14

THE BLACK DOG
OF ANTIGONISH
HARBOUR

ANTIGONISH HARBOUR

978-1-55109-808-1_0085_001

Legends of eerie black dogs, with names such as Barguest, Shuck, Grim, Black Shag, Trash, Skriker, Padfoot, Ku Sidhee, are scattered throughout Celtic history. These dogs are frequently thought to be forerunners of death. They are seldom found very far from the sea, and some folklorists believe them kin to the man-eating water horse or the selkie seal people.

Originally told in the British Isles, these stories migrated with the British and Scottish settlers, following them all the way to Nova Scotia.

This is one I heard around a campfire. I’ve added a little to it.



To say that Willis Dougall was a drunkard was a little like calling an ocean deep. Willis used to tell his friends that he’d been born in a drought year with a thirst that ran bone deep. He was, as folks would say, clearly under the care of the bottle, and he’d lost track of the cork a long time ago.

One fine Nova Scotia morning, Willis Dougall set out for the town of Antigonish, accompanied by his brother, Dane. They decided to ride along the sunny reaches of the harbour. They rode up and over and down the steep rugged North River hill through the level stretches around the landing where the ships came in. They paused once by a traveller’s cairn to lay a stone for luck. This was an old custom, still practised in other parts of the world. Folks passing by would lay a rock on the cairn, and as you passed by, you would lay one too. Thus luck was shared, for a wanderer’s fate is always written in stones. Besides, it was an excellent way to make sure that the path was always cleared of stones.

The two brothers then rode up the long and torturous slope of Mount Cameron, until they finally came to the quiet little town of Antigonish.

There, Dane and Willis parted ways, swearing that they’d meet in the afternoon, once they’d properly fortified themselves for the long ride home. Dane went to the parsonage for a blessing for the road, while Willis headed straight for the local tavern.

Well, a promise easily made is even more easily broken, and by the late afternoon Dane was still waiting impatiently for Willis. Finally, he hunted his brother down in the tavern where young Willis was attempting to drink Antigonish dry. Willis was as sod-den and maudlin as a drunkard could be. “I’m no good,” he moaned. “You should leave me here in the tavern with the rest of the riff-raff.”

But Dane would hear nothing of the sort. “I promised Mother I’d see you safe and home and promises are made to be kept,” he said, feeling a little smug about his own high moral standards. After much effort, Dane finally managed to hoist his drunken brother up onto his horse, and he led him off homeward.

The trouble came when they came to the North River Hill traveller’s cairn.

“Stop the horse, stop the horse,” Willis protested.

“Will you be laying a rock, then?” Dane asked.

“No,” Willis said. “I have to make a wee warm rain.”

Now the North River Hills are no place to be stopping on the night of a full moon, for the hills were known to be haunted by ghosts and spirits alike. Some claim that there is a doorway to hell hidden somewhere on these hills.

“Don’t be peeing on the traveller’s rocks!”

“And why not?” Willis retorted. “What else are they good for?”

And so Willis made his wee warm rain upon the traveller’s cairn.

As they rode down towards the harbour they felt as if they were being followed. They looked back and saw that a big black dog, long of shank and heavy of head, was trailing them over the hills.

“It’s the black dog,” Dane swore.

Willis sobered slightly at the sight of this great black hound. He had heard his grandfather tell tales of the black dog that would stand outside your door and warn you of your impending death. The devil’s hound, some folks called it.

They tried to drive the hound off by hurling rocks and broken branches, but they had no luck; the beast kept after them.

They rode hard over the hills. Two hours later they’d managed to reach the shelter of Dane’s cabin. Dane lit a fire in the fireplace and laid his brother on his very own bed.

“It’s come for me,” Willis said.

The black dog set up an unholy clamour, baying and banging its paws against the outer door.

“For you or for me or for both of us — it does not matter. I’ve sworn to protect you, and no hound of hell will cause me to break my word.” With that, Dane barred the door and fired a blast from his musket out of the window slit at the black dog, to no avail.

The dog kept watch. All grew silent. After a time, as the dark-ness of the night increased, the brothers thought they were safe. Then, as if he’d always been sitting there, the black dog stepped out of the shadows of the bedroom.

Stunned, Dane threw an iron poker at the hound, but he might as well have been tossing goose feathers at the beast. The big dog made for the bed. It was Willis he was after.

“I’m done for,” Willis moaned.

“Not so long as I draw breath,” Dane swore. “A brother is a brother.” He ran and grabbed his father’s claymore from above the fireplace. A great long sword used by the Scottish highlanders at the battle of Culloden, it made a suitable axe, perfect for cleaving off the heads of your enemies. The hilt was still stained with Dane’s grandfather’s blood. Since then the sword had been blessed by a saint, a bishop, and a beggar. Dane hoisted it up in both of his hands.

“The Lord is my shepherd,” he shouted. “I shall not want.”

Dane chased the black dog from the house, shouting the Lord’s Prayer and the twenty-third psalm at the top of his lungs, along with a half a dozen salty Highland curses. He chased the dog out into the night and for a long time afterwards, everything was deadly still. Willis cowered in his brother’s bed, whispering a prayer over and over to himself.

Later the next day, they found Dane’s claymore on the North River Hill, imbedded deep in the dirt directly next to the traveller’s cairn.

Dane was never seen again, and Willis died three years later, never touching a drink nor breaking a promise again. He spent his last three years searching the North River Hill, and some say that he died near that cairn, where his spirit walks the night, still searching for the remains of his long-lost brother.