The Press., 1893-09-07
THEY SAW THE GHOST

history has US haunted house ana US story of ghostly visitants and eerie, un- canny sounds and sights connected with some particular locality.
 To this rule Florence, Ala, many o1 whose older residences ami families date back to the days of Andrew Jackson, forms no exception. Around several of the ivy clad mansions of the old town hang mysteries which make them objects of interest to the educ&ted whites and ot terror to the ignorant and superstitious negroes.
 Humanity in every age has been eager to listen to the marvellous and to swa1 low the incredible upon very sli ,sht guar. antee. However, it is upon no such slen. der testimony thct OUT sttry Tests.
 Early ill the history of the town among the first attracted to the locality by the picturesque beauty of it's location above the swift flowing Tcnncssee was a Nortl Carolinian named Richtrl Hunter. Wealth in those days was counted in the south by the acreage of plantations and by the number of slaves, male and female. Of the former Richard Hunter possessed enough for a barony and of the latter small regiment.
 Around the great square brick house: with it's massive pillars and wide spread ing porches. could be seen bright and happy black faces by the score. The cotton fields resounded to the hoeing songs of well conditioned and swarthy feldhands, while in the ''quarters'' not far off pickaninnies and dogs abounded.
 Richard Hunter had but one child, the sole heiress of his acres and his wealth, and she had just budded under the warm glances of g southern sun into woman hood, fresh and blooming as a wild rose.
 Alice Hunter was in that period of life where the present is so bright that it's glow reaches out and dominates the future. Wealth, doting parents, gratii- cation of every wish were hers; but above all she had won the love of the man of her choice and was happiest in the knowl- edge that Philip Marston's dearest hope and highest aspiration centered in herself.
 Phil Marston, as he was known to every one, or "Marse Phil" as the negroes called him, was young, handsome, free handed, free hearted, gallant and all that went to make him an ideal lover.
 
 his ladylove, and the day was set for their marriage. Alice was only IF, and so the wedding day was postponed until the following year.
 Suddenly in 1886 the Cherokee war broke out. Philip Marston raised con- pany of rifemen from among the hearty yeomanry of the section and joined the command of his friend and neighbor. General Coffee.
 Throughout the sharp and decisive campaign that followed Marston bore a conspicuous part for gallantry until the final battle on the banks of the Coosa.
 Hemmed in upon a peninsula, bounded, all but narrow neck of land, by swol- len waters of the rivers, the chiefs and bravest warriors of the Cherokees made their last and desperate stand. Leading his rifemen to charge, Philip Marston fell, mortally wounded.
 Bad news travels quickly. It was on night of furious wind and rain that a hunting shirted rifeman brought the tidings of Philip Marston's death to the Hunter mansion.
 Suddenly the great bronze knocker on the door pealed out it's summons, and Alice, thinking that none but a lover would brave the tempest and darkness, flew to greet him.
 In silence and with bowed head the hardy pioneer pointed to the riderless steed which he led and extended to her a scrap of paper on which her dying lover had traced q few words of farewell.
 Pale, calm, fearless, the ghost of her self, she watched the rude but loving mourners bear him to chamber in the house and lay him as if asleep upon a couch.
 Day by day she faded like lily that is denied moisture, and within few short weeks her spirit fled to join his in another world.
 Since then the Hunter house has had many owners and many occupants, but every year upon the anniversary of that stormy night in 1887 the stroke of a horses hoofs are heard without, the old knocker clangs, footsteps sound upon the stairs, and the occupants of the south room-the same in which Philip Mars toms body lay-receive a ghostly visit ant.
 Ten years ago the house was owned and occupied by family named Thuns- den, among the members of which was a nephew named William Black, young and rising mem Der of the bar.
 Early in the summer of 1912 the Thuns- dens went on their annual pilgrimage to one of the Virginia watering places, leav- ing young Black the sole inmate, as, ac- cording to southern custom, the servants lived in a separate building.
 Several days had gone by without in cident until the night of June 25. Black had started to go to bed, but was sud- denly seized with an unaccountable lone- liness and distrust of his solitary condi- tion, and upon reflection recollected that this was the anniversary.
 Taking his hat and cane, he went in search of fellow barrister of his own age and with whom he was intimate, one John T. Jones, who held forth upon tine courthouse square and kept bachelors hall over his office.
 It was about 1:30 o'clock, and as beau tifully calm and clear moonlight night as heart could wish when they entered the house. and after locking the hall door went to Black room, the south chamber.
 Young men make short work of toilets. 50 they were quickly in bed, and neither being sleepy Bl..l- started to tell Jones the story of the haunted room. < He had just finished when the old cracked bell in the courthouse tower struck midnight, and as the last rever- berations died away a horses hoof strokes could be distinctly heard upon the gravel walk without.
 Suddenly and without warning the windows commenced to rattle in their easements, and noise resounded from the roof as if torrents of rain were de- scending upon it's weather beaten shin gles.
 Then came the clany of the old knocker upon the hall door. The noises ceased as quickly. as they had begun, and all was silence.