Spooks in Wellsburg

by Erin Doane, Curator

The death of Miss Mabel Evans in Wellsburg was a great mystery. How did the beautiful young lady die, and why was she quietly buried at midnight? Thomas McGraw was sitting peacefully at home, thinking about Miss Evans when a strange impulse prompted him to rise and go to the door. Outside, he was astonished to see the graceful figure of a shrouded woman, floating through the darkness several feet above the ground. As he watched, she slowly drifted away and vanished into the night.

This was not Mr. McGraw’s first brush with the supernatural. His home just outside the southeast limits of Wellsburg next to the cemetery was a hotbed of paranormal activity in 1894. The two story house had a story-and-a half wing that had been closed up and unoccupied for years. Yet, two or three times a week for over four months, Mr. McGraw heard strange noises in the wing. Between 10pm and 2am, the sounds of distinct, measured knocking, muffled footsteps, and strange whisperings could be heard. Occasionally, there was a cacophony of sound that resembled the falling down stairs of a tray full of beer glasses accompanied by a bass drum and a barrel full of cymbals. Every time Mr. McGraw went to investigate the sounds, he found absolutely nothing amiss; not even the spider webs on the windows had been disturbed. 

Word of the strange occurrences got around the small village, but no one was particularly surprised. Many residents had their own tales of deeds done by those who has long ago shuffled off this mortal coil. The stories managed to reach the ears of a reporter for the Elmira Telegram, and he was determined to investigate. While the reporter was never named in the subsequent article that described his experience, he did make it clear that he was a pronounced skeptic in matters pertaining to the spirit world when he put together the amateur crew of ghost hunters that would spend the night in Mr. McGaw’s haunted house. 

The newspaper man began his report of that night with the following: “Your emissary the other night had an attack of the horrors, felt his flesh creep and then stand in goose pimples, like the excrescences on the countenance of the tranquil cucumber, and all on account of an assignment to look up the story of an alleged haunted house in Wellsburg.” How did the avowed skeptic come to declare that “indisputable proofs of mysterious happenings in the realm of spooks have been furnished” after just one night?

Elmira Telegram, November 18, 1894

The reporter and his committee of four other investigators – Herman Murphy, the druggist and a man of undoubted integrity; Thomas F. Pickley, the station operator; and William J. Dalton and Harold Loomis, both respected young men of the village – arrived at Mr. McGraw’s home late in the evening. The reporter wrote that it was “a gruesome looking place, indeed as viewed…in the grey misty atmosphere.” The night was bitter cold and “the glistening white of the tombstones lent additional chill to the occasion.” Mr. McGraw greeted the men at the door and they joined the goodly company that had already gathered, which included Mr. and Mrs. Broderick Davidson and Frank Robinson. Mr. McGraw, “a most conservative and truthful man,” told his haunting stories to the rapt audience and then they waited. They strained their ears and watched the door leading into the unused wing until 11 o’clock at night, but nothing happened.

Disappointed, but still hopeful, the ghost hunters decided that perhaps they were too early and that it would be best to go downtown for some time (to a pub or tavern, if I had to guess) and return later when the spirits were more likely to be abroad. While the crew and their hosts were at the undisclosed location downtown, those present shared blood-curdling stories about numerous murders, mysterious disappearances, and suicides that had taken place near the old church yard next to Mr. McGraw’s residence.

The investigators returned to the graveyard at midnight and “sat like five ghoulish figures” on headstones near the center of the burial ground. They “huddled shiveringly together, tried to smoke away the feeling of oppression, but in vain.” Suddenly, Mr. Pickley went pale. He slowly lifted his arm and pointed his finger to a spot not more than thirty feet away. The other men’s eyes followed his movement and they all plainly saw “a stately white robed figure…moving majestically along just above the toppling headstones.”

