The Legend of Father Duffy’s Well

Nearly two centuries ago, before the quiet spring along Newfoundland’s Salmonier Line became known as Father Duffy’s Well, a conflict was brewing in the growing outport of St. Mary’s.

What began as a dispute over a fish flake soon escalated into a full-blown battle of wills between a powerful local merchant and a determined Irish priest. And amid the turmoil—on a long, weary journey between St. Mary’s and St. John’s—something happened that would spark a legend still told today.

Father Duffy’s Well, Salmonier Line, NL, 2025

Father James Duffy

It was 1834. Father James Duffy, a Catholic priest from Ireland, had recently arrived in Newfoundland. As a missionary, he was appointed the first parish priest of St. Mary’s—a mostly Catholic community on the Avalon Peninsula. His first order of business was building a proper church.

There had been chapels before, built on a low hill above the beach, but the site was exposed to fierce winds and the buildings never lasted long. This time, the new church would need a more sheltered location.

Father Duffy turned his attention to a stretch of beach at the base of the hill. The hill, he hoped, would offer protection. For as long as anyone could remember, that beachfront had been treated as common ground. Fishermen dried and mended their nets there, hauled up boats, and used the footpath to nearby Riverhead. It was a vital artery of daily life.

Everyone agreed it was the ideal site for the new church—everyone except John Martin, the local government representative and agent for the merchant firm Slade, Elson & Company.

Fish Flake at Red Island, NL, The National Archives UK, No known copyright restrictions

Even before talk of a church began, the beachfront had caused tension. When a local fisherman built a flake (for drying fish) on the spot, Martin claimed it belonged to the company and had the flake torn down. He then replaced it with a massive flake of his own—so large it blocked the traditional drying grounds, cut off the path to Riverhead, and even prevented townsfolk from reaching the cemetery.

Father Duffy, trying to act in good faith, approached Martin to ask permission to build the church. Martin refused—though he did offer an alternative: an unsuitable, boggy patch of land.

It was an insult, so Duffy pressed forward with his original plan.

With the help of his parishioners, much of the church was prefabricated in secret. Then in less than a day —without Martin’s knowledge— the building was erected on the beach.

Once the church was in place, Father Duffy returned to Martin —this time asking him, civilly, to remove the massive flake, calling it a public nuisance. Martin was furious. He accused Duffy and his parishioners of trespass and threatened to bring the matter to court.

He also retaliated by cutting off Father Duffy’s access to the merchant store.

In January 1835, while Martin was away in St. John’s, Duffy’s supporters took matters into their own hands and destroyed the flake.

Duffy was accused of inciting riot and rebellion, and a warrant was issued for his arrest. He was taken into custody and later released on bail, with a promise to appear in court later that year.

A Long Road to Justice

If justice was ever blind, it certainly wasn’t in 19th-century Newfoundland. Religion mattered —a great deal— and Protestants held most of the power. For a Catholic priest like Father Duffy, that made the road to justice especially steep.

After the destruction of the fish flake, charges were laid against Duffy and nine of his parishioners. That summer, the circuit court sat in St. Mary’s, but no action was taken. Instead, the matter was deferred to the Supreme Court in St. John’s.

Duffy was arrested while travelling through Fermeuse. Two constables escorted him to Ferryland, where he posted bail. He was told to appear during the winter court session, so he and another man made the long journey to St. John’s, arriving on December 30. But when they arrived, the Attorney General, James Simms, and the infamous Chief Justice Henry John Boulton —“the hanging judge”— were completely unprepared. The trial didn’t happen.

Back in St. Mary’s, things escalated. A government brig arrived to arrest the remaining eight accused men, but locals challenged the constables’ authority. Fearing violence, the constables withdrew. The island’s Governor was outraged. By May 1836, he had readied a warship and issued a proclamation demanding the men’s surrender.

An appeal from Bishop Fleming, of St. John’s reached St. Mary’s first. The men turned themselves in voluntarily and set out for St. John’s.

Still, the case dragged on. Witnesses failed to appear. Delays mounted.

Meanwhile, Father Duffy kept walking —again and again— from St. Mary’s to the courthouse in St. John’s, trudging through bogs, barrens, and dense forest. Some estimated he’d covered more than 1,500 miles in search of justice.

It was on one of those long, weary walks —thirsty and deep in the woods— that some say a miracle happened.

