Christina Sloan was born in 1832, in a bustling Ohio canal town that was then called Hanover. Her father, George Sloan, owned a dry goods store as well as a local flour mill. In this era, Hanover had adopted steam to power their mills as opposed to water—they were yet unaware of the consequences that steam, particularly the steam engine, would have on their town.
Mechanize my soul, I say.
I the railroad am.
Chain me to this town,
thus to this town return I will.
The story is that Christina, the most beautiful young woman in town, repeatedly rejected the romantic advances of the local pastor. Rather than continuing to go about his business, the pastor convinced the townsfolk that she was a witch. “She’s beguiling us,” he said. “Enchanting us with her good looks!”
Once was I a sack-of-flour
child in my halo sitting,
made from dust-of-snowfall, once-wheat,
in the floorboards forlorn fallen.
The townsfolk, enraged, congealed into a form of sludge called an ‘angry mob,’ and flooded forth to apprehend Christina. Finding no evidence of strange magicks, they nevertheless were having fun in their new sludgy state. They elected to continue taking the pastor’s word for it.
With my hand upon the town I
smoothed the gulley of the woodslats.
With my hand upon the floor I
in the drift a smile traced.
Upon realizing her impending doom, Christina decided to lean into the whole witch thing. “If you kill me,” she shouted, “I’ll return and bring ruin upon this town!” The pastor was surprised to learn that his accusation of witchiness was, apparently, true. He kept a straight face for the townsfolk.
And beyond my father’s store knew I
his steam-mill milling steam unstill.
And beyond these years I know,
I know I know what comes-next is.
Christina Sloan was hanged, and was buried in Hanover’s Grove Hill Cemetery. Her headstone was ringed with chains and talismans. The legend says that when the last chain falls, Christina will return as promised. It will be the end of the town—and perhaps the end of the world.
My soul a water-pebble flung,
and in its arc a-sparking.
A sog-rot tumbling meteor
this crumble-town unto.
Today, the talismans are gone and the last chain has long been rusted through. So what of her final curse? Christina’s malevolent specter may have been responsible for the railroad line that diverted Hanover’s profits and rerouted its canal-based economy into a big pile of nothing.
I am the tin-train revolution
and the coalcrunch in its teeth.
The smogsound of the engine is
that which I will become.
However, most sources say that the death of Hanover’s Sandy and Beaver Canal was actually at the hands of an 1852 flood. This flood destroyed the Cold Run Reservoir Dam and rushed forth to decimate the canal. Hanover was unable to recover in time to stave off the financial competition of the railroad—the great steam engine chugging ever closer. Was the ghost of Christina Sloan, Witch of Hanoverton, responsible for this devastation?
Curse upon thy once-wheat!
Curse upon thy town!
Yes, witch me in the lantern-light,
my hocus-pocus give me!
Well, probably not, as she died in 1854. The canal had already been abandoned for two years. It’s unlikely that Christina and her supposed witchcraft had anything to do with it—especially considering that according to the story, the pastor completely made said witchcraft up. With this in mind, we may begin to question the legend’s validity.
