Louis Q
I thought I’d write a thought or two on the desolate and creepy part of the mountain that lies at the dead end of a winding mountain road. The cemetery, or rather the main one that all the ghost hunters venture out into in hopes of finding the ever elusive spectre or ghost “orb”, has been a popular “tourist attraction” by locals and has been trodden down and trampled over by many a foot looking for some sort of evidence of another plane of existence without giving much thought to what lies only a few short feet beneath their own feet that still flow warm with life. The dead.
From my research there are many souls that have been laid to rest on that cold lonely place. Perhaps those that lived, worked, played, and died on the mountain in the mid nineteenth century thought by all their accounts that the town would last and thrive for more time than they actually could have imagined. Maybe they could not foresee a time when the coal would run dry and the town would fall fate to such a demise as it did and become an abandoned and forgotten place. Makes me stop and consider the modern gas drilling that is tearing up our county now.
Of the 144 headstones and grave markers that have been identified by two separate teams of researchers in 1978 and most recently in 1993, it appears that 68 of them are children under the age of 18 and most of them being just wee toddlers of 3 or younger. Many of the children fell victim to the deadly diphtheria epidemic during the winter of 1884-1885.
Some woeful parents lost all their children as the plague swept through the town and struck indiscriminately without apparent rhyme or reason in a time before modern advances in medicine. Some children as young as 14 and 15 perished in mining and sawmill accidents as well as there were no labor laws to protect them from the financial demands and hardships that forced them into jobs to contribute to the welfare of the family.
What lies beneath the feet of those who trod on the surface of the hallowed ground at Barclay Cemetery are the stories of innocence lost, hopes, dreams, fears, laughter and love of a time long forgotten.
Some claim to have captured “images” on their digital media that we call “orbs”. Others have claimed to have actually seen apparitions and have heard the sounds of children laughing as well as the sounds reminiscent of a pickaxe striking the once valuable black ground that first yielded its prize in 1812 and that commenced the rapid growth of Barclay and ultimately led to its demise when it ceased yielding its “black gold” by the winter of 1890 following a great snowstorm that closed the last mine for all its purposeful use.
Few know of other more private and much smaller cemeteries that lie on or near the towns of Barclay and Laquin that I am sure hold stories all their own but fail to inspire the interest, humility and curiosity that the old Barclay Cemetery does.