The Legendary Spring

Father Duffy and a small group had set out from St. Mary’s in the dark of early morning. By nightfall, they were deep in the woods, somewhere along what we now call the Salmonier Line.

Exhausted by the trial, the threats, and the endless miles, they stopped in a quiet clearing to rest. All they wanted was a warm cup of tea — but the forest was dry, and they couldn’t find a drop of water.

Just as they were about to give up, Father Duffy stepped away from the group. He walked to a large stone, broke a small branch from a nearby tree, and tapped the rock — once, then again. He knelt at its base and scratched a shallow hollow in the earth.

And then, something remarkable happened.

From the dry ground, a trickle of water emerged —slow at first, then steady— until it overflowed; cool, fresh, and clear. Enough to fill their kettle and lift their spirits.

To those who witnessed it, it was nothing short of a miracle: water from stone.

Of course, not everyone agrees. Some say Father Duffy didn’t summon the spring — he simply found it, hidden beneath moss and soil. Maybe he just knew where to look.

Either way, the result was the same: the kettle was filled, the journey continued, and the legend was born.

Father Duffy’s Well, Salmonier Line, NL, 2025

Father Duffy Acquitted

Refreshed by the spring water, the travellers made it to St. John’s. After months of delays, the case was finally dismissed in 1837 when no witnesses for the prosecution appeared.

Father Duffy returned to St. Mary’s with his name cleared. He remained there as parish priest until 1851, and later served in Prince Edward Island, where he became priest at Kelly’s Cross in 1859.

Father Duffy Dies

Father Duffy died in 1860, but even in death, his story didn’t end.

Though he served only briefly at Kelly’s Cross, he left a deep impression. He had requested to be buried along the footpath to the church — and so he was.

To many, he had been a living saint. After his burial, parishioners walking to Mass would murmur quiet prayers to him, and many believed their prayers were answered.

Then, in 1900 —forty years after his death— a new church was built. To keep their promise, parishioners exhumed Duffy’s remains to reinterred them at the new site. What they found shocked everyone.

The Charlottetown Examiner reported:

“Miraculous as it may seem, the remains, upon the grave being opened, were almost in a perfect state of preservation! What a joy re-awakened of the dead past in the breast of those, who, with loving hands tenderly laid away nearly forty years ago, the remains of their beloved ‘old Father Duffy,’ to gaze again on that face they knew so well...”

— Charlottetown Examiner, Sept 20, 1900

According to the History of Kelly’s Cross Parish (1974), those present said he looked “just as fresh as the day he was buried.” One person even recalled, “they put new socks on his feet.”

To many it looked as if Father Duffy’s body was incorruptible. His body seemed immune to the normal processes of decomposition — a condition often associated with sainthood.

Devotion to Father Duffy surged once again. Some even wondered if the man they had once called a ‘living saint’ might deserve the formal recognition in death.

Father Duffy’s Well

Father Duffy’s Well, Salmonier Line, NL, 2025

Back in Newfoundland, the spring that bears his name has continued to flow—quiet and steady—for nearly 200 years.

Now known as Father Duffy’s Well, the site was transformed into a roadside grotto by the Knights of Columbus in the 1930s. To this day, you can watch the water drip into a shallow basin. For some, it carries special meaning. Whether or not they believe it rose by miracle, many feel the water was blessed by Father Duffy himself—and that it holds the power to heal.

Whatever you believe, Father Duffy’s Well remains a peaceful place to pause, reflect, and remember the steadfast priest who turned a weary journey into a lasting legend.

• Sources & Further Reading

  1. Father Duffy’s Well, The Field at Home, Spring 1981, Sisters of Service

  2. Father Duffy’s Well, The Novalis Guide to Canadian Shrines

  3. Father James Duffy and The Troubles of 1835, Irish in Newfoundland, 1600-1900, Michael J. McCarthy

  4. Bread, Wind, Old Paths, Strange Terrain The Fairy World in Newfoundland, Barbara Rieti, 1991

  5. Ceremonies at Kelly’s Cross, Charlottetown Examiner, September 20, 1900

  6. Father James Duffy, A History of Kelly’s Cross Parish, 1974

  7. James W. Duffy, Dictionary of Canadian Biography

  8. Father Duffy’s Wake, Maritime Mysteries

  9. Henry John Boulton, Dictionary of Canadian Biography