LIV The Black Fiddler 1 I WAS a
young
feller at the time that Sheridan battle was fought, and was livin' on
my
master's farm on the edge of Middletown out beyond the 'Piscopal
church. That
church was a hospital durin' the battle, and the army band used to
practice in
it while the troops was camped near hyar. A good many of the wounded
died in
thar and was buried in the churchyard. But the
bodies
hadn’t been in the ground a great while when they was dug up to be
carried
away. They was put in coffins — jus' long pine boxes — and the boxes
was piled
up against the back wall of the church and stayed thar near a month. I
pried
open a number of 'em and looked in. Some of the dead men was very
natural and
others wasn’t fit to look at. One man with a blanket wrapped about him
was
petrified, and his appearance hadn’t changed any since he was buried,
only his
hair had growed way down, and his beard had growed long. Thar was
one night
while those boxes was in the churchyard that a light come out of the
church and
went to whar they was piled as if some one was searchin' aroun' with a
can'le. Another
night
something like a calf come out of the church and walked all aroun'. The boxes
was taken
away presently, but the ghos'es stayed at the church or come thar often
at
night, and we'd hear 'em walkin', groanin', and carryin' on. Other
times we'd
hear the army band playin' in the church, and one night all of us who
lived
near was called out of our houses to listen at it. "Don't you
hear the band?" we'd say one to the other. We heared
it all
right, and that's the truth. Thar's no story about that. The music
sounded way
off, but we could hear the lead horn start and the drums tap. The
kittle drum
would rattle it off, and the bass drum would go bum, bum, bum! You can
hear
somethin' knockin' thar at the 'Piscopal church now on a dark night. Right
after the war
we used to hear the soldiers ghos'es shootin' hyar all aroun' on the
battlefield, and we'd hear horses in the back lane comin' klopity,
klopity,
klopity. The horses would ride right up to you, but you couldn’t see a
thing. I know one
man who
lived out on a farm, and he come into the town one night to pra'r
meetin'. As
he was goin' home 'bout ten o'clock he heared the bugle and the rap of
the
kittle drum. While he was listenin' he seen a officer a-walkin' ahead
of a
squad of soldiers. The officer hollered "Halt!" to 'em, and they
stopped. But the bugle kep' a-blowin', and pretty soon they marched
off. Thar was
another
man who used to come to town pretty nigh every night, and some of the
nights
was tolerable dark. He was co'tin' hyar, I allow. Many a night he'd
hear horses
comin' 'cross the fields, and canteens and swords hittin' the sides of
saddles,
blangity, blangity, blangity! Down near
Cedar
Crick thar's a ghos' in a barn. The ghos' is supposed to be a soldier
that was
killed tharabouts. He has
Yankee
clothes on and wears cavalry boots that come way up to his knees. Some
say he
has no head, and others say he has a head and wears a plug hat. People
see him
after night, jus' about dusk, and he only comes at that time of the
evening. He
walks out of the haymow and part way down the haymow steps, and thar
he'll
stan'. For one while the railroad ran excursion trains so people could
come and
see the ghos'. I went thar to see him once, but I was 'fraid to go in
the barn.
The first
person
who ever seen the ghos' was a farmer by the name of Holt Hottel who had
rented
the place. He went to feed his horses jus' after sundown and was goin'
to throw
some hay down the hole to the feeding-room when he noticed the ghos'.
But he
thought it was a tramp, and he says, "Git out of hyar. I don't allow
tramps in the barn on account of fire." The ghos'
didn’t
say anything and jus' stood thar. Holt got mad then and tried to gouge
the
ghos' with his pitchfork, and the fork went right through the ghos'
into the
weather-boarding. That was evidence it wasn’t no tramp, and Holt jumped
right
down the hole into the feeding-room. His horses didn’t git no hay that
night,
and for a good while afterward he fed 'em tolerable early. Holt's
father used
to laugh at him 'bout that ghos', but one evenin' Holt met the ol' man
comin'
from the barn as hard as he could run. Oh! he was comin' from thar
skatin'. He
didn’t laugh at Holt no mo'. Another
time a
black man who'd gone to the barn a little late to feed the stock come
out of
there a-hustlin', and he was whoopin' as if he was goin' to be killed. But the
ghos' did
nobody no harm, and Holt got so he 'd go in thar any time of night. He
become
accustomed to seeing this thing and paid no attention to it. Once when
he
threshed his wheat the grain was too damp to put in sacks, and he left
it on
the barn floor a few days to dry. Thar was some danger that it would be
stolen,
and he stayed in the barn nights to guard it and slept on an ol' lounge
he
carried out from the house. He said that night after night he went to
sleep with
that feller standin' on the haymow steps. He seen him perfectly plain,
even to
the straps on his boots what he hooked his fingers in to pull 'em on. Thar's
people who
have tried all sorts of ways to see that ghos' and never could, and
thar's
plenty of others who have seen it. I know this — that Holt Hottel was
as
reliable a man as thar was in the state. His word was as good as his
bond. Down at
Belle Grove
House they used to hear a buggy drive up there of a night, and a bell
would tap
for a waiter to come and take the team. Another queer thing at that
house was a
door that wouldn’t keep shut. The good ol' Christian woman who lived
there said
she'd shut it and go sit down and the door would swing open. I used to
be told
that the way to learn to play the fiddle was to go to a graveyard with
it and
start practisin'. You had to go at night, and you couldn’t have any one
with
you. If you could stand it thar you could learn to play anything. I've
heard
ol' people say that often. I bought a fiddle tereckly after the war,
and
started in to play by ear. That's the best way, but I wasn’t makin'
much
progress, and I decided to see if it was true that you could learn to
play in a
graveyard in one night. I was 'fraid to go to the regular graveyard. So
I went
to the 'Piscopal churchyard. We called that a graveyard, though nobody
had ever
been buried thar but soldiers, and they had been taken up. I got a
little ol'
box to sit on, and I goes thar and sets myself down. The time was nine
o'clock
as near as I can git at it now. I set thar and chuned up my fiddle.