The five men rose from their hard, cold perches as one and gaped at the astonishing apparition. Without thinking, the reporter rushed toward the “beautiful gaseous figure.” Just before reaching it, the female figure turned its face toward him, rooting the hapless man to the spot. An indescribable feeling of oppression inspired by the awful spectral presence came over him and he fell face-first into the dead grass. The spirit turned away and dissolved into the darkness.

That vapory, filmy, relicts [sic] of those who once lived here on earth, do hover about us, and keep tabs on what we do or what we leave undone, is now [my] firm conviction. 

– unnamed Elmira Telegram reporter, November 18, 1894

 

The Wellsburg Fire of 1912

by Erin Doane, Curator

The locomotive sped down the tracks, casting up sparks as it passed. Usually, the tiny glowing embers cooled and blinked out as they drifted through the air and settled to the ground as harmless dust. On April 27, 1912, however, one of the sparks landed on the shed roof at Lockwood’s coal and lumber yard. It still retained enough heat to catch hold of the dry wood and a flame burst to life. The fire crept across the roof, growing stronger and brighter on a path that would lead to the destruction of much of downtown Wellsburg.

After the Wellsburg Fire of 1912

Charles J. Stringer saw the flicker of flames on Lockwood’s shed and sounded the alarm. Volunteer firefighters from throughout the village rushed to the scene. They reeled out their hoses and hooked them to the water supply. Throwing the valves open, they waited for the torrent of water to rush forth and beat back the flames. The weak flow that trickled through the hoses brought with it surprise and dread. Far up on the hill overlooking Wellsburg, a crew labored at cleaning the drained reservoir. No one could have known that the scheduled, periodic maintenance of the water supply would coincided with the greatest fire the village had ever seen. 

Fire at Wellsburg, N.Y., Apr. 27, 1912

As the firefighters struggled, wind blew over the blaze, lifting hot embers into the sky. The miniature firebrands floated across Main Street, down Front Street, and dropped onto the roof of an unoccupied blacksmith shop on Terrace Street that was owned by another member of the Stringer family.

Now split between two flaming fronts, the firefighters could not prevent the first fire from jumping to H.W. Young’s General Store just across the street from Lockwood’s yard. From there the blaze moved down the block to R.R. Welch’s ice cream and confectionery shop, to Robert’s general store, to H.O. Cole’s barber shop, to the Robert’s homestead, and even further to the Baldwin Hotel. The flames could not be stopped as they spread to more and more businesses and homes. Flying embers even set Mrs. Young’s barn ablaze on the hillside nearly a quarter of a mile away. By 4 o’clock in the afternoon, much of the village was a raging inferno.

The fire getting a nice start.

Just as hope was failing, help arrived. Another locomotive sped down the tracks; this time delivering salvation rather than destruction. It pulled a flat car upon which rode Elmira’s fire engine no. 4. Chief John Espey and his firefighters had arrived to reinforce Wellsburg’s exhausted crews. Together they were able to stop the blaze at the Exchange Hotel, keeping it from spreading into the mostly residential area of the village. By 7:00 p.m., they had beaten the flames into submission. 

All that was left of the Exchange Hotel after the fire of 1912

As the brave firefighters and volunteers struggled and sweated, hordes of spectators gathered to watch the dangerous show. They came by trolley, by wagon, and by automobile, clogging the streets to find entertainment in others’ heartbreak. Some read a special edition of the Elmira Star-Gazette that had been published that very afternoon describing the fire that still smoldered before them.

The fire drew this crowd.

Some of those arriving in Wellsburg late in the day were actually residents. Many of the local women had taken the opportunity that fine Saturday to ride the trolley up to Elmira to do some shopping. They returned to find their village ravaged by the extraordinary conflagration. Some even found themselves suddenly homeless.

General view of the fire at night Wellsburg, N.Y.

Twenty-three buildings were partially or completely destroyed by the fire including two hotels, three general stores, two feed mills, the carriage factory, the opera house, and five residences. By some miracle, though, not a single person was seriously hurt.

