THE PHANTOM FISH
CHAPTER IX After John Bell's Death -- The Lovers' Easter Monday -- Prof. Powell's School -- Uncle Zeke's Rectification of the Ghosts Disturbing the Fish – Several Weddings
The death of John Bell, Sr., left a shadow of impenetrable gloom hanging like the pall of darkness over the sorrow stricken family. They were as a ship without a rudder; no solace for anguish and no light penetrating the darkness of the future, or forecasting the end of this great family affliction, save that the witch was now less virulent in its demonstrations, ceasing to torment Betsy as it had before. The only way open was in pursuing the even tenor of life, awaiting the further developments of the unknown destroyer of the peace of the happy household. The death of Mr. Bell and the manner of his taking off awakened another sensation, one of a more serious and solemn import than all the events in the varied chapter of sensations that had so long kept the community in a state of frenzy, calling into exercise every faculty and all the stratagems of inventive genius, in the effort to detect the mysterious agency, only to be toiled and involved in still greater confusion. The phenomena had progressed, developing new features, power and character from week to week, finally fulfilling that malignant purpose declared in the outset to be a part of its mission, that of tormenting “Old Jack Bell” out of his life by a slow process of mysterious torture, and now all eyes and thoughts centered on Betsy, curiously wondering and discussing with animation the probable effect of the death of the father upon the daughter, and the attitude of the witch towards her. The girl was then overwhelmed with grief for the loss of a devoted father, which in the course of time was to be overcome, but the forebodings of the horrible witch, whose caprice might chasten her through life, or burst at any moment in the malignity of volcanic wrath, hung over her like an impending calamity, menacing the happiness, of life with bitter anguish. The suspense was dreadful in the extreme, like a horrifying nightmare haunting a feverish dream, and was not to be contemplated without a shudder. However, days and weeks passed, and neighbors continued their good offices, visiting and ministering comfort to the distressed family, and much to the surprise and gratification of all, there appeared a remarkable change in the mordacity of Kate toward Betsy. The haunting sphinx ceased harassing and become a ministering spirit, manifesting more sympathy, and tender compassion than all the friends who sought her on that gracious mission, save perhaps one. Joshua Gardner was never remiss in his devotions, and he labored with all the earnestness of his soul to remove the cloud that shadowed her happiness, and his efforts were not without good effect, notwithstanding his presence was attended with the premonition of Kate's abhorrent augury. Betsy Bell was conscious that her heart, beat in unison of sympathy for that manly devotion so freely bestowed on her. But what would be the consequence if she should disregard the warnings of her wicked tormentor, whose inflictions were already as great as could be endured? Might not the terrible freak execute its threats on her, as it had fulfilled the prophecy concerning her father, and destroy the peace and happiness of both herself and lover, rendering them miserable for life, should she yield to his entreaty and become his wife? Such were her thoughts and reasoning against the inclination of her cherished desire, and it was a most difficult problem to solve, in the struggle of the heart between love and fear. Kate had ceased meddling in the affair, never called Joshua's name to Betsy, nor spoke when he was present.
Betsy's and Joshua's Engagement
This relenting was encouraging to the lovers, and Joshua took advantage of the circumstance as evidence that the trouble was nearing the end, and pressed his suit, urging that the marriage should take place at an early date, when they might leave the haunted vale for their contemplated Western home, entering connubial life amid happier scenes full of new inspiration, and hearts thrilled with the joys they had So long anticipated. Betsy was disposed to yield to his persuasive reasoning; Joshua had drawn a different picture of the future from that which she had been looking upon. It was full of promise and stimulated renewed hope, and she gave her consent, conditionally, insisting that the matter be postponed a while longer, awaiting further developments in the witch's course, which were to be expected soon. There was, however, no more malevolent manifestations. Kate had almost ceased annoying the family, which served to give coloring to the rainbow of promise that Joshua painted so beautifully, and Betsy soon found her crushed hope reviving, animating her broken spirit. The flush returned to her paled cheeks, a brighter lustre filled her pretty blue eyes, while a mischievous smile returned to play in the light of those matchless orbs.