Then I
struck into "Ol' Dan Tucker." That's the devil's chune, you know, and
it's the first thing the devil will learn you to play. Well, sir, I set
thar
and learned to play that real good. Afterwards
I tried
"Dixie" and kep' at it till I could play that tolerable good, too,
but I 'd miss some notes. Then I heard a noise, and I begun to feel
kind o'
jubous. However, I paid no attention to it. I played away harder than
ever —
tweeny, tweeny, twang! — so as not to git skeered, and I says to
myself,
"I won't let no ghos'es bother me." But pretty
soon I
heard something over back of the church — bangity, bang! It was a sound
jus'
like you make when you hit a table leaf and the leaf goes flap, flap! I
was
listenin' with both ears and still a-playin' my fiddle when some hot
steam come
about me, and that steam was so warm and fainty it almost made me sick.
I
thought: "This ain't natural. Thar mus' be ghos'es hyar somewhar." And yet I
couldn’t
see 'em. If I had I'd been like a hog that sees the wind. You know how
hogs run
and squeal and pick up straws sometimes. That's when they see the wind.
If you
take a little matter from the corner of a hog's eye and rub it in your
eye you
can see the wind, and it's jus' as red as blood. You wouldn’t want to
see it
but once. It would skeer you to death. I used to
hear
oftime people say that thar couldn’t every one see a ghos', and that
the
ghos'es took the form of steam when they appeared to a person who
couldn’t see
'em. The mo' I studied 'bout it the mo' skeered I was. I put my hand up
to see
whether my hat was on my head, and I found my hair was standin'
straight up and
had carried my hat with it. Jus' then
some
steam come aroun' me so hot it scorched my face, and I throwed my
fiddle down
and ran. If I could have stood it to stay in the churchyard an hour or
two
longer I could have played anything. Yes, indeedy! But if I 'd kep' on
very
likely I'd have died of fright. The closer
I got to
home the mo' skeered I was and the faster I ran. I made the last rod in
'bout
two jumps, and as soon as I was in the house I slammed the door behind
me. Nex'
mornin' I went
and got my fiddle, and I didn’t go thar no mo'. The night had been
dewy, and
the fiddle was pretty near ruined. It wasn’t no account much afterward.
The
glue that fastened the pieces together had softened, and the strings
had all
got wet and had busted off. What
little I
learned later in fiddlin' I learned at home. Finally I throwed the ol'
fiddle
away. If any ghos'es wanted it they could have it and practice on it
all they
wanted. We don't
have many
ghos'es now like they used to have long ago. Thar was a time when the
ol'
people didn’t die at all. They lived to be one hundred and twenty years
ol' and
then turned into monkeys, apes, and owls. They'd jus' go off and be
wild
animals awhile and afterwards turn into ghos'es. Those of-time ghos'es
used to
travel, but now there's so much preachin' they generally keep very
quiet. Aroun'
hyar it was
only a few years back that we'd see plenty of strange sights and hear
plenty of
strange noises. We don't see and hear them things so much now because
the
battlefield has been so stirred up by ploughin' and raisin' crops.
That's
drivin' nearly all the battlefield ghos'es away, but there's some left
yet, and
there's other ghos'es, too. Last year a colored man died quite sudden
up at the
Junction, and he's jus' keepin' things warm up thar. The people in the
house
whar he lived don't git no comfort at all. But if I was in their place
he
wouldn’t trouble me. I'd say, "You go 'way from hyar. I done bought
this
house now." Then I 'd
turn the
doors and windows upside down so the fastenings would be on the other
side. A
ghos' can't git in if you do that. Yes, sir,
thar's
still ghos'es. I can take you out with me to-night, and if you'll look
across
my left shoulder I'll show you something. ____________ 1 I spent a
portion of a Sunday
afternoon with him. He was a beak‑nosed old man who related his spook
stories
with great vivacity and an unfathomable mixture of solemnity and
hilariousness.
THE END |