“Fish Creek Ghost Story”
“Fish Creek Ghost” – Story Revived– Missoulian 3/18/1922
Dr. Thaddeus L. Bolton Connects Western Montana Family With Apparition At Antigonish, N. S.
Former University Professor Talks of Incidents Seven Years Ago.
Family Name Is Not Same
Gossage and Not MacDonald Figured in Mineral County Wraith Episode.
By the Associated Press
Philadelphia, March 17. – Dr. Thaddeus L. Bolton, professor of psychology at Temple university, today made public an episode coincident in many respects to the occurrences at Antigonish, said to have been inspired by a ghost “discarnate” in Mary Ellen MacDonald, which he investigated near Missoula, Mont, nine years ago, and proved to be a fraud.
The Missoula episode, Dr. Bolton said, was parallel, even to names and temperamental characteristics of the principal actor. At the time Dr. Bolton had the chair of psychology at the University of Montana at Missoula, and the case was brought to his attention by the present governor, Joseph M. Dixon, then a United States Senator.
Says Name Was MacDonald.
The supposedly supernatural manifestations had occurred in the household of a Canadian family by the name of MacDonald, who had been living in a mountain gulch near Missoula, according to Dr. Bolton. MacDonald, he said, was a man of about 35 then. Phenomena at MacDonald’s house had concerned spirit knocking, ghostly visions and other peculiar things.
Dr. Bolton said he visited the home and found the family consisted of MacDonald, his wife and a nine-year old girl, Mary Ellen. He described a séance at the house where the ghostly rappings were duly heard, but investigation developed, Dr. Bolton declared, that the rappings had been produced by Mary Ellen, while in a somnambulist state induced by self-hypnotism.
Sees Same Expression.
Mary Ellen, then nine years old, was an adopted daughter of the MacDonalds, according to Dr. Bolton. Referring to the similarity between the MacDonald family in Missoula and the family in Antigonish, he recalled that Mary Ellen now would be about 18 years old.
“That would be the age of Mary Ellen at Antigonish,” he said, adding: “Not much can be told from a photograph but there is in the face of Mary Ellen of Antigonish the same cast of expression that I observed in the child at Missoula.”
Dr. Bolton recalled a visit to the MacDonald home near Missoula at which a “ghost” apparently well known to the family, carried on conversation with Mr. MacDonald who asked questions and was answered by knocks, according to an accepted code.
Calls It Sonambulism.
“After the séance,” Dr. Bolton said, “I asked to see Mary Ellen and she was brought out of bed in that dazed, half-dream state that is common to somnambulists. This confirmed the decision I had made earlier that the phenomena were produced by Mary Ellen while in a somnambulistic state produced by self-hypnotism.
“I left the house shortly afterwards and have not seen the family since. A few months later the MacDonald house in the mountains burned down.”
Do Not Know MacDonalds.
Missoula people, more or less intimately connected with the events of the Fish creek apparition, now more than seven years ago, would not say last evening the family starring in the Antigonish episode was not the same as that connected with the Mineral county events, but all were agreed that if it were the same, the name had been changed since the removal from Montana to Idaho shortly after investigations conducted at that time. One of those to visit the cabin near the tumbling waters of Fish creek was Dr. Thaddeus L. Bolton, Ph. D., at the time professor of psychology at the State University.
Family Name Gossage.
The name of the family which inhabited the cabin below Cyr was Gossage, according to addressed envelopes found after members of the family had departed. Nobody in Missoula seen last night after the receipt of the Associated Press dispatch from Philadelphia, could understand how Dr. Bolton could have gotten the names confused. Newspaper records fail to mention MacDonald in any of their accounts of the episodes.
“The Fish Creek Ghost” first made her appearance the fall of 1914, the report of her movements being brought to the city by a party of Missoula hunters. The apparition, supposed to be the restless spirit of a woman killed in the neighborhood, was reported as appearing nightly at the lonely cabin between Fish and Rock creeks, wringing her hands and weeping silently, disturbing the slumbers and striking terror to the hearts of sportsmen who sought refuge in her abode.
Wallace Men Investigate First.
A party of Wallace hunters were the first to investigate. They entered the cabin prepared to spend the night, but left shortly after midnight. Their flight was such that they left their guns and kits on the mountain side and, according to the woman operator at Rivulet, where they boarded the train, they “exceeded all speed limits.”
A party of Missoula railway men, Ed Rendleman, F. J. Alberts and W. E. Fuge, decided to fathom the mystery and left Saturday night, January 23, for the cabin. Near the stream, which runs by the tiny shack one of the men discovered clots of blood in the snow and hurried to call his comrades. When they returned they found the blood clots gone. Rendleman, however, was rewarded.
“I plainly saw a woman,” he said, “dressed in a bridal gown, new, of light silk. She was crying. She came to the bedroom and stood in the door. I pinched Alberts, to make sure he was awake. The woman stood there about 30 seconds, then crossed the room to the window at our left and disappeared. She was not more than nine feet from us.”
That the cabin was haunted had long been a tradition in the neighborhood.
Tell What They Saw.
Following the interview with the ghost by Rendleman’s party, the men who saw the apparition earlier in the fall grew bold and gave out the facts of their findings.
“Our initial encounter with the young lady,” said the spokesman, “occurred in August, 1913. One moonlight night we were coming east on an extra and we took the siding at Cyr to meet a west-bound train. We had just closed the switch and started forward to see that all was well along the train, when we were astonished to behold a radiant maiden strolling majestically over the foothills in tearful meditation. She melted away in the night almost at once, and we stood there wondering if we had been ‘seeing things.’
“Considering the silence as golden, we kept the incident dark, but in September we went hunting up Fish creek, and again saw our melancholy maiden walking through the trees about 100 yards from camp, arrayed in nuptial raiment as before. And again she was sobbing with the anguish of unutterable despondency.” These men were Ed Healy and N. E. Haskins.