This change in Betsy was noticed by all comers and goers, and was the gossip of the neighborhood. The Fairy Queen of the Haunted Dale was herself again. The gloom of despond had passed away, and a happy heart revealed itself in her sparkling eyes and merry laughter, which seemed to defy Kate, and the witch had ceased to interpose any further impediment to the match, and the brilliant wedding long anticipated was conceded to be close at hand. The Bell home had resumed something of its former gayety and splendid hospitality, extending a hearty welcome to all who came, offering the greatest attraction to visitors known in the country, and Betsy's grace of manners, pleasing conversation and charming wit, combined with her personal beauty, was a source of pleasure that all, old and young, delighted in.
She was the joy of the home,
The pride of the vale;
Her presence like sunshine
That lights up the dale.
Easter Monday
Easter came in all the glory of ethereal April. Nature had put on its spring garb unusually early, and the day was like the resurrection morn, lending inspiration and vigor to all that was flush with life. The afternoon found a gay party of young people assembled at the Bell home, as by intuition, to arrange plans for the outing and pastime for the tomorrow, Easter Monday being a holiday observed by all people, even the servants being exempted from regular duty and allowed freedom to spend the day as they wished. A fishing excursion and a hunt for Wild flowers along the river bluff seemed to promise the greatest diversion, and it was agreed upon to meet at Brown's for the sport. The day dawned with a clear sky, and the sun rose in all of her splendor, sending forth gentle rays to kiss away the morning dew. The full blown orchard that almost surrounded the Bell residence presented a living bouquet of nature's beauty, white and pink blooms nestling amid the fresh young foliage of the trees, mingling their sweet perfumes on the gentle current that swept over the valley. Three interesting couples left the Bell place that morning for a stroll through the orchard and across the meadow to the river side, where the fishing party was expected to meet. The three couples were Betsy Bell and her lover, Joshua Gardner, Theny Thorn and Alex. Gooch, and Rebecca Porter and James Long. Three happier couples never started out for a glorious holiday. Betsy had acceded to Joshua's proposition, dismissing all gloomy forebodings, and that morning for the first time wore a beautiful engagement ring, which Joshua placed on her finger Easter morning, while sitting beneath the favorite pear tree, and she started out with a light and joyous heart, full of mirthful sport, making merry the day. “See there girls,” exclaimed Betsy, “those beautiful pear trees, arrayed in white, representing the bride of the morning. They bow to us a hearty welcome this lovely holiday.” “Yes, I see,” returned Theny Thorn, “they are perfectly lovely; but you overlook the peach trees on the other side of the path, dressed in pink. They represent the bridesmaids.” “Well,” observed Becky Porter, “I should like to know what these pretty little violets represent which you all are unconsciously mashing under your big feet?” “They are Cupid's arrows,” answered Joshua Gardner. “They cannot be crushed by trampling, Miss Becky; see how quick they rise up, smiling sweetly.” “Yes,” exclaimed Betsy, “that is why I love them so much; break or bruise one, and it comes again as fresh as ever;” Alex. Gooch presumed that these sentimental expressions were inspired by the invigorating morning breeze. “Please, Miss Betsy, what does this refreshing zephyr, which blows such a pleasant gale, represent in your beautiful Easter picture?” “Oh, that is the breath of the bridegroom,” laughingly answered Betsy.” “Then,” observed James Long, “if we are to judge from the fragrance of his breath, the bridegroom must be a distiller, out gathering nectar from the myriads of sweet blossoms, that excites so much felicitous exultation.” “Yes, Mr. Long,” replied Becky, “you have a correct appreciation of the work of nature's God; you observe that the sunbeams come first, gathering dewdrops from the precious buds, giving off the perfume to the morning's breath; that is what Betsy refers to.” “Oh, pshaw,” ejaculated Alex. Gooch, “please all hold up a bit and find your equilibrium. We started out to go fishing, but you girls are about to turn to fairies and take wings on the morning air.” “Yes, yes,” exclaimed Joshua, “lets go fishing; why linger here. Look yonder, see those majestic trees that line the river bank, lifting up their leafy boughs in solid phalanx like a bordering mountain range of evergreen, keeping sentry over this lovely valley. See how gracefully their waving tops beckon us on to catch the sweet strains of the warbling birds that are mingling their melody with the soft sighing winds and the murmuring waves that are surging by.” “Hold up, hold up two minutes, Joshua; catch your breath and take a fresh start,” exclaimed. Alex. Gooch. “Oh, no,” interposed James Long, “let Josh gush. He is in ecstasy of mind this morning, which accounts for his poetical flights.” “Well, said Miss Theny, “I am not going to leave here without a bouquet of Cupid's arrows. Come Becky, let's you and I load up with violets and peach blossoms, while Josh and Betsy are taking down that pear tree.” Thus run the conversation in sallies of pleasantry and flights of fancy, as the three joyous couples wended their way through the orchard and across the green meadow to the river side, where many happy souls had already gathered and were making the best of the bright morning, entering fully into the frolicsome sports of the day.
