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The Ghost of
Ellen Dower
by Earl B. Pilgrim
By the coast of the Great Northern Peninsula,
or, more specifically, to the north of Conche about fifteen miles, lies a
small offshore point of land called Fishot Island. History says this island
was among the first in Newfoundland to be inhabited by European settlers.
During the years when pirates roamed the oceans, when ships of such dubious
repute needed a place to hide, the mouth of Belvy Bay with its many hideaway
coves became a haven to such men of the deep. And for this reason they
sometimes called in at Fishot Island, to sound around or see if they could
learn of military vessels lying in wait. Paddy O’Neill, who is touted as the
historian of Conche, wrote one such tale in his paper The Log of Conche
that held particular interest to me.
Many stories have been told about Maurice Power these past hundred years,
old Maurice Power from Conche. One says he was a pirate who changed his name
a couple of times. It goes that one stormy night a pirate ship bound for
Belvy Bay came into Fishot Harbour seeking shelter.
Little is known of what went on aboard the ship and
among the crew, except that a man by the
name of Maurice de la Pour jumped
overboard and swam ashore to escape
the future his shipmates had planned for him.
At
daylight the brawling cutthroats came ashore and searched the rickety houses on Fishot
Island, but no sign of Maurice de la Pour could be found. In a rage,
the tyrannical captain ordered all the dwellings burned. The crew managed to convince him after some
time that their missing crewmate
was not in town, and annoyed at the cries of the women and children, the
captain gave up the search and left.
It wasn’t long before Maurice de la Pour
crawled out from under a rock and appeared in town. He was soon recognized as
the escaped man the pirates were seeking.
He asked the people in his French accent
if they had any work for him ashore, but they were still shaken after
their ordeal with the pirates. They just
wanted to be rid of this man who
had brought trouble and most likely would again.
Not welcome on Fishot Island, Maurice de la
Pour headed south—avoiding the Conche
area out of fear of meeting up
with his former crewmates—and went on to the small town of Englee.
There he secured a job with some French fish merchants as a keeper of their
fishing rooms. He stayed there for just two years, before he was
transferred to the Northeast Crouse area.
Here the old Frenchman changed his
name to Maurice Pour, fuelling speculation he was disguising his identity.
A year later
he moved again, this time to a place called Silver Cove, within the
boundary of Conche Harbour. By now the old Frenchman’s name had evolved into Maurice Power.
He was the father of one Maurice Power,
Jr., whose name struck fear into the hearts of people back in the 1800s.
While
talking to Paddy O’Neill, my source of information for this book,
Maurice Power’s lineage came into
question. “I heard all about Maurice Power,
Jr.’s background from my grandfather,
Thomas Casey,” Paddy said. “He was a well-grown man before Maurice Power, Jr. died.”
When I
visited Mr. O’Neill for the first time, he met
me with a wide grin and said, “I know
what you’re here for, Earl. I heard that you’re writing about my relative,
Aunt Ellen Dower.”
I greeted this grand old gentleman and shook
hands with him. “Yes, I am,” I said, “if I can get the story of
what really happened.”
He took
out a pipe and said, “Well, you’ve come to the right place. I’m the only
person alive now who can tell the
true story of what went on between Aunt Ellen and Uncle Edward Dower.”
I could see
that his eighty-eight years had not lessened his memory any, and I
could tell he was ready to talk. “First,”
I said, “I want to tell you what I plan to call it.”
Paddy lit
his pipe. “Yes,” he replied, tapping his fingers
on the table and giving me a look that said he was expecting a surprise.
“I am going
to call it,” I hesitated, “The Ghost of Ellen Dower.”
He fell
silent for a moment. “Earl,” he said, “you have to make sure people
know it’s the true story of
the ghost of Ellen Dower. A lot of people
have already written about this,
but they didn’t know what they were talking about. I’ll tell you the whole
story now, if you have the nerve to
write it.”
I lifted my
notebook and turned to a fresh page.
“Start
talking,” I said. | 