Dr. Thaddeus L. Bolton of the university faculty became interested and offered to accompany someone familiar with the wraith to the scene of the performance.
Many declined to face Professor Bolton and establish the truth of their assertions.
Later a party headed by Bert Duckworth, who was an experienced photographer, visited the cabin, and a photograph was secured of the ghost.
“We are satisfied and convinced the weeping woman ghost is there. Such is our experience. We leave the opinion to the public. This is our true statement and it is something not to be ridiculed,” was the statement made by the party, Ray Hall, Harry Byrd, Ellis Rathburn, Ralph Cuplin and Bert Duckworth.
The above article appeared in The Missoulian on March 18, 1922.
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Missoulian Articles
The Fish Creek Ghost first received local Missoula coverage on, or about, January, 1915. The topic captured the imaginations of many local citizens and stirred a controversy. The Missoulian ran several articles on the Ghost.
Local Men Lay Plans To Capture Woman Ghost
Out in the woods on the Coeur d’Alene branch between Fish creek and Rock creek, there stands a lonely cabin sought occasionally by parties fishing and hunting. The cabin would be a comfortable haven for such wayfarers were it not for the appearance each night just at 12 o’clock of the ghostly figure of a woman, who wrings her hands and weeps silently. The apparition is supposed to be the restless spirit of a woman who was killed in the neighborhood several years ago. On Sunday morning a band of heroes enlisted and commissioned at Louis Kennedy’s clothing emporium and commanded by “Scotty” Uhls and “Red” Albert, will start upon an expedition whose purpose is to capture the ghost and bring her into the city to be tenderly soothed and protected.
The above article appeared in the Missoulian on January 23, 1915.
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Fish Creek Cabin Ghost Hunted In Its Lair By Three Bold Men
Missoulians Declare They Saw Ghost and They Are Willing To Pilot Other Curious Persons To Spot
If you are subject to cold chills of the spine, do not read this? If to jest, to deride, to ha-ha, is your wont, when ghost stories are the theme, avoid Ed Rendleman, who is six feet one, as burly as a prizefighter – and a strong believer in ghosts.
Saturday’s Missoulian told how local boys had heard of a female “h’ant” inhabiting a cabin near Fish creek, and had determined to go thither, on confirmation bent.
Well, they went Saturday night, and there were things doing.
All Railway Men.
The party – Ed Rendleman, F. J. Alberts and W. E. Fuge – are all railway men. So when they got off at Rivulet, the nearest Northern Pacific station to the ghost’s stamping ground, they naturally stopped to chat with Miss Bertha Luckey, operator there, and ask her whether she had heard of the ghost. She had. Miss Luckey said that a party of Wallace hunters had come through a few weeks before, bent on bearding the ghost in its – or her – lair; that the nimrods, numbering two , had made their way to the cabin of a Saturday afternoon, in broad day, bold and confident; and that shortly after that midnight, they had returned, in considerable haste and some pertuberation, and had taken their departure for Wallace with nothing vouchsafed but that they never wanted to hear about it again.
These Wallace men were so anxious to get to the Rivulet station in time that they dropped their guns and kits on their way down the mountainside.
Miss Luckey says she does not know what the world’s record for two and one-half miles is, but she feels sure the Wallace hunters took it on that evening, and will hold it for some centuries.
Two Missoula Hunters There.
It should be remarked that the story of the ghost was first brought to Missoula last fall by two local hunters, who had come upon the cabin after a good day in the wilds, and had determined to camp out there. Like the Wallace hunters, they changed their minds later in the evening, and departed. The Missoula hunters do not give a very accurate description of the ghost. They frankly declare that they lingered no longer than decency required. It was through this pair that the Rendleman party heard of the phenomenon, and determined to investigate for themselves.
The Blood in the Snow.
Our worthy three, to resume, having learned all Miss Luckey had heard, bade that popular operator a solemn farewell, left little mementoes for their relatives and friends, posted their wills in the Rivulet mailbox, and set forth.
It is between two and three miles to the fateful cabin, right up the mountainside. The house itself is very old and evidently has been deserted many years. It probably was the abode of a timber claimant, but who built it and who lived there and when, nobody seems to know. The shack lies in the woods and a tiny stream, the outflow of a spring, runs 10 yards from the doors. It was beside this rill that things began to happen to the ghost-hunters.
Rendleman and Fuge went on to the house, when the party arrived at the clearing that surrounds it, and sent Alberts to the rill for water. Let him tell his own story:
“There were no tracks in the snow,” he says. “Evidently, no foot had trod there since the last storm. The snow was deep and soft. I bent over the stream, with my can, and to my amazement saw 12 or 15 clots of fresh blood on the snow on the bank.
Slow Music – Cold Chills.
“I thought that my nose was bleeding. But it had not. I wiped my face; but there was no blood. A streak of yellow about three inches wide was developing on my spine. I called to the others to hasten. They did not hear me.”
Alberts ran to the cabin with his harrowing tale. But when the party returned – the blood was gone!
There were no tracks, but those of Alberts. He could not have mistaken the spot, because he had gone to the creek only once. They let it go at that, with hair standing on end, and set about their vigil with graver faces.
The Cabin.
It was very cold and dreary. They made sure that nobody had been in or about the cabin for some time. There were no footmarks in the dust, which lay thick everywhere.
The cabin consisted of three rooms, a living apartment and behind that a kitchen and an “L” to the right, a bedroom. The doors and windows were gone; the place, which is of logs, is slowly rotting away.
Everybody knows that ghosts walk at midnight. The men felt fairly safe for awhile. They cooked supper and settled themselves in a corner of the living room, sheltered from the wind, to wait. From where they sat, they could see the doors to both the other rooms and most of the windows. Alberts had a rifle, which he had loaded – with some dim idea of puncturing the ghost, maybe.