Prof. Powell's School
Very soon Prof. Richard Powell put in an appearance, just out from Springfield on his first canvass for the Legislature. He had heard something about the fishing party, and could not resist the temptation to call by, and mingle a short while with the happy throng of youngsters who had grown up under his tutorage. His presence was the signal for a general rush to the circle that was gathering around the handsome teacher who, though a bachelor, maintained his youthful appearance, good humor and fascinating manners, extending hearty greetings and happy congratulations.
Professor Richard Powell
“How good it is to be here,” exclaimed the Professor; “it carries me back to our joyous school days, when you were all happy rollicking children, and I was well -- I was one of you.” “We are all children yet,” answered Joshua Gardner, “and I move that we open school right here and now.” “Good,” said Alex. Gooch, “I am in for that.” “And we will have some fun turning out the teacher,” remarked Jimmie Long. “No you won't,” returned Betsy, “we girls will take Mr. Powell's part and turn you boys in for the ducking. What say you girls? All in favor of that motion hold up your strong right hand.” “Both hands,” exclaimed Theny, and all hands went up. “There now boys,” observed the Professor, “I have the advantage this time, and will not go into the river today. Betsy you are just the same sweet good girl you always were, taking my part against the boys, and you too, Theny, Becky, Betsy Gunn, Nicie Gooch, Mary Gotham, Sarah Batts; yes, and you too, Mahalia, Susan, Nancy, every one of those dear little hands; you are all my pets and sweethearts, and I am going to stand by you girls, as long as I live. If you should happen to marry these bad boys, and they don't treat you right, any of you, just call on me, and I will help to turn him out and put his head under the spring spout.” “Ha, ha,” laughed Drew Bell, “I am going to be a girl today and help the Professor; put Calvin Johnson and Frank Miles under the spout, they have no business in this crowd anyway; they ought to be looking after some old girls.” “And where ought you to be, Drew? I just came down here thinking I would bait my hook with you for a catfish.” “No, no, Mr. Miles,” exclaimed Betsy Gunn, “we can't spare Mr. Drew; he digs our fish bait; look at his hands.” “Hold up hands, Drew,” cried Calvin Johnson; “if you are going to be a girl, hold up them hands.” “I shan't,” said Drew. “Oh yes, Drew,” insisted the Professor, “you have elegant hands.” “You mean elephant hands, Mr. Powell,” returned Frank Miles.” “No, grubbing hoes,” said another. “Flatboat oars,” put in Alex. Gunn.” “Call them what you please,” spoke Becky Porter, “Mr. Drew can dig more fish bait than all of you, and we can't get along without him on Easter Monday.” “Why Becky,” whispered Mary, “I guess you can get J. Long just as well.” “Now Mary, that's a good pun; what a witty Bell you might be,” retorted Becky. “Please, Professor, excuse brother Drew from holding up his hands, he hasn't washed them to-day,” pleaded Betsy. “Drew you will be excused, now finish digging bait; go to the spring and wash your hands, and then come to books, and fetch your gun to keep bad boys like Frank Miles off.”
