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 of sharing ghost stories brings with it this wonderful sense of combined curiosity, speculation, and fact.
But the spirits haunting this land belong not only to William Black.
In 1853 the property was purchased by George Browne Leith, and in 1855 he built the stately home — which included a large library, drawing room, dining room, and children’s room — as a summer villa. Several smaller attendant buildings, such as a carriage house and servants’ quarters, were also constructed on the property.[7]
Constructed of Gasport dolomite and limestone, the villa had a hip roof and French windows opening onto a large veranda.[8] Apart from the large, detailed diorama that stands as the centrepiece to the Hermitage and Gatehouse Museum and hints at the sheer magnitude of what once was, the ruins are all that are left of this once magnificent mansion.
That and perhaps yet another soul who could not bear to leave even after her death.
The youngest child of George Leith and his wife Eleanor Ferrier, Alma Dick-Lauder (1854–1942) purchased the property after her mother’s death. Alma was a bit of a loner, a writer with a penchant for the preservation of history with a focus on regional landmarks. She wrote articles for the Hamilton Spectator, which, ironically, focused on “delving among the ruins,” describing graveyards, mills, and churches that had been