The Real Thing.
They told stories for hours. It grew colder and they wrapped themselves in blankets and leaned against each other for warmth. Finally, Fuge went to sleep and Alberts dozed off.
“I was awakened by Rendleman pinching my knee,” he tells it. “He said nothing, but pointed. All I saw was a human face, with tearful, staring eyes. If the face had a body, I did not get it. The face was in the doorway leading from the bedroom. I saw it distinctly. It was a woman’s face, and about where the head of a short woman would have been.
The face was weeping, very sorrowful.”
What Rendleman Saw.
“I plainly saw a woman,” Rendleman says. “She was dressed in a bridal gown, new, of light silk. She was crying. She came out of the bedroom and stood in the door. I pinched Alberts, to make sure he was awake. The woman stood there about 30 seconds, then crossed the room to the window at our left and disappeared. She was not more than eight or nine feet from us. No, we made no effort to seize the apparition.”
Alberts and Rendleman waited some time, in hopes the ghost would reappear, but it did not. At 3 o’clock, they awoke Fuge, toiled down the mountain again to Rivulet, in time to catch a train home.
There you are. Rendleman swears by the story. Alberts swears by the blood in the snow and the head without a body. Fuge says he thinks they dreamed it, both of them.
But there are the four other hunters, who also saw things.
Long a Tradition.
That this cabin is haunted has long been a tradition in the neighborhood. Rendleman says he is willing to pilot any university experts in psychology who may want to go back to the cabin and see the things through again with them.
Any volunteers?
The above article appeared in the January 25, 1915 Missoulian.
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Missoula Photographer Will Try To Snap The Ghost At Fish Creek
Burt Duckworth Hopes Thus to End Dispute – Rivulet Correspondent Tells of Visitation, While Original Discoverers of Apparition Relate Adventure.
Rivulet, Jan. 25, – (Special.) – Ed Rendleman, W. E. Fuge and F. Alberts of Missoula spent Saturday night in the deserted cabin on the old Gossage homestead at Fish Creek in an endeavor to solve the apparition, which, it is said, appears in the form of a woman. On one occasion it was seen coming down the rude stairway, crossing the living room, pausing by the open door, holding her head with her hands and leaning against the casement; then it passes into the clearing beyond, or she wanders through the empty rooms and passes through the open window at the back, as told by Mr. Rendleman, who fired several shots at the specter, which appeared to fade in the distance. This accommodating ghost has thus far only appeared to employes of the Northern Pacific railway.
Burt Duckworth, a well-known resident here, announced last evening that he intended to settle all disputes concerning the Fish creek ghost story. Mr. Duckworth is a good photographer and this morning he expects to leave with one or two others familiar with the haunts of the weeping ghost-bride to make some exposures that will be convincing evidence. The camera, Mr. Duckworth says, will go about this business without fear or favor. A photographic machine cannot hypnotize itself; it cannot be influenced by ghostly surroundings. It tells the truth, no matter what the circumstances. If there is a ghost roaming about that deserted Fish creek cabin, Mr. Duckworth promises to reproduce it in a photograph. He leaves for the scene this morning and has promised to announce the result of his investigation.
The ghost business is picking up.
As The Sentinel has announced, three railroad men left Saturday for a deserted – and consequently lonely – cabin near Fish creek, with the firm resolve to lay or take a female ghost that had been reported as haunting the decadent structure.
They went and came. Two of them saw the ghost, an apparition attired in bridal array; the third, due perhaps to some psychic lack, failed to receive the vision. Ed Rendlemann, F. J. Alberts and W. E. Fudge were the party; Fudge didn’t see any ghost. All he got out of the trip was a natural case of cold-inspired shivers. The spinal columns of his companions were agitated by an agency less commonplace.
The men who saw insist that the ghost is there. They offer to escort any and all psychological experts who are willing to the beat of the ghost. [?]
Today the two men who originally staked out this ghost recorded their title in the following letter to The Sentinel:
“A great many of our citizens and others who have merely declared their intention of becoming citizens have a tendency to treat the matter of the Fish-creek specter of lady ghost with shrug of doubting shoulders and loud salvos of mirth.
“Perhaps, however, if they were suddenly confronted at midnight by a lovely young lady, dressed in milk-white bridal splendor, weeping bitterly but silently, wringing her little hands in abject despair, walking over the foothills in the silvery moonlight – then the matter would not be viewed in so gleeful a light.
“Her ladyship’s ghostly domain, if such it may be called, apparently is from Cyr to the Fish-creek bridge and the adjacent country south, over the hills and dales for 25 miles, by governmental survey. This constitutes the Fish-creek country.
“Our initial encounter with the young lady occurred in August, 1913. One moonlight night we were coming east on an extra and we took the siding at Cyr to meet a west-bound train. We had just closed the switch and started forward to see that all was well along the train when we were astonished to behold a radiant maiden strolling majestically over the foothills in tearful meditation.
“She melted away in the night almost at once and we stood there wondering if we had been ‘seeing things.’
“Considering silence as golden, we kept the incident very dark, but in September we went hunting up Fish creek and one large and luscious night, as we sat at the campfire recalling and relating ‘funny happenings’ of the blithe and by-gone days, suddenly we saw our melancholy maiden walking slowly through the trees about 100 yards from camp, arrayed in nuptial raiment as before.
“And again she was apparently sobbing with the anguish of unutterable despondency. We called to her; we beseeched; we implored; we demanded that she halt, but to our entreaties she paid no heed.
“Now those who do not believe in ghosts will confer a great favor if they will give us only a partial explanation of this unfathomable mystery.
“Will someone who is a father – or only a stepfather – please enlighten us why should a solitary maiden fair, clad in an air of gloom and wedding regalia, walk through the woods in mournful and hideous agony during the silent and starry watches of the night?