Thus an hour passed in the exchange of pleasantry, witticisms, congratulations, repartee and general hilarity, recounting amusing events that occurred during school days, Mr. Powell declaring that it was the happiest hour he had spent since he had left the neighborhood, and he was very sorry that he could not spend the day in such pleasant company, but that he was obliged to leave, and wishing all much good luck in the catch of the day, he was off; not, however, without paying Betsy Bell some special compliments, telling her that she had grown up to be more beautiful and charming than he had ever dreamed of when he used to pet her so much. “Just as I always told your mother, Miss Betsy, that you were the brightest and smartest girl in school, when she declared I would spoil you; but I did not, did I?” “I think not, Professor; I hope I don't act like a spoilt girl,” returned Betsy. “No you do not, Josh will bear me out in that. And by the way, Josh is a fine fellow; I have heard that you and Josh were about to make a match, and I shall wish you much happiness and prosperity. That boy never could help loving you, and I never did blame him, as you were my little pet also, and I have waited almost as patiently as did Jacob for Rachel, hoping that you and Josh might forget that young school day love, but I have been disappointed, and now my request is to be at the wedding. I want to be present when you wed, my little pet. Good-bye, I wish you well.” “Professor, I shall let you know when that happens,” answered Betsy. As soon as Mr. Powell left, the assembly broke up in couples, stringing out along the river bank wherever good places could be found to throw in their hooks.
The darkies in the country were all out early for the holiday, and had monopolized the river bank from Brown's ford up to Gorham's mill, and the young people respecting their rights too much to disturb their pleasure, sought places below the ford, the three couples from the Bell home being last to locate, Joshua and Betsy taking the last position, just opposite the enchanted spring where the treasure trove was said to be concealed, which was a fair open spot. Mr. Gardner soon baited the hooks and set the poles in the bank to await the coming of the fish, and he and Betsy seated themselves on a green sward back upon the hillside overlooking the fishing tackle. The sky continued clear, and the sun approached noontide, spreading bright rays over the valley, while a brisk wind heavily freighted with sweetest fragrance swept over, keeping the fresh green foliage of the tall trees along the river side in constant commotion. The modest little brook from the enchanted spring rippled down the riverbank in sweet consonance with the murmuring waves that rolled steadily by. The merry laughter of the gay throng strung out along the brink was caught up by the breeze in chorus with the music of the happy wildwood songsters that fluttered, chirped and twittered in the boughs overhead. It was indeed a real Easter day -- the goddess of Spring restoring to nature that refreshing and renewal of life which so beautifully commemorates the resurrection of the world's Savior. Even the finny tribe seemed mindful of the commemorative event and were on a holiday frolic, coming to the top, jumping and flouncing on the bosom of the crystal-like waves, and didn't care a fig for the daintiest bait thrown out by eager fishermen. “Keep less noise down there, you’ll frighten the fish away,” yelled a stentorian voice in a commanding tone. “You are making more noise, Mr. Miles, than all of us,” exclaimed Betsy Gunn. “Yes, but I have got to roar to get you youngsters settled so I can catch fish. Now you and John Bell settle, down to the business you came here for, like Josh and Betsy, I came to catch fish,” returned Mr. Miles. “So did we,” observed John, “but we have no idea of scaring them to death.” “That is just what you are doing; see how they jump,” replied William Porter; “Frank and I came here to catch some fish if you chaps will make less noise.” “Then you will have to jump in and run them down, Brother Billy,” exclaimed Becky Porter.
Uncle Zeke's Rectification On Dem Ghosts
Uncle Zeke, a consequential old darkey, who was very proud of the honor of being special valet to Rev. Thomas Gunn, occupied a position just above, to the right of Frank Miles, inquiringly put the question: “Mars Frank, can I have the ‘sumption to pose you a question?” “Yes, Uncle Zeke, what is it?” “Well sar, Ize bin wanting to know how dem fishes jumpin' up out der kin hear us talkin when they ain’t got no ears?” “I don't know, Uncle Zeke, but suppose it is by instinct or jar from the vibration of sound on the air; what do you think about it?” “Well sar, Mars Frank, I was just lowin' da cud see fru dat water better dan da cud hear; den sar I was lowin' too dat dar war sumpen wrong wid dem fishes out dar, cause sir, you never seed fishes jump up dat way on holiday fo dis.” “What do you think is the matter, Uncle Zeke?” “Well