After the fire, Baldwin's Mill, Wellsburg, N.Y.

 

Lost in the Mail

by Erin Doane, Curator

On March 3, 1951, a heavy snowstorm was raging as Erie Railroad Train #7 from New York City sped through Wellsburg at 8:15 in the morning. In those days, mail was delivered by non-stop dispatch to the village. That meant that the train did not stop or even slow down to drop off the mail. The railway postal clerk on the train simply threw the locked canvas mail pouch from the train as it passed by. Train #7 always delivered the heaviest mail of the day, usually around 300 individual pieces of all kinds except for parcel post. On the morning of March 3, because of poor visibility caused by the snowstorm, the clerk threw the pouch a little too soon and it went right into the Chemung River.

The problem of mail thrown from trains being damaged or lost was not new. Less than two years earlier, the Erie Railroad had discontinued direct mail service to the area precisely because of the loss and damage. Earlier in the century, locomotives had run on steam, but by 1949 all of Erie’s engines were diesel. The mechanical change meant that trains ran 15 to 20mph faster than they had before. This was great for the railroad companies but not so good for the communities who had mail delivered by the direct, non-stop method. Pouches that were not thrown clear enough of the tracks sometimes got sucked under the train and the mail was cut up or scattered for miles down the tracks.

On October 1, 1949, direct mail service from the Erie Railroad ended in Wellsburg in favor of a star route. The government contracted out star routes to private companies and individuals who delivered the mail through means other than by steamboat and railroad. Elmer Peck of Lowman got the contract for the new local star route. Peck’s son-in-law Ralph Jilson picked up mail and parcels from a central office at the Waverly railway station and drove them to the post offices in Wellsburg, Lowman, Chemung, and Wilawana early each morning and late each afternoon. 

The new system of mail delivery kept letters safe from being accidentally destroyed by speeding trains, but postal customers almost immediately protested the change. Delivery slowed down considerably, and there was soon a large number of vigorous complaints demanding that the old non-stop service was restored. Customers got their way, and by February 1, 1950 mail pouches were again being launched from trains.

Sarah Wilcox was postmaster in Wellsburg in 1951. When she got word that snowy March morning that the mail pouch had been flung into the river, she sent a team into action. Her husband Lester Wilcox, office clerk Leroy Miller, mail messenger Norman Dallas, and school teacher James Underwood launched a boat and searched the river. They came up empty handed. The river was unusually high at the time with a swift current. The next day, Sunday, volunteers spread out along the river banks, looking for the lost mail. On Monday, auxiliary mail carrier Eldon Hughes and Edward Burt took a boat as far as Nine Mile Point looking for the mail pouch. Ten days later, the postmaster was still appealing to fishermen and people living along the river to help in the search, but it was becoming clear that the mail would never be found.

In 1970, Sarah Wilcox announced her retirement from the Wellsburg post office. She had served as postmaster for 25 years and worked as a postal clerk 6 years before that. A Star-Gazette reporter interviewed her on this momentous occasion, and the story of the mail that went missing in the river came up. At the time of the accident, it must have been distressing for those who never got letters, bills, or cards they were expecting, but, nearly 20 years later, it made for an amusing little story.

The Wellsburg Oil Find

by Erin Doane, curator

Drilling for natural gas may seem like a modern issue in this region, but oil and gas exploration and drilling have been going on here for well over a century. On June 11, 1891 the Elmira Daily Gazette and Free Press reported on oil being discovered in Wellsburg. “Everybody who owns a piece of real estate in the village is laboring under a fever of excitement,” wrote the reporter. “Real estate here is going up like a balloon to-day.” The strike was entirely unexpected and did not herald a major boom as some had hoped, but it is a fascinating bit of history.

