I am near the old mill my father built, and, if I remember all
connected with my boyhood there, I trust there will be few or none to
sneer or blame. The flouring-mill, or mill for grinding grain, and the
saw-mill were united under the same roof; and it was the business of
father to give his attention, as overseer, not only to the mills, but
to his planting interest. He employed a North Carolina Scotchman--that
is, a man descended of Scotch parents, but born in North Carolina--to
superintend his saw-mill, who had all the industry, saving
propensities, and superstitions of his ancestry. He was a firm believer
in spells, second-sights, and ghosts. Taking advantage of these
superstitions, my brother and myself made him the sufferer in many a
practical joke. Upon one occasion, we put into circulation, in the
neighborhood, a story full of wonder. A remarkable spectre had been
seen near the mill on dark nights, and especially on those misty nights
of murky gloom, common in early spring to this latitude. Its form was
unique and exaggerated, with flaming eyes, and mouth of huge
proportions, with long, pointed teeth, white and sharp.
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