“No sane man could believe that a real flesh-and-blood girl would go sobbing through the forests by night, 15 or 20 miles from her base of supplies.
“Many others have seen her since, so what is the answer? We leave it for the wiseacres to grapple with.
“Ed Healy.
“N. E. Haskins.”
The above article appeared in the Missoulian on January 26, 1915.
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Boy of Seven Has Good Idea of Ghost
He Writes An Essay On The Forlorn Maiden Who Is Seen At Fish Creek
An aftermath of the ghost story that has stirred so much interest in this section during the last few days, came in the second grade of the Bonner schools yesterday. The teacher asked her class to write upon any chosen subject. Master Yalman, seven years old, chose for his subject “The Ghost.”
He wrote:
“I heard that a ghost was at fish crik.
She skerd some men away.
Three men away.
She come at twelve a clock.
She crys and wavs he hands.
She has a wedding frock in milk white.
She walks over the hill.”
The above article appeared in The Missoulian on January 27, 1915.
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Oh, This Is Good! Out Ghost Has A “Cheild”(sic)
Editor Missoulian: Last Monday two local car repairers were sent to Rivulet to fix a car. Yesterday they came back and we asked them if they had seen a ghost. They said they had, and this is the story they told us:
“Having repaired the car we found ourselves with nothing to do until the following morning. We had read about the ghost so thought we would go and see it. After a long climb up the slope we arrived at the cabin about 1 o’clock. We sat down to rest, thinking we were a couple of fools to make such a hike. We had been resting about half an hour when we were startled by the appearance of a bright light. We looked up and saw standing in the doorway of the room what appeared to be a young lady in a white dress, something like a bridal gown, and a little child beside her. The ghost, whatever it was, seemed to be weeping and in distress. After watching the thing for some time we decided it was ‘no place for a minister’s son’ and beat it, burning up considerable snow between that cabin and Rivulet.”
Respectfully,
Cecil Forsyth
C. F. Herman.
The above article appeared in the Missoulian on January 28, 1915.
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Thaddeus L. Bolton Does Not Think Ghost Walks
University Man Offers To Visit Scene of Phantom’s Existence
Dr. Thaddeus L. Bolton of the university faculty has offered to go to Fish Creek and investigate the recent ghost story, provided he has someone with him who is able to point out the exact spot where the phantom is supposed to visit. He also states that he is certain the expedition will prove fruitless as far as seeing the ghost is concerned.
“As a general proposition,” said Dr. Bolton, “men of science and sense do not take a great deal of stock in stories circulated about ghosts. I have known of houses that were said to be haunted and have volunteered to go to these places and try to sleep, were a comfortable bed placed there. But somehow or other, the persons who have known the exact location of the ghosts have refused to accompany me. Often students in my classes have asked me to visit some place where these phantoms roamed, but they have always failed to stand by their invitations.”
He further stated that he was always ready to make any reasonable effort to run down any ghost or ghost story, but he has never been able to find anyone who could give any definite clue as to the residence of the spirit. In every community where he has lived, the professor said, there has been some such story as this Fish creek one at different times, but he has never seen any ghost, or at least if he has, he insists that he could not distinguish the phantom from a human body in a normal state.
The above article appeared in the Missoulian on January 29, 1915.
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Those Who Saw Her Fail To Explain To Dr. Bolton
Ghost Talkfest Scheduled By Kennedy Does Not Materialize As Planned
A ghost confab, scheduled to take place yesterday afternoon in the back room of Louis Kennedy’s store, Higgins avenue, between Professor Thaddeus L. Bolton of the university, representing the scientific element, and the members of the various expeditions, who claim to have witnessed the meanderings of the weeping apparition, said to roam on Fish creek, failed to materialize when the self-confessed ghost-catchers did not appear.
The room was filled with curiously-inclined individuals, skeptics and believers in the various tales which have flaunted a broadside in the faces of those research workers who claim that “there ain’t no such thing as a ghost” by their weird recitals of the midnight escapades in the haunted cabin on Fish creek near Rivulet.
Several members of these parties were cornered by Louis Kennedy and his cohorts who set about in a vain endeavor to bring the scientific and the practical parts of the controversy into a conference, but each and all of these men, who have flooded the papers with their blood-curdling narratives, declined the honor of facing Professor Bolton and establishing the truth of their assertions.
Professor Bolton waited for a considerable time for them to appear, but became tired and left. Kennedy is still hopeful of bringing them together, and may be able to arrange a meeting at a future date.
The above article appeared in the Missoulian on January 31, 1915.
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Rivulet – Jan. 30 (Special)
Mrs. C. H. Grant has returned to Missoula, where she is receiving treatment for nervous trouble. . .
Mssrs. Duckworth, Hall, Cuplin, Byrd and Rathburn of Missoula were ghost stalking on the old Gossage place Wednesday night.
Above blurb is from Missoulian January 31, 1915.
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Duckworth Willin’ To Confer With Dr. Bolton
Was Not Notified As To Ghost Meeting And Therefore Did Not Attend
Missoula, Montana, Jan. 31, 1915.
Editor Missoulian: I see through your paper of today’s date where you say those who have seen the ghost near Fish creek or Rivulet failed to fill an engagement which they had made with Dr. Bolton of the university faculty.
Now, kind editor, your reporter has failed to go into this matter far enough, or jumped at conclusions of his own, or relied too much upon what someone else might think.
I wish to say right here that the boys who made up my party knew nothing about the matter – with the exception of Harry Byrd, who had talked with Dr. Bolton over the phone something about the situation down there.
Now I wish it thoroughly understood that I have all respect and honor for Dr. Bolton; wishing the very best results from his service with the university, but he has made one statement about men of science and sense in some of his papers; comments which would have been as easily left out and would have maintained a little higher degree of feeling for the learned doctor, but yet we trust this was an error of the head and not of the heart, as a man doesn’t have to be an educated man or scientific to at least believe in things which the learned doctor does not believe in.
