Near the little town of Cornwall, PA, just south of Lebanon, there is a heart rending story of a haunting of a canine nature. The story revolves around the Colebrook Iron Furnace in the region of the Cornwall iron mine. It involves a cruel ironmaster and his pack of hunting dogs, said to be the best in the land. They were the pride and joy of a brutal master who had a nasty reputation for pushing his hounds to the limit. ( Checotah Times, 1924 )
Colebrook Iron Furnace was built in 1791, and was operated by this vicious ironmaster. At that time his word was law, and all of his workers feared him. The workers were no more than paid slaves, for the iron furnaces were run like the plantations of the South before the Civil War. Anyone, who disobeyed him paid the consequences.
One night, he invited a group of friends to join him for a hunt. Before they went hunting they sat down for a feast, and they over – indulged in drink. The more drink they consumed, the looser the ironmasters tongue became, so he began to brag about his hounds. He boasted so much that he made heavy wagers on the dogs. ( Nesbitt, M. and Wilson, P., pp. 110 – 111 ) In the morning, he was still heavily inebriated, when he summoned the dogs for the hunt. Something, however, was wrong; the hounds refused to hunt. There was suspicion that possibility one of hunters had poisoned the hounds, so that he would lose his wagers. Some of the workers tried to convince him that the hounds were in no condition to hunt, but he would not listen. He declared that they would hunt that day or that they would hunt in Hell. Nobody, not even a beast was going to make him lose his wagers.
Flora, the leader of the hounds, his favorite, was very loyal to him, always at his side, ready to protect him at all cost. On one particular night, the ill-tempered man ordered that Flora be kept home while he went out. There was a violent storm and while trying to make it home, he became disoriented and lost consciousness. Flora, sensing her masters dilemma, broke through a window, tracked him down, and somehow managed to drag him home, saving his life. ( Grittinger, H., pp. 2 – 4 )
But even Flora, could not get the pack to follow, although after a while they reluctantly gave in. So, the hunt was on, with Flora leading the pack and the hunters close behind. They scoured the countryside, with no luck. After several exhausting hours the hunting party rested, and they began to laugh, further enraging the ironmaster, who was not used to looking foolish. Raving in disgust with his hounds, he then pushed them even further, beyond their breaking point. He pursued the exhausted hounds, driving them toward the fires of the iron furnace, where he brought the hunt to an abrupt halt.
Furious, he ordered the workers to gather the hounds and toss them into the roaring flames. It is said that the workers at first refused, because this was cruel an unjust. Exasperated, the ironmaster, told them to do this or they would be next. Reluctantly, they followed his orders. One by one, the hounds were sent to their deaths, tossed into the unrelenting flames. The last and final one was Flora. The ironmaster called to her, and reluctantly she obeyed. As she stared into his eyes, he did the unthinkable. Without remorse for the animal that had once saved his life, he collected her in his arms, and threw her into the flames. In an instant the hounds were gone. The ironmaster, still enraged, simply turned and walked away.
The next day, he awoke from his drunken state and realized what a dreadful thing he had done. As word spread of his cruel incident, no one bothered with the man. Once a powerful and respected person among his peers, the ironmaster became bitter and depressed. His mental health deteriorated rapidly, and he was often seen sitting at the furnace watching the fierce flames, listening to the sounds of his dogs burning, as he drank heavily. Shortly after, the man could not function properly; he was so ill that he became bedridden.
One fateful evening, the ironmaster was heard calling out Flora's name. He then screamed that the hounds were coming for him, chasing him as if he were their prey. The servants found him dead that evening, his cold eyes staring into the vast black emptiness of the mist filled night. ( Moorhead, R., 1976 )
Stories of sightings, and the sounds of a pack of hounds running through the darkness on moonlit nights, are still reported to this day. Strangely, people have heard the terrifying sounds of the hounds GROWLING, BARKING, and YELPING as they race by the tenants homes in the cold dark, mist shrouded evenings. ( Asfar, D., p. 182 ) Some agitated sleepers still awake from dreams of fangs, fur, and moonlight as the restless hounds are run in full chase of whatever or whomever they pursue. Will they ever catch their unseen prey? Are the Ghost Hounds still out there hunting?