Headline from Elmira Daily Gazette and Free Press, June 11, 1891

Charles E. Van Buskirk moved to Wellsburg in 1879 where he went into business as a furniture dealer and undertaker. His home was behind the Exchange Hotel located on Front and Main Streets in the village. He needed a water well for his property and hired T.J. Bardeen, an old well digger, to do the job. On June 11, Bardeen started drilling. When Hiram W. Young had a new well drilled on his property just two years earlier, they reached water at less than one hundred feet. Young’s well was famous for being one of the finest artesian wells in the county. Van Buskirk was perhaps hoping for similar results.

Exchange Hotel, Wellsburg, c. 1906

At 130 feet the drill began bringing up black and gray colored pigments that smelled oily. Then, a dark colored substance that looked like crude oil, but smelled like lubricating oil was bailed off. They had struck oil! Word of the discovery spread quickly through the small village. A crowd gathered around the well and started debating the find. The Gazette reported that the substance in the well was, unmistakably, genuine crude oil. As the drilling continued to a depth of 140 feet, oil was still coming up with the refuse from the well. This convinced more than half the men in the village that the well was a winner.

At 5:30pm that evening, however, drilling came to a halt. Van Buskirk informed the gathered crowd that he could not afford to have the well drilled any deeper. It cost $10 a day to keep drilling and, as it was, the oil had already spoiled his water well. He was not going to invest any more time or money into the well unless the townspeople provided some additional financial support. Bardeen, who had been drilling the well, informed Van Buskirk that he had to pack up and leave. If they came up with the money, Bardeen was willing to come back, rig up a derrick, and work the well, but in the meantime he had other wells to drill in Pine City.

There was some skepticism about the oil find from the very beginning. Some people believed that someone had dumped oil down the well to make it look like a genuine strike. The Elmira Telegram published a small paragraph about the well on June 14, 1891 on the same page as funeral, ice cream social, and personal travel notices. The somewhat snarky report reads in part:

There are some people who think the hole was greased and others who think the wind blew through the drillers whiskers. The TELEGRAM hopes the discovery may prove genuine, but still there’s reasonable ground for doubts. If someone will pull the hole up and send it to an oil expert for examination, the TELEGRAM will publish the report in full.

Steve Herman, one of Wellsburg’s solid citizens, however, was said to have been keeping a close watch on the well the entire time and was sure that no funny business had taken place.

Article from Elmira Telegram, June 14, 1891

Despite the controversy, $50 was raised and drilling continued. At a depth of 187 feet, a small amount of natural gas was detected. The flow began to steadily increase and Van Buskirk fired the well. The flame was several feet high and gave off a brilliant illumination. It burned for a number of days before water suddenly flooded the well and extinguished the flame. They resumed drilling and another volume of gas was found. This one was stronger and steadier than the first. Mr. Crane, an expert from the oil region who came to Wellsburg on news of the discovery said that the well was unusually strong, with a pressure of at least 200 pounds of gas.

Near the end of August, a meeting was held to form a stock company to finance putting down another well. Local merchants and farmers gathered at Hiram Young’s hall. The group elected an executive committee made up of R.M. Losie, E.M. Lowman, H.W. Young, A.G. Hillman, Charles E. Van Buskirk, S.D. Herman, and A.C. Wright and also appointed a sub-committee to draft a charter for the stock company. The intent was to raise $100,000 by issuing shares at $10 each.

I have not been able to find many more details about the company. It appears that the quantity of gas was not as huge as everyone had hoped. At least one more well was drilled but the combined production was very low. Some gas was piped into local homes, including Van Buskirk’s, for heat and lighting. The natural gas was also used to fuel a street light in Wellsburg for about five years. While the 1891 discovery did not turn into a major boom, it did mark a beginning of oil and gas exploration in the region.

The image above of a gas well in Wellsburg is from Our Past Revisited in Pictures: Ashland Township, Lowman and Wellsburg by Sylvia Denton Smith published in 1999. The photo was provided by Martha E. Hanmer and Beverly Hanmer Parker for the book.