The Clanking Chains

Taken from the Book: Legends of Prince Edward Island

Written By: F. H. MacArthur

Tradition says old drunken Bill McGee was born in the shadow of the church near Bedeque. His conscience, though seared by sin and liquor, still functioned. Like a lot of drunks, Bill took the pledge every six months and confessed his sins to the perish priest at the same time.

If Bill were alive today he’d be called an alcoholic – in those days they were referred to as drunkards, or as one old lady put it, “run hounds”. Liquor and its attendant miseries were but a part of McGee’s colorful life.

When John Barcleycorn thought it was time to take his pal on another binge, he took him away from his farm and family to a wayside inn some half a mile distant.

All children and all dogs loved Bill. They took to him like a bee takes to honey. His own dog, Major, worshipped the very ground under his master’s feet.

One night while walking home from the tavern – he was well in his cups – he decided to take a short cut through the graveyard – something BIll would never had done had he been sober. However, inspired by John Barclaycorn, he went on, casting only sidelong glances at the tombstones; and trying to reason with his clouded brain just how it would feel to be lying under one of the stones with a lot of earth piled over you.

The loud rattling of a chain brought Bill out of his reveries in quick order. He stopped, listened, made a few steps, then stopped and listened carefully again. Yes, it was the rattling of a chain all right, and as ha stood there the sound grew louder and nearer.

He started to run, but something held him back. He couldn’t see anybody, yet he felt the grip of a hand on his coat tail. Vainly, he tried to pull himself away. That’s when the cold shivers began to run up and down his spine, and his breath came in labored gasps. Poor old Bill! Never was a guy in a worse dilemma!

How long McGee was detained in the cemetery he never knew. Certainly it was quite a while for when the thing finally released him it was breaking day.

He had not traveled far, however, when the clanking of the chain reached his ears again, while from out of the forest bounded Major, his tongue hanging out and his side moving rapidly like a worked bellows, while from his neck dangled a length of chain.

Old Bill never could figure out how his experience in the cemetery got nosed about. Certainly, Major never told it, and there was nobody else beside himself in the place of the dead. To him, it was a mystery.

When his friends kidded him about the affair, Bill would argue that the small piece of chain attached to Major’s collar couldn’t possibly have made all that noise. Anyway, Bill never touched a drop of liquor again.