Cumberland Mountains -- Fiction; Mountain life -- Fiction; Tennessee -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
The knowledge that in all the vast stretch of mountain fastnesses he
was the only human creature that beheld it, as it majestically
crossed the meridian, gave Andy Byers a forlorn feeling, while
tramping along homeward. He had made the journey afoot, some eight
miles down the valley, and was later far in returning than others
who had heeded the summons of the sick woman. For she still lay in
the same critical condition, and his mind was full of dismal
forebodings as he toiled along the road on the mountain's brow. The
dark woods were veined with shimmering silver. The mists, hovering
here and there, showed now a blue and now an amber gleam as the
moon's rays conjured them. On one side of the road an oak tree had
been uptorn in a wind-storm; the roots, carrying a great mass of
earth with them, were thrust high in the air, while the bole and
leafless branches lay prone along the ground. This served as a
break in the density of the forest, and the white moonshine
possessed the vacant space.
As he glanced in that direction his heart gave a great bound, then
seemed suddenly to stand still. There, close to the verge of the
road, as if she had stepped aside to let him pass, was the figure of
an old woman--a small-sized woman, tremulous and bent. It looked
like old Mrs. Price! As he paused amazed, with starting eyes and
failing limbs, the wind fluttered her shawl and her ample sunbonnet.
This shielded her face and he could not see her features. Her head
seemed to turn toward him. The next instant it nodded at him
familiarly.
To the superstitions mountaineer this suggested that the old woman
had died since he had left her house, and here was her ghost already
vagrant in the woods!
The foolish fellow did not wait to put this fancy to the test. With
a piercing cry he sprang past, and fled like a frightened deer
through the wilderness homeward.
In his own house he hardly felt more secure. He could not rest--he
could not sleep. He stirred the embers with a trembling hand, and
sat shivering over them. His wife, willing enough to believe in
"harnts"* as appearing to other people, was disposed to repudiate
them when they presumed to offer their dubious association to
members of her own family circle.
* Ghosts.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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