Photo Source: Historical Atlas of Carleton County, 1879, by H. Belden and Company



February 11, 2003: (picture of plaque)



Thanks to Taylor Kennedy who provided the text for this page and to Joy Carroll
who provided the images: (more to come)

YOUNG BRIDES' SPIRIT LIVES ON!
Source: Ottawa Citizen (sorry, can't find date)
On the long and winding Rideau River, in the village of Manotick, an ancient 
stone mill still stands. The rush of the river over the dam sends up mist 
that whispers along the side of the building.
The mill isn't operating as a mill any more. It's a tourist site, where 
people can wander through the building to see how flour was made and, in 
summer, a farmers' market flourishes.

On the second floor, old machinery is still visible. By the window, near the 
river, a dark, metal pipe rises up out of the floor, a twisted gear at the 
bottom. It's a bit colder here than in the other parts of the mill -- a 
strange, blanketing cold that makes your hair stand on end.

A woman died here, horribly. She didn't even have time to scream.

A woman's agonized scream came down from upstairs, filling the turbine room 
with the sound of pain and terror.
The mill opened on Valentine's Day, 1860, built by Joseph Currier and his 
partner, Moss Dickinson. They started business immediately, grinding grain 
from the area farmers.
A year later, Mr. Currier married a young woman named Ann who was half his 
age. They had been married six weeks when he brought her to see his prized 
mill.

Watson's Mill in Manotick is a tourist site where visitors can find out how 
flour was made in the late 1800s. The wife of one of the original owners 
died on the second floor of the mill.

She was excited; she didn't know anyone in Manotick, and she really wanted 
to fit in her new home.

The mill at that time was cramped and filled with working cogs and wheels, 
big equipment to grind the flour. Flour dust was so thick you could hardly 
see, and you could feel it every time you breathed in, a choking feeling.

Mr. Currier and his young wife had just gone up the steps to the second 
floor, when her long skirt was caught in a rotating gear. Ann was yanked 
violently and thrown head-first against a wooden beam, dying instantly. She 
was only 20.

Her husband was devastated. He sold his shares in the mill, and never 
returned to Manotick. Ann was buried in New York, where she was born.
The mill continued to operate, and people soon forgot about the tragic 
accident. But in 1920, late one night, Ann woke up.

It was the night of a sudden thunderstorm, and a driving rain pelted the old 
windows, streaming down the warping panes. Lightning flashed, lighting the 
gruesome pole where Ann was flung to her death.

A fisherman on the river, caught in the storm, crawled in through the 
basement window of the mill to get out of the rain. Thick wooden beams and 
pipes criss-crossed the room, blocking his view of the stairs. The angry 
water thrashed around the turbines below his feet.

Already cold from the rain, he didn't notice the goose bumps on his arms or 
the draft that suddenly came down the stairs from the second floor.

Shaking himself off, he stooped to take off his wet boots, but a horrible 
sound stopped him cold. A woman's agonized scream came down from upstairs, 
filling the turbine room with the sound of pain and terror.

His face white, the fisherman cried out and scrambled through the window 
into the rain, leaving the terrifying echo behind. After that, Ann was 
silent again, for 60 years.

But in 1980, two boys were walking across the dam beside the mill, the old 
lamps along the pathway giving off a pale, yellow glow in the deepening 
twilight. As they approached the mill, they heard a noise from above, like 
someone falling. They looked up to see a woman in a long skirt, standing at 
the window watching them.
They froze. The ghostly figure tilted her head, and the boys grabbed each 
other and ran. Keeping their eyes on the window, they saw Ann slip away, and 
then reappear in the next window, following them.

Over the years, Ann has been seen more often. She's become possessive of her 
mill, and doesn't like things changed. If tour guides move anything, they'll 
come in the next day to find it moved back to where Ann wants it.




Her footsteps, pacing along the second floor, are getting louder. Some 
people say it's because she knows her secret is out, so she doesn't have to 
hide in the darkness anymore.

But in the cold winter months, when the mill is closed to visitors, Ann gets 
lonely. She comes out, sometimes walking along the front of the mill, but 
mainly watching people from her favorite window by the pathway.

If you walk by, late on a winter night, you can sometimes hear her low, 
mournful voice, calling to the people below.


Source: Ottawa Citizen (image scanned by Joy Carroll)
See also King of The Rideau (Moss Kent Dickinson) on our bibliography page.

And here's some general background information on saw and grist mills, also from Taylor:

GRIST MILLS AND SAW MILLS

  While Grist Mills presented the same problems as Saw Mills, the on-site 
presence of their owners kept them in better condition. One recurrent 
problem was the requirement that the Mill Dam was not to restrict the 
migration of fish. This condition was written into all Mill permits, but 
failed in it's own intent to preserve game fish.

  While these Mills would not seem very grand to our modern day eyes, they 
filled the real need of their own times. Saw Mills were generally small open 
sided sheds with an outside, under shot wheel. Grist Mills were also small 
but two to three story in height and somewhat more enclosed.

  Both types of Mills and their machinery were built almost entirely of 
wood. The under shot wheel is driven by the rush of water under it and it is 
much less efficient than the over shot wheel, since it required a much 
smaller dam and almost no mill pond, it was easier to build.

  Mill dams were most likely built from loose stones trees and underbrush 
and had a fall of no more than eight feet.

  The Miller's dues were set by the Legislature at a twelfth of the grain 
ground or the wood sawed. Being a miller may have been very profitable, but 
it was also risky and difficult. There was the danger to the Mill itself 
from fire from the friction of the large wooden cogs in summer and from 
flood in every spring. The Miller risked death or maiming if he fell or 
caught his clothing in the large gears. He also faced the hazard of having 
to crawl around the water wheel in the millrace to chip ice to keep the 
machinery running as late in the year as possible.

  A typical description of a Grist mill. The exterior was clad in radial 
sawn spruce, the roof was hand-split cedar shakes; wide pine flooring on the 
two or three floors and was fastened with wrought iron nails. 12 over l2 
true divided light windows on the second and third floor if applied and all 
hardware used was hand forged as were the interior and exterior lanterns. 
The 55-foot chimney was brick, and the interior walls were covered with a 
plaster skim coat.

The exterior undershot water wheel would measure 20 feet 6 inches in 
diameter. Some regulations would prohibit the construction of a dam 
necessary to power an overshot wheel. The wheel drives interior wooden 
gearing in the basement, which in turn drives a four-foot diameter gristmill 
stone on the first floor of the building. The wooden gearing is made of 
indigenous woods.



July 12, 2005:
Moss Kent Dickinson Plaque

May 30, 2008: 
Thomas Langrell, who later became Chief of Police for the City of Ottawa, was the general
contractor for Watson's Mill at Manotick.
... Al


 June 25, 2011:
2011 Events at Watson's Mill