When I arrived at the site, a dark and faceless figure in long, flowing black robes, holding a single white candle, stood by the entrance and greeted me, waving me into the parking lot. It was only after I parked the car and walked out near the gathering crowd awaiting the 10:00 p.m. tour that I started to take comfort in the presence of others around me.
Of course, once the tour began, and Ghost Guide George led our group down the path into the rich blackness of the night and relayed the history of the Hermitage to our group, I again felt the eyes of the forest upon me as I delightedly stepped down the path and into a spooky historical journey.
The first building to appear on the now legendary spot was a small and humble home built in 1830 by Reverend George Sheed, Ancaster’s first Presbyterian minister, who had a dream of building and ministering his own church. Unfortunately, Sheed died before fully realizing this dream and his funeral took place in the very church he had been building (the 1st St. Andrew’s Church on Mineral Springs Road in Ancaster).[3]
Not long after, the property was sold to Colonel Otto Ives, an English officer who had fought in the Greek War of Independence and emigrated to Ancaster in 1833 with his wife and their beautiful young niece.[4]
A servant of Ives, William Black, fell in love with his master’s niece. Some accounts of the tale indicate that Black was a coachman as well as a tutor who was asked to assist the niece with speaking and writing English. The niece apparently felt the same way about Black, and thus began a secret and unfulfilled courtship between the two. When Black finally gathered the courage to meet with his boss, and in the gentlemanly and respectful way of the time ask for his niece’s hand in marriage, Ives was outraged. The sheer idea of a servant marrying a woman of station was preposterous, and Ives instantly and vehemently rejected the proposal.
The Hermitage, originally built in 1830 by the Reverend George Sheed, now exists as ruins, inspiring visitors with echoes from times long past.
Courtesy of Stephanie Lechniak.
Stunned and an instantly broken man, Black stumbled out of the house. Unable to bear a life without the woman he loved, Black hung himself.
Conflicting reports reveal Black hanging himself either in a stable or by the branches of a nearby willow tree. But as the legend goes, the next morning, Black was founding hanging by Ives, who proceeded to cut the body down. Because, in those days, the body of a person who committed suicide could not be buried on consecrated ground, Ives took Black’s body on a cart and buried him at a nearby crossroads of Sulphur Springs Road and what later became known as Lover’s Lane (after this very incident).[5]
The ghost of William Black is said to be heard during the night of a full moon, still crying for his lost love. Others have reported seeing his ghost walking the stretch of road near where his body and the cart were buried, wandering aimlessly in his distress and angst, or moving slowly along the grounds of the Hermitage, seeking, in vain, the woman he could not have.
Daniel Cumerlato tells a tale of one eerie moonlit night. At the end of that particular night’s tour, he headed back to the ruins to explain to the people still walking around that the security guard would soon be locking the gate to the parking lot. As he moved around the side wall of the Hermitage building, he spotted two people walking toward him. Daniel called out to them to hurry back to the parking lot, but they paid him no heed.
He called out again, and the two moved into the forest.
Concerned for their safety, Daniel ran after them into the woods with his flashlight, mere seconds behind their own entry. But they were nowhere to be found.
Of even more curiosity, Stephanie, who was a few yards back, saw him addressing the people, then chasing after them, but saw nobody other than Daniel on the grounds ... as if they were visible only to him.
One of the tales told regarding the ruins and Black’s ghost involves a new park employee, who, upon approaching the ruins, was disturbed to see a body hanging from a tree. Horrified that someone had committed suicide, he stood there, stunned, unable to do anything except watch the body swaying back and forth in the wind. When the figure suddenly vanished, the terrified employee ran as fast as he could off the grounds. It was only later that he learned of the story of William Black.
In a piece of fiction based upon some real experiences, Rob Howard wrote “The Second Ghost,” which ran in the Hamilton Spectator on Halloween of 2000. In the piece, he shared a fanciful story that he’d been mulling over in his mind for more than two decades.
Howard was hanging out at the site of the ruins with a group of friends after dark on a moonlit night, telling ghost stories, drinking some beers, and engaging in the kind of playful mischief that teenagers are apt to be up to in the days leading up to Halloween. One of the friends, Kenny, who had been planning on playing a prank on the others, decided to leave the group at a certain point, with the excuse of going to get more beer, but would then hide near the gatehouse, making ghostly noises in order to frighten one of their more jumpy friends.
Shortly after Kenny took off on his own, a ghostly moaning noise could be heard from the gatehouse. Laughing and figuring it for a joke, the friends headed over to greet their friend. The moaning transformed suddenly into the distinct words: “Come to me!” When they got to the gatehouse, they saw the padlock had been broken, and, annoyed their friend had engaged in vandalism, yelled out for him to knock it off and that the joke was over.
When they opened the door, they were shocked to find Kenny, barely lit by the dim light of the moon hanging in a noose, his face purple. The friends immediately rushed over and lifted his dangling legs, got him out of the noose and onto the ground.
He was gasping and barely able to speak, and they partially carried him from the grounds and took off in their car. Not much was spoken about that night or what really happened. The friends all went their separate ways, but Kenny and Mickey, who had been going together since Grade 10, ended up getting married.
It wasn’t until more than twenty years later, upon bumping into Mickey, that Howard learned the details of what Kenny had really been up to that night and how he’d found himself almost strangled in the noose.
Kenny had apparently forced the gatehouse door open and hid inside, making the noises to scare his friends. When he spotted the noose hanging there, he thought it would be more frightening, a better effect, if his friends saw him standing on a box with his head in the noose.
Pleased with his prank, and hearing the friends calling out for him to knock it off, Kenny stood with his head in the noose and prepared for their frightened arrival.
That’s when he saw a dark figure step out of the shadows, heard a voice say that if Kenny took his place in the noose, he could finally rest, and the box was kicked out from under him.
Seconds later, his friends appeared. It was Mickey who felt something nudge her in the dark and heard a loud, sweet female voice say “Go to him!” That’s when she rushed forward, the first to assist with getting Kenny down.
Mickey explained to Howard how she understood the ghost who pushed her forward was that of Mary Kathleen, the young woman William Black could not have. Like Black, she too was heartbroken for the rest of her days over the love she would never have.[6]
Howard explained to me that this published tale was just a story that came from “the Muse that floats above us all, occasionally dumping inspiration on our heads,” but that it was built upon true teenage experiences, particularly a girlfriend who refused to go any farther than the fence.
Rob’s wonderful tale reminds us of something the folks at Haunted Hamilton often express, particularly during their historic tours: most tales are creative and imaginary elements layered on top of a kernel of truth. The theatrical nature