sar, an Injun spirit is out dar ‘mong dem fish, dats what's der matter, an they ain’t goin to bite today.” “Do you mean the old witch, Uncle Zeke?” “Dats exactly what it is, sar.” “How do you know that it's an Indian spirit?” “Well sar, dat is der ruction in der case. Do you know dat der Injuns fust had dis country and dis river, an dats why they named it Red River, cause it belonged to the red men?” “Yes, but there is another story about the naming of this river which beats that. The story is that Moses Renfroe, who brought the first white settlement to this river, himself and all of his people were slaughtered by the Indians. The savage brutes dragged the men, women and children to the river, scalped their heads and cut their throats, throwing their bodies in, causing the water to run red with blood, and the stream was after that called Red River. That is what I understand about it, Uncle Zeke, but go on with your story, about the spirit.” “Well sar, dats all der same; cause I was goin to say, the Injuns was here fust, and we white fokes drove em out, all but dem what was dead and couldn’t go, an they’s here yet in der spirit. Ize had dis conjection under consideration ever since I fust heard Mars Tom prayin fur der witch to abrogate, an it taint heard him yet, dats what. When Mars Tom Gunn prays against the spirits and hit don't abrogate, den it hain’t got no connection with Heaven.” “I think you are about right on that,” approvingly replied Mr. Miles. “Well sar, dat is der rectification of dcm ghostes in my mind. You neber heard tell of Injuns in hell then, did you, Mars Frank?” “Never did, Uncle Zeke.” “Well den, you neber seed one in hell, did you?” “No, Uncle Zeke, I have not,” returned Miles. “Needer did Mars Tom. Cause he don't pray for em; den where is they? Why sar, dem dead Injuns who lived here are here yet, cause dey ain’t got nowbar to go, an dats what's der matter. I said soon as I heard about Corban Hall diggin up dem Injun bones over dar in the bottom, dar was goin to be trouble.” “Have you ever seen the spirit, Uncle Zeke?” enquired Miles; “Dat spirit what you call der witch? Yes sar, ain’t you seed dem lights that move over the bottom on dark nights like a ball of fire? Well, dats what it is, an you better not go about der except when you got a hair ball wid fox fire in it. That’s der only way you kin fight dem spirits; jest like Dean does. Cause der Injun is like a black cat, he's got fire' in his eyes, fire in his back, an der devil in hiz neck, an you better let him alone.
I said soon as I seed de Professor cum down here dis morning, dat dar warn’t goin to be no fish caught here today, an now you sees how dem fishes are jumpin up.” “Why, Uncle Zeke, what has the Professor got to do with it?” enquired Miles. “I tells you, Mars Frank, Ize a **** and ain’t got no business talkin', but I knows some things dat won’t do to tell. Can't you see der spiritations in dat man's eyes? He didn’t cum here for nuttin. I haint bin round here all dis time when der Professor kept school but know something, cause I’ve turned my witch ball on der phenomiter of dem ghostes, and seed dat man sperimentin' in der ruction of der spirits by der precunious instinction of der fungus, an every time he hit de Injun flint with the back of hiz knife he kotch der fire in hiz eyes; den when he looks on dat witch gal his eyes blazes, and den melts an dat put er spell on her.” Frank Miles laughed heartily at the idea, and told Uncle Zeke that his conclusions were no doubt correct.
During this interval, while time was swiftly passing, Joshua Gardner and Betsy Bell had not thought of their fishing tackle. They continued to occupy the velvety stratum first selected for a seat, oblivious to the merriment of their frolicsome friends, and all the passing events that lent gayety to the occasion. Prof. Powell had observed that Betsy was wearing an engagement ring, and it was no doubt the sight of this token of a betrothal that inspired his remarks on taking leave of his “pet” that morning; and this was the subject that absorbed the thoughts of the lovers. They were discussing the wedding day, the far away home in the West that should soon give them welcome; the new scene that the change would bring, and the joys that awaited to bless their union. They were given entirely to the revelry of their own sweet dreams, bestowing no attention upon the surrounding charms. They took no notice of the finny tribe that played upon the rolling waves in sight, nor to the rippling of the wandering brook that gushed wildly down the hill from the foaming fountain above. Nor were they attracted by the warbling strains of the birds in the rustling boughs overhead, or interested in any of those things that afforded so much pleasure to other members of the company. They longed for the holly, for love's own sweet home in the faraway West, where they had:
For Cupid built a flowery castle,
Stored with manna of pure love,
And strung Aeolian harps to sing
Songs of the turtle dove.
