc. It wasn't a bad crash.

Within the narrow confines of the harbor, neither boat had been moving very quickly, so initially the damage was less severe than it might have been. The trouble came afterwards, when the IMO tried to extract itself from the crushed hull of the Mont Blanc. As the IMO moved, metal from the two ships scraped against each other and sparks ignited. Within minutes, the Mont Blanc was going up in flames. The captain of the Mont Blanc, Francis Mackie, had only moments to act. He knew what was going to happen, because the Mont Blanc wasn't carrying just any old cargo.

It was carrying TNT, cotton, and benzoyle. In other words, explosives. Just a few minutes later, back over at the rail yard, a naval officer burst through the door of Vincent's office. He was one of the few men who knew what was on board the Mont Blanc, and he had come to warn everyone at the rail yard that if the ship exploded, then this place was directly in the line of fire. Everyone had to run. Vincent started to leave with his co-workers, but then he

stopped. I'm sure that he thought of his wife and his little girl waiting for him back home, but Vincent also thought about the 300 passengers on a train that was due to arrive in less than 10 minutes. And so he did what he knew he had to do. He turned around, went back to his desk, and sent one of the most famous telegraphs in history. Hold up the train, it said. Ammunition, ship, a fire, and harbor, making for Pier 6, and will explode.

Guess this will be my last message. Goodbye, boys. Between 904 and 905 AM, the Mont Blanc exploded, flattening everything within a square mile of the blast. 2,000 people died, 9,000 were injured. It was the most deadly manmade explosion in history, and it held that title until the atomic bomb was invented.

And Vincent, of course, never made it home. He never kissed his wife or spun his daughter around in her pretty blue dress again. Historians believe that he died at the very moment he sent the telegram that saved 300 lives. Vincent was only one of thousands who never came home that night. Dozens, if not hundreds, of families lost their loved ones in the disaster. Photographs taken in the days after the explosion showed coffins stacked throughout the streets, sometimes three caskets high. For weeks on end, the local mortuary, Snow & Company, held between 30 and 40 funerals each day.

Today, Halifax is whole and happy once again. Just walking down the street, you would never be able to tell that half the city was flattened a century ago. Even Snow and Company has since shuttered its doors as a mortuary, eventually being converted into a restaurant called The Five Fishermen. And as you'd imagine, the restaurant is said to be deeply haunted, which is unsurprising given that almost every victim of the Halifax explosion was mourned within its walls. Employees have reported faucets turning themselves off and on, cutlery flying off the tables,

doors opening of their own accord, and disembodied voices. Some employees swear that they've heard their own names whispered when no one else is around. One dishwasher even quit her first night on the job after seeing a ghost float by. To be honest, there have been more specters spotted in the five fishermen than I have time to recount here today. But while I love a good ghost story, I don't think that the ghosts of the old mortuary are the scariest things in Halifax. No, if you really want a chill down your spine, walk down the road and step into the Maritime

Museum of the Atlantic. There you will see a telegraph key, the same key that Vincent was using when he died. And next to it, you'll see a little blue dress spotted with blood. No, Vincent's daughter didn't die that day. She was only injured. But that blue dress represents the hundreds upon hundreds of children who did not survive, whose lives were lost because of one simple mistake. And looking through the history books, there's nothing in Halifax more haunting than that. Tragic moments are hard to forget. They haunt us and insert themselves into the very personality of our community.

The tragedy itself might last mere moments, but their echoes can last forever, which is why I'm thankful that they are rare occurrences. For Halifax, though, that's not exactly true. You see, the Halifax explosion wasn't the first time that the victims of a major tragedy passed through the doors of the five fishermen, or as it was known back then, Snow and Company. You see, on April 15th of 1912, the Titanic famously sank 400 miles off the Canadian coast, taking over a thousand souls down with it.

Eventually, those bodies were recovered from the sea, but getting them onto dry land wasn't the end of it. They all had to go somewhere. As the closest mortuary to the catastrophe, Snow and Company had the honor of being that somewhere. Now, this company normally served a relatively small community. They weren't prepared to handle the number of corpses that were about to be dropped on their doorstep. So the owner, John Snow, called in reinforcements from all over Nova Scotia and beyond, instructing them to bring their own embalmers' grip with instruments.