Many times we receive some of our ideas by coming in contact with those who do not think just as we do about various matters, and I’m not going to throw any paper stones in Dr. Bolton’s way unless I find there is really a desire upon his part to get such talk started.
As to this meeting which was to have taken place on Saturday, January 30, 1915, such thing was never mentioned to me. I live at 203 West Spruce street, and can be located in three or four hours at any time, and should Dr. Bolton care to call on me he shall be quite welcome to do so.
As for a public statement about the weeping woman ghost, I gave a clear and thoroughly written statement to The Missoulian. What they have done or will do is immaterial with me. Each one of the boys who went with me paid his own expense, not one cent being contributed by anyone, so we were left free to give the facts as we found them without favor to anyone.
Trusting this will clear up some of the confusion.
Respectfully,
Burt Duckworth.
The above letter appeared in the Missoulian on February 1, 1915.
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Burt Duckworth and Four Others Present Ghost Story and Pictures
About 10 days ago The Missoulian published the announcement made by Burt Duckworth of this city that he intended to make a trip to the much-talked-about haunted cabin up Fish creek, about 50 miles west of Missoula, where a weeping-woman ghost was alleged to be walking, and, for the good of society, make a thorough investigation of the stories that had been coming in from numerous sources. Mr. Duckworth proposed to take a photographer with him and, if possible, secure a picture of the apparition if it should appear.
Mr. Duckworth was joined by four other men, including the photographer. They made the trip and returned with the pictures, reproduced herewith. Mr. Duckworth then wrote the story of the expedition and left it, with the pictures, with The Missoulian for publication. Through a delay in securing the cuts, the story had been held until this time. The night spent at the cabin was a week ago last Wednesday. What Mr. Duckworth wrote has been signed with the names of all members of the party. Read it from beginning to end.
Editor, Missoulian – There have been many stories going the rounds about the haunted cabin about three and a half or four miles from Rivulet, between Fish creek and Rivulet, 47 miles west of Missoula.
Not being a believer in ghosts, I decided several days ago to make the trip out there for public interest.
Really and truly, I had made up my mind that the whole thing was only a myth; but upon talking with one young man in whom I have considerable confidence, I decided that there was something back of all this talk and decided to make the trip to the cabin and camp there a night or two.
Guy Williams is the young man to whom I refer. He told me a story of seeing a weeping woman while out on a hunting trip a year or two ago. He camped two nights at the cabin. The first night nothing happened, but the second night he says he did get a glimpse of the apparition, enough of a look to satisfy him that the ghost walks there.
After this interview I made up my mind to go to the haunted cabin. It was up to me to get a partner, for there is little pleasure in making an expedition of this kind alone. I pleaded with Harry Byrd, a popular young fireman, who had been in the Northern Pacific service and who was in the wreck when Engineer Meecham was killed on the Coeur d’Alene branch in 1909. Byrd promised to go and I was glad because I believed I could depend on him as a sticker in case we should find the ghost some scheme of human intervention, the perpetrators seeking to have some fun at the expense of visitors at the haunted cabin. Such prac – [sic] the southern white man making victims of the poor, ignorant negroes, growers of southern diamonds (the beautiful white-lock cotton) in practicing ghost-walks.
And I must admit that I have practiced my share of deception upon the poor Ethiopian; but before my story is completed those who read can see that there are things which work out for our mutual good in various ways.
After having Byrd’s promise to go with me, good fortune came my way in the acquaintance of a fellow by the name of Ray Hall, who also wished to go with us, increasing our number from two to three. Then came Ellis Rathburn and Ralph Cuplin, who were wanting to make the trip. So we just went together, making a mutual crew of five instead of two parties of two and three, each and all having only good things for society at heart, the others having practically the same idea as myself – that the ghost was only someone having fun at others’ expense.
Hall had traversed the globe in Uncle Sam’s service and did not believe in the story of a weeping, female ghost. Young Rathburn had studied psychology for one of high school or college branches while a student in Massachusetts before coming west, insisted that there was no such thing as a ghost from a scientific point of view.
My idea was to take a good camera and at least secure some good pictures of the haunted cabin and the gulch. Fortunately Ralph Cuplin is an excellent photographer and landscape man, having the same ideas as myself, only going deeper, as he claimed, should the woman appear we would try to secure a picture by means of an electrically-equipped camera.
Wednesday morning we took passage on the westbound Coeur d’Alene at 11:35, getting off just on this side of the Fish creek bridge for the purpose of securing a picture of same, after which we followed the Northern Pacific track for about a quarter of a mile where we found a dim trail very difficult to climb because of the fresh snow, leading up the mountainside.
After a climb of 250 yards we reached the top of the mountain where we were quite willing to rest, and where we got another picture of our pack. Then we started on, but, bearing too far to the left, got off the trail. Byrd, being in the lead, ran across a mountain lion feeding upon a young deer which had fallen victim to his vicous (sic) appetite. Byrd immediately began to throw hot pills at the lion, which made a complete getaway.
After seeing we had best seek for the cabin in some other portion of the mountains, Cuplin was able to give us relief after surveying the general lay of the land with a pair of high-power field glasses. He said a mile or two to the north and west he could see an opening, which, in his judgement, was about the place we were seeking. Upon our entrance there it proved Cuplin had made no mistake.
Well, it was a very welcome sight as it had grown to be about 3:30 p.m. and we were tired and hungry.
Mr. Hall played the part of our French chef and in a short time we were feasting upon a splendidly-prepared evening meal of sausage, bacon, beans, eggs and good brown coffee.
Then we made a thorough investigation of the cabin and surroundings, taking pictures of both, and I’ll try and give the reading public as thorough a pen description of the place as I’m capable of doing.
