Myths and Legends of Our Own Land, vol 5 | Page 9

body was dropped into a hollow where the wolves would be likely
to find and mangle it, and the outlaws went on their way.
Men of their class do not keep money long, and when the proceeds of
the robbery had been wasted at cards and in drink they separated. As in
fulfilment of the axiom that a murderer is sure to revisit the scene of his
crime, one of the men found himself at the Ocmulgee, a long time
afterward, in sight of the new town--Macon. In response to his halloo a
skiff shot forth from the opposite shore, and as it approached the bank
he felt a stir in his hair and a touch of ice at his heart, for the ferryman

was his victim of years ago. Neither spoke a word, but the criminal felt
himself forced to enter the boat when the dead man waved his hand,
and he was rowed across, his horse swimming beside the skiff. As the
jar of the keel was felt on the gravel he leaped out, urged his horse to
the road, sprang to the saddle, and rushed away in an agony of fear, that
was heightened when a hollow voice called, "Stay!"
After a little he slackened pace, and a farmer, who was standing at the
roadside, asked, in astonishment, "How did you get across? There is a
freshet, and the ferryman was drowned last night." With a new thrill he
spurred his horse forward, and made no other halt until he reached the
tavern, where he fell in a faint on the steps, for the strain was no longer
to be endured. A crowd gathered, but he did not see it when he
awoke--he saw only one pair of eyes, that seemed to be looking into his
inmost soul--the eyes of the man he had slain. With a yell of terror and
of insane fury he rushed upon the ghost and thrust a knife into its breast.
The frenzy passed. It was no ghost that lay on the earth before him,
staring up with sightless eyes. It was his fellow-murderer --his own
brother. That night the assassin's body hung from a tree at the
cross-roads.

A GHOSTLY AVENGER
In Cuthbert, Georgia, is a gravestone thus inscribed: "Sacred to the
memory of Jim Brown." No date, no epitaph--for Jim Brown was
hanged. And this is the story: At the close of the Civil War a company
of Federal soldiers was stationed in Cuthbert, to enforce order pending
the return of its people to peaceful occupations. Charles Murphy was a
lieutenant in this company. His brother, an officer quartered in a
neighboring town, was sent to Cuthbert one day to receive funds for the
payment of some men, and left camp toward evening to return to his
troop. That night Charles Murphy was awakened by a violent flapping
of his tent. It sounded as though a gale was coming, but when he arose
to make sure that the pegs and poles of his canvas house were secure,
the noise ceased, and he was surprised to find that the air was clear and
still. On returning to bed the flapping began again, and this time he
dressed himself and went out to make a more careful examination. In
the shadow of a tree a man stood beckoning. It was his brother, who, in
a low, grave voice, told him that he was in trouble, and asked him to

follow where he should lead him. The lieutenant walked swiftly
through fields and woods for some miles with his relative--he had at
once applied for and received a leave of absence for a few hours--and
they descended together a slope to the edge of a swamp, where he
stumbled against something. Looking down at the object on which he
had tripped, he saw that it was his brother's corpse--not newly dead, but
cold and rigid--the pockets rifled, the clothing soaked with mire and
blood.
Dazed and terrified, he returned to camp, roused some of his men, and
at daybreak secured the body. An effort to gain a clue to the murderer
was at once set on foot. It was not long before evidence was secured
that led to the arrest of Jim Brown, and there was a hint that his
responsibility for the crime was revealed through the same supernatural
agency that had apprised Lieutenant Murphy of his bereavement.
Brown was an ignorant farm laborer, who had conceived that it was
right to kill Yankees, and whose cupidity had been excited by learning
that the officer had money concealed about him. He had offered, for a
trifling sum, to take his victim by a short cut to his camp, but led him to
the swamp instead, where he had shot him through the heart.