Middletown transcript., 1891-07-16
TIE MlppLrrowr TnArsoR1pr.

The old state road, running from Phil
adelphia on down through the state Of
Delaware, after it has left the peaceful
town of st. Georges about mile and a
half behind, suddenly descepds into a
hollow at the bottom of which it is crossed
by little stream. At this spot it is thick
ly shaded by trees and shrubs and on either
side of it lies cat-tail swamp. Here the
reeds and tall bushes whisper mysteriously
together as the stream steals away among
them, as if they were telling one another
strange stories that made them shake with
fear. The bridge which crosses the stream
is one of the kind so common in Delaware,
with low sides made of stone and white
washed. About this bridge there clings an
old legend, and whether it is for this reason
I do not know, but certainly one cannot
cross it even in the day time without a
sense of mystery in the air and feeling
that the Scotch describe as eerie." " Some
what over a hundred years ago, there
dwelt in the country near st. Georges an
old colored fiddler, John Thompson by
name. Never in all the countryside was
there wedding or dance, or merry
making of any kind but John and his
fiddle were the most important part of the
company. On any of these occasions the
old man might have been seen with his
white head bending over his fiddle bring
ing forth sweet, thrilling melody from the
wailing strings, apparently utterly OBJ
livious to everything else around him.
He was great favorite with all the
country round, and there was always
someone ready to give him nights lodg-
ing when he needed one, or good meal
when he was hungry. But John had one
falling and I regret to say it was a serious
one; he was too fond of his whiskey bottle.
Often at night he was seen reeling along
the road shouting and singing and even
trying to play his beloved fiddle. Some
times he would fall down by the side of
the road and lie there till he had slept off
the effects OF his spree.
One night in late October, belated
farmer driving for home, reached the little
hollow of which we have spoken, about
midnight. The moon was at the full, but
gray mist obscured its light and caused
the dwarf willows and other shrubs to as
sumo grotesque shapes as the wagon ratified
down the hill and entered the shade. As
he approached the bridge. the farmer saw,
to his surprise, the forn Of old John
Thompson seated on one side of it seraping
away on his fiddle and shouting out snatch
es Of song in very tipsy voice, evidently
much the worse for wear. In spite of all
the farmer could do, old John refused to
leave the spot and finally became so angry
that the man drove off and lett him to his
fate. From that night the fiddler was
never seen or heard of again though traces
Of him were searched for everywhere. He
had vanished away as silently as the mist,
and left no sign behind him to tell where
he had gone. AS the years went by, it
began to be said that the fiddler's ghost
still clung to the old bridge in the hollow,
where he had last been seen in human
form. People began to be afraid to cross
the bridge after dark, and some even went
so far as to assert that near the spot, late
at night they had heard sounds as from a
ghostly fiddle.
1t happened one October night, some
twenty odd years after old John Thompson
went on his last spree, that knot of
young darky men were met together having
a very lively time. As the hours drew on
toward twelve o'clock, when they had all
taken good deal more whiskey than was
good for them, each one began beasting of
his bravery. The loudest boaster of them
all was stalwart young darkey whom we
will call Tom Blackberry, as his real name
has been lost. As he went on Dragging of
his prowess, some of the darkies dared him
to go down to " fiddler's bridge" He was
to drop over small coin as fee for the
fiddler and then wait and see if the ghost
would play him q tune. Tom, having
taken more whiskey than anyone, felt
very, very brave, and SO started ont sing
ing and shouting and daring ali 4he ghosts
in the world to come on. 1t was quite q
little distance to the bridge, and before he
got there the cool, sharp air had taken the
edge off OF his enthusiasm but he still had
courage enough to go on. There was a
glorious moon and the shadows Of the trees
on the road were black and sharply defined.
There was no wind stirring and the still
ness was most intense. Toms rather ir-
regular footballs sounded very loud in the
silent air as he descended the hill at the
foot of which lay the bridge. Somehow he
had stopped his singing and stumbled on
through the hollow in perfect silence As
he stepped upon the bridge, in spite
of the whiskey, he began to shiver and his
teeth began to shatter in most uncomfort-
able manner.
The water flowed silently underneath
without perceptible ripple and the tall
rushes stood up straight and black in the
There was little splash as
Tom dropped the coin over and then all
was silent for few seconds. All at once,
clear and distinct on the frosty air, came
the thrilling notes ofa fiddle, low at first
then higher and clearer, one of the quaint
airs old John used to play in the days
which were gone by. Tom stood rooted to
the spot utterly unable to move. As the
last weird note died away, a scrambling
noise was heard at the side of the bridge
as if something or someone were coming up
from beneath. Then poor Tom took to his
heels and fled like the wind through the
hollow and up the hill hearing in fancy or
in fact mufied footsteps bounding after
him. Terror lent his feet wings and he
never once stopped in his headIong flight