And while he waited for help to arrive, Snow took a boat out to the ship that was carrying the dead bodies. With him he brought 125 coffins, embalming fluid, and iron. It would seem that even in death, there was a wealth hierarchy. The bodies of the Titanic's first-class passengers were embalmed and put into coffins immediately, right there on the deck of his ship. Second and third-class passengers were frozen and taken back to Halifax to be embalmed there. The most badly decomposed bodies, though, were simply weighed down with that iron and

sent to the bottom of the sea. Every corpse that wasn't embalmed on the ship was taken care of back at Snowen Company by a team of funerary professionals. Then the dead were laid out for their loved ones to claim. Some of the most well-known victims of the Titanic, including the wealthy John Jacob Astor, spent their final moments above ground in Snowen Company's funeral parlor. And there are those who believe that some of them never truly left. Some spirits stayed behind, and now they haunt the Five Fishermen restaurant. One ghost in particular even wears the proper

clothing for 1912. Restaurant employees believe that she was a victim of the Titanic and not the Halifax explosion. Witnesses say that they have seen her crying in the bathroom. When she turns to face them, they say that she has, and I quote, pleading eyes. Oh, and one other haunting detail. This ghost is only a child. As today's trip up north has shown, Nova Scotia has a heavy history. There's been a lot of suffering and a lot of death, and all of that has left us with some painfully powerful stories.

Thankfully though, it's not all doom and gloom. There's at least one story from the region's history that offers something a little different, and I can't wait to share it with you. Stick around through this brief sponsor break to hear all about it. This episode of Lore was made possible by Mint Mobile. You know what doesn't belong in your epic summer plans? Getting burned by your old wireless bill. While you're planning beach trips, barbecues, and three-day weekends,

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MeUndies. Comfort from the outside in. They say the devil comes in many forms. Usually this is taken to mean that the devil can tempt us in many ways. After all, Satan can convince you to do anything as long as he makes the payoff look compelling enough. But today, we're going to take that many forms thing a bit more literally. And for that, we need to head over to Devil's Island. Now, this place wasn't actually named after the devil. It's believed to have been derived from some Frenchman's name, perhaps a Deval or a Deville. But whoever they were, they handed the locals a golden opportunity, so now

it's simply known as Devil's Island. And it's a tiny island, too, roughly 30 square miles at most. Because it's on the fringe of the bustling Halifax Harbor, there was very little reason for anyone to live there. But some people still tried to make a home for themselves on Devil's Island. At one point, there were even enough residents there to have its own general store and even a little schoolhouse. And yet, it was never crowded.

As the years passed by, the inhabitants slowly abandoned the island in favor of the mainland. Today no one lives there at all, and hasn't since at least the 1990s. Now, one of the earliest families to settle Devil's Island was the Henbury family. They arrived sometime in the 1830s and they must have decided that it was a little slice of paradise because they put down roots. Several generations of the Henbury's lived there before it was emptied out. The most famous member of the clan was a fellow named Caspar Henbury. He spent his entire life on the island and, based on the stories we have about him, it seems to have been a

good life as well. He had a house, he had friends, what more could anyone want? Well, as the story goes, one night Casper threw a house party. And it must have been a fun one too, because everyone was still enjoying themselves when he stepped outside to get some air around 1am. When he came back inside, he was no longer in the mood for fun. His eyes were blank, and his face was as white as a ghost. He must have looked really rough because the partygoers noticed it immediately. Everyone gathered around him wanting to know if Caspar was alright, and truth be told, he was not.

Caspar told his guests that he had seen an omen of his own death. The devil had come to call, and he had told Caspar that the end was nigh. But here's the odd part. The devil didn't look like the devil. The devil looked like a fish, and more specifically, a halibut. Now, some versions of the story say that the demon halibut spoke to Caspar from the water. Others say that it was leaning against the side of the house. Either way, I'm sure that his interaction was unsettling, to say the least. Of course, all of Caspar's friends just sort of laughed it off. How could they do anything else? They thought that he was drunk, because really, what other explanation

is there for a devil in the shape of a halibut? But they wouldn't be laughing for much longer. The very next day, Caspar was found in his rowboat, his head and shoulders hanging over the side of the vessel. He had drowned. Now, some versions of the story mention signs of a struggle on the beach with cloven hooves imprinted in the sand. Others say that there were no clues at all as to how his death came about, and so the mystery of how he had drowned while he was still in his boat would never be solved. Either way, the devil had been right. Casper was dead. He was forever sleeping with the fishes. This episode of Lore Legends was produced by me, Aaron Manke, with writing by Alex Robinson and research by Cassandra de Alba. Don't like hearing the ads?

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