It is a nice little story-and-a-half cabin, built down on a little flat in Weeping Woman gulch. The front entrance faces east and on the side there is a porch or shed which extends from the west end back along the south side for two-thirds of the distance. This we used for our campfire, which we were glad enough to gather around when the chill of night came on and sufficient wood was provided.
The inside of the cabin consisted of one room about 18 by 22 feet with a stairway leading up from near the center of the west end to the upper half-story which was used at one time for a bed or so. To the left of the stairway down on the first floor is a small pantry; to the right it runs on back with the main room, giving a closet underneath the stairway. On the northwest side is an “L” room which had been used for sleeping quarters, having three windows in the west end, one in the pantry to the main room and one from the “L” room, one upstairs on the north side, one in the east end; also a cellar or root dugout beneath the floor. Quite a nice cabin, at one time having none of the appearance of a place where female ghosts would go frightening hunters and campers. But it has a certain lonely appearance from the fact you can only get in there by horseback or walking; no way of getting wagons or vehicles through.
There are the usual outbuildings – hay-barn stable on the south side, and across Weeping Woman gulch on the north side is a small chicken pen – having all the appearance of a one-time comfortable mountain home.
On the north and south sides are lofty mountains covered with snow and lofty pines. To the west about half a mile seems to be the head of Weeping Woman gulch, which makes a very beautiful view from the fact that there are sufficient pines scattered along the gulch which blend so nicely with the beautiful snow, the mountain to the west being lower and more of a round, peakish appearance, tending to hue to the sunset that only poets could describe.
Sufficient water may be secured about 200 yards up the gulch from a spring which gushes forth, the purest water that can flow from the side of a snow-capped mountain.
With this story we present one of our best pictures that Cuplin was able to produce of the outside surroundings of the cabin, which will enable the reader to pass judgment upon the pen picture of same.
After we had secured the outdoor pictures, and the shade of night began to deepen about us, the camp-fireside was most attractive and there we proceeded to make ourselves as comfortable as possible by smoking and telling stories until bedtime, which was about 10:30 p.m.
In the east end of the room were a lot of shavings upon which we made our beds, leaving us facing the stairway. Then it was necessary to arrange a camera so it would cover as much of the room as possible in case the weeping woman should appear. We set it near the door as that was the only convenient place. We had a rubber extension and all there was to do was a slight pressure of the button, which responded electrically in one and one-thousandth part of a second.
We can frankly say that never a crew lay down for a night’s rest as calmly assured of not being molested, from the fact that we were in one of nature’s beauty spots with the moon doing its best to add glory to the night. As we began to cast off some of our worries and seek sleep the mountain rats started their rounds for the night’s frolic, this preventing us from going to sleep as we otherwise might have done.
However, it was not long until all were peacefully taking that refreshing sleep which is so welcome after a good day’s outing.
Put as the famous poet Burns said in his celebrated poem, Tam O’Shanter:
“Pleasures are like the poppy spread;
You seize the flower, the bloom is shed.”
We were all aroused from our peaceful slumbers when Ellis Rathburn sprang from his bed and out the open door which he had to reach by jumping over Byrd and Hall, and kicking over and breaking up our best camera.
But we were all convinced that the ghost was there, and no joke.
But Cuplin had presence of mind sufficient to get an exposure which will show it was no fantastic dream.
Our feelings are best described in the language of Edgar Allen Poe: “We were filled with a fantastic feeling ne’er dreamed of before.”
There was the weeping woman ghost which immediately disappeared after the exposure of the electrical camera.
It was just a little while before we could get quieted down and after looking at our watches we found it was 3:15 a.m.
We are satisfied and convinced the weeping woman ghost is there. Such is our experience. We leave the opinion to the public; this is our true statement and it is something not to be ridiculed.
(Signed)
Ray Hall
Harry Byrd
Ellis Rathburn
Ralph Cuplin
Burt Duckworth
The above article appeared in the Missoulian on February 6, 1915.
https://www.newspapers.com/image/348974026/
Satire
Predictably, the local Missoulian decided to enter the weeping ghost fray with a fury, providing numerous satirical articles and comments. On February 7, 1915, almost an entire Missoulian page was devoted to the topic. Included were two reputed ghost photos. One of a ghost and child walking down a Missoula street and stopping in front of the Empress Theater; and another of a ghost caught leaving the Milwaukee Depot waiting room to the chagrin of N.P. boosters.
Below is a sample of their ghost rebuttal fare:
An “Affidavit”
To Whom It May Concern:
This, my affidavit, made of my own free will and signed by me but not “with” my name, is to certify, to-wit:
That I did take the two ghost pictures which appear herewith, using my little camera to do same. Now aforesaid camera is absolutely trustworthy and can be absolutely relied upon to do my bidding on one one-thousandth part of a second, if necessary. However, it was not necessary in this case. The ghost seemed perfectly tame and gave me plenty of time. This was especially so when I took the picture of the ghost and the little ghostie. The child seemed real curious about me.
Furthermore, and notwithstanding public opinion, both of these pictures were printed from single negatives; that is to say, each print was from a negative doubly exposed, for ghost purposes, but singly printed by itself, no shyster proceedings of any kind being used in the printing. If I first secured an exposure of a made-up ghost and then went out and made another exposure on the same plate down at the Milwaukee depot and over at the Empress theater, that’s my business, and upon advice of counsel this last statement is not to be taken as part of this, my true affidavit.
Upon further information and belief, I, the affidaviter, do affirm that I made this ghost look as near like the picture of the Fish creek ghost as I could. I have a reputation as a picture taker that must be protected at all costs, and I claim that the herewith ghost pictures are as good and genuine ghost pictures as were ever taken in this neck of the woods. If you don’t believe me in this affidavit, look at the pictures and see for yourself.
Signed and sworn to before myself,
The Staff Photographer.
