# 3
The Briars
Betrayed
~ Coming 2026 ~
Here's a sample...
Author's Note: Based on true events,
this haunting story of
the ship Matilda
was researched by
Andrew Hind and Maria da Silva.
They recorded it in their out-of-print book,
Secrets of Lake Simcoe –
Fascinating Stories from Ontario’s Past.
In my ongoing sharing of local history
I've adapted bits of research made by them and others for this
next up "Emily Twillum Adventures",
The Briars Betrayed,
coming summer 2026
Emily's Ghost Story:
The sinking of the sloop Matilda
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I leaned back, extending my arms, palms to the floor. "That's not the only terrible thing that has happened on Lake Simcoe."
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All heads turned my way.
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"Way, way back in 1866, a most despicable thing happened just out of our sight here on the island.
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"In that spring, the Matilda ran aground at the Narrows."
I nudged my head toward the Atherley Narrows, where Lake Simcoe and Lake Couchiching met. "Captain McCullough nursed it into Orillia's wharf, where it remained waiting for repairs.
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"Along came do-little George Doolittle."
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I wagged my finger at the giggling Rachel. "No, not Eliza Doolittle. This is not Pygmalion—no story of growth and fun." I dropped my voice. "Anything but."
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After a pause, I continued.
"George Doolittle was a no-good scalliwag; he was a drunkard who harmed anyone in his way. No one in Orillia trusted him.
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"So when George Doolittle went to the captain's wife and asked to use the boat, telling her he had the captain's okay, she turned him away."
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I leaned forward. My hands washed the air above the floor before resting on it. "It was late October. She knew only the best ships could go out in Lake Simcoe's terrible fall weather."
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I jerked myself into a straight-backed position.
"And the damaged Matilda was unsafe even at the best of times."
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Resting elbows on my knees and folding my hands under my chin, I stared at each of them. "But George was cunning; devious; sly. Just before the moon came up, he stole onto the boat. Making sure the coast was clear, he hurried aboard his wife, their two young children, and twelve-year-old Alex Birch.
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"They cast off and floated into the harbour."
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I stood, wandered to the window, turned, and leaned against its sill. In the dim firelight, with the rising moon shining behind me, I was a profile in the flicking shadows.
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"Under the rising moon, they raised the sail and lashed it down tight. They coasted through the narrows and into the windy night."
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I leaned forward, gripping the window ledge behind me.
"Doolittle's goal: Sutton. He needed a backwater place where no one knew him.
"He aimed to sail through the twelve miles in the darkness and slip up the Black River, then appear at dawn as the boat's owner. With his new cover, he would start again, con more innocents, destroy more lives."
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I leaned back. "But the Matilda was not up to it. Before long, the tossing about in the swells ripped the hull's boards apart, turning the trickle of water from the spring's damage into a deluge.
"The bilge flooded. The water rose above the floorboard. The sleeping quarters started to fill.
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"Oh, the poor Matlida—she careened and struggled to push forward.
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"But she was done."
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Bowing my head, I whispered, "In the howling winds, young Alex dropped the dinghy into the water.
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"Mrs. Doolittle rushed one child into George's hands and dashed below board to fetch the second.
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"Doolittle, the unfit captain of this stolen craft, had left the mainsail up—despite having no one at the wheel.
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"The Matilda gybed in the shifting gale. The boom struck George. He lost balance. The wee one flew from his arms, into the water, and did not come up."
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My right hand swept in front of me as my words rushed out. "George slid across the deck. Young Alex grabbed him and yanked him into the small rescue vessel.
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"The waves snagged the boom. Water filled the mainsail. It sucked the boat over. The Matilda went down.
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"Alex and George solemnly watched the sloop slip under the silvered waters, taking Mrs. Doolittle and her second child with it."
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I stood for a long moment staring into the darkness that wrapped itself around my friends.
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"Paralyzed by fear and shock, young Alex stood agape.
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"A rogue wave struck the dinghy.
"Alex, too, toppled into the surge.
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"The sinking ship's swirling waters dragged him under, leaving Doolittle alone with nothing but the wind, the stars, and the raging sea."
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Branches rattled on the window, and the wind howled outside.
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"Enraged by this man's incompetence, the storm swept George Doolittle and his little rowboat across the lake. It crashed him onto the rocky shore of the deserted Fox Island.
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"It did not take Doolittle's life. It would not let Doolittle forget what he had done."
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I took in a deep breath. "Three days later, Chippewas found the scruffy varmint trespassing on their land. He was cold and hungry, but alive.
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"They took the babbling no-gooden to the mainland, where they handed him over to the Mounties."
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With my hands grasped together below my chin, my eyes closed.
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"Doolittle offered little of what happened that night, giving neither the coppers nor anyone a straight answer.
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"But even if he had, no one could trust his word."
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My fingers rose into prayer position, kissing my lips.
"All one could trust was the evil he brought to those four innocents, taking their lives in exchange for his own devious life."
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The bedroom door slammed, and the wind screamed through the shutters.
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I turned and faced out to the lake. A gust forced its way through the window's cracked frame, swirling my loosened hair.
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"When the wind is howling and the surf is high—nights like this one, my friends—is when the ghost Matilda sails Lake Simcoe. Its lonely crew is looking for vengeance on one do-little George Doolittle—and those who knew of his deeds and did not make him suffer."
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I spun and leaned over them, my claw hands high above my head. "Ah-ah-ah-ah-hah!"
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Everyone except Jimmy screamed.
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Jimmy whispered. "And it's all true."
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Stunned quiet fell over the room.
"Yah!"​