A Span, The Length Of Memory Ill

Perhaps no marathon runner covered the first lap of the course in better time than did the luckless lad that night, but even the swiftest steed will tire when driven beyond his endurance. Past the post office he sped on and on, till he found his steps getting sl0wer and slower, until with the perspiration running from every pore and his breath coming in gasps, he stumbled down the slope that leads to the little bridge over Harry’s brook and tripping on a plank, he “bit the dust”. But not for long did he lie prone on Mother Earth. Once more he saw that awful something coming nearer and nearer. Regaining his feet once more, he struggled up the road till, after what seemed to him like an eternity, he reached the gate leading to the skunk ranch. His gait by this time was little more than a walk. but seeing a light still burning in Hubert‘s kitchen he redoubled his efforts and reaching the door he hurled himself against it and fell headlong across the threshold.

Hubert was entertaining his good friend, Robert Agnew, that night when this unexpected intrusion occurred and both sprang to their feet eyeing poor John. When Hubert, stepping forward, grasped him by the collar and setting him on his feet, demanded “John who is dead?” Poor John was a sight to behold. His clothes were covered with clay, his face streaked with perspiration and trembling in every limb, he could only gasp “The ground, the ground." “Yes”, said Hubert, “I see you have a lot of the ground sticking to you John. Speak up, Boy, speak up." Several minutes elapsed before John could further enlighten them, then he finally blurted out “The ground, she raise right up like a big table, bigger than Hubert’s table and under it stands a big white woman. Every time I think of her the hair on tny neck raise up."

Many years have passed since that awful night and many a loved one has been laid to rest in that quiet spot. Poor Robert, too, has obeyed the last summons to the Grand Lodge above. John Arthur has long since gone out into the world to do and dare and make his fortune but the mystery of the Big White woman he saw in the cemetery that night has never been solved.

HOW TH E BLU ESHANK GOT ITS NAME

The Blueshank Road runs east and west through Wilmot Valley. lt is rather difficult in this modern day and age to visualize the first trail that was blazed through here nearly two centuries ago. At that time the area was thickly wooded with stands of heavy timber; there were a few swamps and marshes, and several brooks. All these natural obstacles had to be overcome in the days of travel by walking, horseback and two-wheeled carts.

When the United Empire Loyalists were making plans to settle here in 1784, the road was not marked on the early hand-drawn maps but it had definitely found its place on all later maps. In the Patrons Directory in