Being A Fully Guaranteed Interview With the Famous Ghost of Fish Creek
“Why do I cry?” the ghost asked, repeating my question.
“Why do I cry? Really, young man it’s none of your blooming business. But I suppose I might as well tell you and get it off my chest. I cry because . . . “
But that’s no way to start a news story, is it? To tell the truth, I don’t know how to write a lead for an interview with a ghost. They don’t teach a fellow how to handle ghost stories at the school of journalism. Now if the ghost were a prominent farmer, or a fire, or a murder trial, or a Ladies’ Aid society social, I’d be there with bells on and my hair in a braid; Thusly:
“Mrs. Lydia P. Hinkham, the well-known Fish Creek ghost, spent yesterday in our midst. She came in on the afternoon train, and when seen at the Shapard said that things were picking up all along Fish Creek.
But that doesn’t sound quite right.
Or I might say:
“Mrs. Lydia P.Hinkham, prominent in Fish Creek’s younger psychic set, entertained her child and a reporter at tea yesterday afternoon. A good time was had by all, the charming, if somewhat elusive hostess, entertaining her guests with stories of her experiences.”
Which won’t do, either.
Now Rule No. 1 in Carl Getz’s “The Essentials of Journalism,” the greatest (unpublished) text-book on the subject, tells me to begin all news stories by presenting in snappy and attractive fashion the most important facts in my possession. But the most important of the many facts now surging within me, shrieking for expression, is that I got professional rates on my “hop,” despite the recent rush. I can’t very well begin with that. I’d be giving away the fundamental secret of the allied and a-lying professions of journalism and ghost-chasing.
Suppose, then, that we break away from all journalistic rules and tell just what happened. That’s poor journalism, Heaven knows, but one must get started.
So let’s hit the pipe.
“Say, you,” said the City Editor to me. (I’m “You.)” “There’s a coupla cheese in town says they seen a ghost down at Fish Creek. Getthehell outa here and don’t come back ‘til you’ve gotta interview from the ghost. Beat it!”
(Frankly, that speech is local color. In books, all City Editors are ungrammatical tyrants. They’re more picturesque that way. So I’ve made mine true to fiction, though really he’s high-collared, lady-like, meticulous in his regard for grammatical rules and such a puny specimen that I’d bust his nose if he ever talked back to me. But the substance of the speech is true, anyhow).
Well, the bartender didn’t think the ghost would be in. He guessed I’d have to go to Fish Creek and see her. But when I told him that it was my expense money he’d just rung up in the till, and asked him for a loan he gave me the coarse and hearty.
My wrath was aroused. “You ill-mannered swine! How dare you refuse the condescending request of such as I? How dare you, whose brutish soul aspires to nothing higher than dreams of a law elevating yet more the bottoms of beer glasses, laugh at me, heir to the glories of Herodotus and Addison and Elbert Hubbard? Some day. . . some day, my pay will be raised to $13.85 a week, and then you’ll rue this unfortunate hour. Now give me that money or prepare to meet the undertaker.”
That speech was fairly on the end of my tongue, but in time I thought of the poor fellow’s family and said, instead:
“Aw, come on, Jim. Thasha good ole fellah. Be a sport.”
There was no response.
Then came inspiration.
If there are ghosts in Fish Creek there are ghosts on Higgins avenue. Ghosts aren’t tied down, anyhow. They can travel from place to place with sampulliam agility. They are slaves, also, to mind. I resolved to summon, with all the strength of my imperious will, the Weeping Woman of the Coeur d’Alene.
I walked all the way across the bridge, summoning at every step. At the Milwaukee station the ghost responded. (See first picture).
I was embarrassed. I didn’t know how to communicate with my visitor, now that she was at hand. I tried knocking on the pavement, a la medium.
“Don’t knock; boost,” said the ghost, and I saw that she was very plump and was having difficulty with the step. I boosted her to the platform and led her toward town, talking as we walked. That is, I walked. She just glided along, like a puff of smoke, weeping and wringing her hands, her wedding gown gleaming white against the picturesque background of West Front street (rear), her hair streaming across her shoulder.
“I am a reporter for The Missoulian,” I said. “Our paper covers Western Montana – when Western Montana isn’t covering it with sawed off shotguns. The 845,739 subscribers to the Missoulian (address business office for advertising rates) are clamoring for news of you. Would you be willing to speak to them, through me?”
The ghost only sobbed and wrung her ghostly hands.
“Oh, cut out the wailing,” I said, angrily. “Don’t try to come that on me. I can see through you, all right, all right.” (Subtle stuff!)
The effect of the speech was instantaneous. The ghost stopped howling at once, and with her wrung-out hands biffed her young abaft the jaw.
“‘Shut up, Clarice’” she said. “Adolphus, here is hep. Now whaddya-want?”
“I’d like your name, your history, your photograph, your watch, you . . .
“Wait a minute. Wait – a – minute. I can’t getcha all in a lump like that. Let’s go slow. Lydia P. Hinkham, that’s my name. I was born two weeks ago in the imagination of a Northern Pacific brakeman. Since that time I’ve done nothing but sit in a dirty cabin on Fish Creek and yowl. Think of it! Two weeks in Fish Creek. It’s been awful . . . Well, that’s my history. Now if there’s nothing else, I’ll be going. It’s Clarice’s bedtime.”
I grasped the air about her. (There was an air about her.) “Stay, stay, strange creature,” I implored. “But one more question in your seeming ear. Tell me ere you go why one so fair should weep and wring her hands as though the world were one great cup of gall and wormwood?”
At that question the storm began afresh. Ghostly tears ran down the ashen face and splashed to nothingness on the pavement. (See second picture).
“Ah, my tale is (sobs) my tale is sad. It’s all because of a man . . . “
Again the ghostly wailing – weird and terrifying, like an administration democrat’s description of the injustice of an investigation of the state offices, and withal so ghostly and indistinct and faraway that by force of habit, I glanced behind me to see why City Clerk Harris was reading the minutes of the last meeting of the city council at such a time and in such a place.
Spent, the woman choked back her sobs at last.
“It’s all because a man imagined me,” she said. “A man who could know nothing of the torments of a woman my size must suffer when laced into such a dress as this. Oh, if only Mr. Duckworth and those other men had imagined me in a Mother Hubbard. Then I could sit down. Who wouldn’t cry?”
And Lydia was gone.
Scoffings and jeers at this tale there will be, I know. One is loath to speak of ghosts in these grossly material and blindly skeptical times. The world is too full of psychology professors, currrse them! But the Truth is in me – and the “hop.” I must speak, though it means pillory. Let me stand as a martyr beside good, old Burtle Duckworth and my other brothers in the Ancient Order of Ananias.
Some of the Facts From Rivulet Town
Rivulet, Feb. 6 – (Special.) – Operator J. T. Malone, aroused from his coma existence by harrowing ghost tales, spoke up in this manner: “Yes, come to think about it, I do remember talking with a man by the name of Sullivan, who claims he saw a ghost in that very cabin, ‘way back six or seven year ago. When the Northern Pacific was straightening its track at Fish creek, an operator by the name of Jensen who was working there, and he and this man Sullivan went on a hunting trip, camping in this cabin on their return. They were fairly chased out by this visitation, and came post-haste to Rivulet.
“Wish to investigate, myself? Not while my name is Malone. I belong to a race that avoids spooks or goblins in any form.”
Fred Schosser, old residenter, and man of affairs here, scoffs at the etherial (Sp) lady who roams the cabbage patch of his one-time friend, Robert Gossage. He remembers the building of the substantial house and many outbuildings by the industrious Gossages. The sound of the woodman’s ax was heard, and children’s laughter. The children grew; they must have schooling. The homestead was sold to the Blackfoot Lumber company and the family moved to Oregon.
“It is true the mother did not live long after moving, leaving a new born infant,” said Schosser. “Why should she bother to come back here? Besides, the weeping ghost is young, fair, dressed in bridal array. Frau Gossage was stout, practical and wooden-shoed. Ach! Nothing to it.”
Alberton Folks Think Ghost Is A Wood Rat
Alberton, Feb. 6. – (Special.) A small party, consisting of Mary M. Cyr, Emma E. Holden, Fred J. Cyr, Lewis O. and Robert M. Holden, went out for a sleighride party at Cyr and as they did not have any special place to go, they decided to take a trip to the haunted cabin at Fish creek. This is what they said after returning home:
“We drove as far as Andrew Garshca’s [Garcia’s] place at Fish creek, put our team in the barn about 5:30 p. m. and then walked up the slope to what is supposed to be the haunted cabin. We arrived at the cabin at 7 p. m. We went upstairs, down cellar and in every room to investigate for the appearance of the ghost, if there should be any. We saw all sorts of paper, etc., lying about, but this did not frighten us. After investigating the cabin we went to the little spring, where one gentleman who had visited the cabin before us, pretended to have seen clots of blood in the snow, but found no clue of ghosts there. Then we took in the outhouses, which were a chicken house, smoke house, barn and hay barns; the latter was where we built the campfire and camped until about 11 p. m. We then went into the cabin; there wasn’t a noise until one of the girls asked Mr. Holden what time it was. He said: ‘It is 12:10 a. m., and she will soon come.’ Meaning the ghost. Shortly after his speaking a wood rat appeared at the bottom step in the stairway. Rats running from stairs to cellar windows and bedroom. We stood our ground until 1:30 a. m. for the weeping young lady ghost that never came, and we think never will.
“The greatest fright we experienced was a little mouse running across our path on a log on our way home, which looked to us as large as a mountain lion, until Mr. Cyr captured it.”
Our Ghost Girl
A few miles from Missoula on Fish Creek,
In a cabin that’s damp with decay,
In the cold, silent hours of midnight,
Strolls a lady in bridal array.
She comes as a weeping Madonna,
This fair vision we see in the night;
Our watchers are spellbound with wonder
As she stands in the radiant light.
We see her in deep grief and sorrow,
This dear little miss of the wild;
Our heart-strings are touched and we tremble
As she silently leads forth a child.
In this wonderful world where we’re living
Strange visions will come to us all,
But when the stories of Fish creek approach us
Our faith in them all seem to fall.
Our world is renowned for its bravery,
But the one thing Missoula can boast –
The bravest of brave are the N. P. men
Who set forth to capture a ghost.
They sat there well wrapped up in blankets,
Not daring to breathe or to sleep;
And I think that our dear little ghost girl
For their fright is so sorry, she weeps.
Now don’t think for a minute, dear reader,
That our brave men were silent with fright;
For no fear is felt in that cabin
Of that beautiful spirit at night.
As she comes down the stairs so majestic,
With the dear child so close to her side,
Our watcher approaches her bravely,
And would willingly take her his bride.
But faint heart ne’er won a fair lady,
So Georgie, next time do not run;
For it only makes you out a coward,
And the rest of the bunch have the fun.
The hall-room boy got a snap shot
Of a lady surrounded by smoke;
But as he refuses to show it
Our readers all think it a joke.
If your nervous system is sluggish,
And you wish to give it a start,
Just take a hike up to Fish creek
And sit all night in the dark.
For those who have tried it they tell us
That the shock they get is not slack;
And the lightning express isn’t in it
With their speed on the N. P. track.
Oh! Brave men of western Montana,
We are really surprised at you;
If the vision of one woman scares you,
Oh! What can the suffragists do?
Mrs. W. F. Harting.
Satire article – see February 7, 1915 p 7
https://www.newspapers.com/image/348974531/