The Phantom Fish
Presently the sound of a mighty splashing was heard upon the waters that attracted all attention. A great fish had seized Joshua Gardner's hook with such force that it jerked the pole from the bank, and dashed off up stream, slashing the waves furiously as it rose to the top, flouncing and fluttering with great rage, and then diving to the bottom, carrying the pole under also, and instantly rising with a spurt, rushing in wild confusion to the south bank, as if it meant to leap for the and, but just at the water's edge it darted under, bounding up stream with the pole trolling behind, between the bank and the hooks thrown out by the eager fishermen along the stream. Passing under Uncle Zeke's tackle, the big swimmer flounced again to the top, making a hurry-scurry circle, tangling the old darkies' lines with the pole, and taking another straight shoot up the river. Before Uncle Zeke could recover from the confusion, one of his poles had joined in the procession, and he was bewildered with excitement. "Why don't you jump in, Uncle Zeke, and catch that fish and save your pole? Don't you see the fish is hung, and you are a good swimmer? Go quick, jump, plunge, and bring in the biggest fish ever caught in Red River," wildly shouted Frank Miles. This speech fired Uncle Zeke's courage to the highest pitch. He lost his head, and forgot all about the "Injun spirit” for the moment, and in less than a half minute had pulled off his coat and shoes and was in the act of jumping head-foremost into the river. But a precaution struck him, and he called a halt, carefully stepping one foot in the water, which he quickly jerked back with a shudder, and exclaiming, "I aint goin in der; I’ve done had a sentment bout dat fish, cepen its goin to fool me.” “Oh go ahead, Uncle Zeke, don't be so cowardly; you belong to Parson Gunn, and what's the difference if you should drown, you will go straight to heaven,” urged Mr. Miles.
"Dats so, Mars Frank, I ain’t carin' nuffin bout drownin, but den whose goin to tend to Mars Tom's hoss like I does, and whose goin to brush his coat and hat an black high shoes? Cause their ain’t nary another darkey that knows how to mix der lampblack; dats what pesters me by der sentment.” In the meanwhile a more youthful and daring darkey, a little higher up, heard Mr. Miles' suggestion and plunged in, swimming to the poles that were still bobbing up and down in the water, and as he grabbed the main pole, the fish made a circle, tightening the line, and whirling the Negro around in the water, as it made another dash for the bank, helping the darkey to swim with greater ease and speed. But just as he reached the shore, and the excited crowd had gathered to help land the catch, the great fish flounced to the top, releasing itself, and was gone dashing up stream, splitting the waves, amid the shouts of excited fishermen nearly up to Gorham's mill. Now an excited discussion turned upon the antics of the monster acquatic, its size, and to which family of the finny tribe it belonged. One thought it was an “eel,” another said “catfish,” another said a shark had wandered up the stream. Frank Miles declared that it was the biggest trout ever seen, but all agreed that the great finny was between two and three feet in length. William Porter observed that they had all better get to their places and bait their hooks; that the fish might return soon. The suggestion was sufficient, and pretty soon quiet was restored, every one giving strict attention to fishing. But Uncle Zeke could not suppress the inclination to whisper to Frank Miles, “I tole you so. I said sumptin war goin to happen.”
Joshua and Betsy had been attracted from their delightful repose by the prevailing excitement, but as soon as the big finny made its escape, they returned to the beautiful sward, ostensibly to look after the remaining fishing tackle. Betsy, however, did not seem so gay and happy as she had appeared all the morning, and frankly confessed to her lover strange forebodings that depressed her feelings, but she could not explain the cause. Joshua then devoted his efforts to dispelling the gloom, as he had before done, and at the moment he had quite well succeeded, when the reverberating sound of ecstatic voices above were heard in wild exclaim, “Look out, look out, its coming back!” The breaking waves and the furious lashing of the water told the story, that the playful fish was on its return down stream, riding upon the tide, as if to catch the sunbeams that glittered upon the foamy crest. It, however, quickly disappeared, and all was quiet, every fisherman anxiously watching for a bite.
The Lovers' Forebodings
The dying excitement of the last appearance left the lovers in a reverie of their own thoughts, deeply meditating upon their contemplated plans, as if trying to penetrate a shadow that seemed to hang heavily over their destiny, in spite of all efforts to rise above the crest of the cloud by looking all the while at the bright side. The suspense was painful, but nothing to compare with the sound of Kate's familiar voice which immediately pierced their ears like the bursting of a thunder cloud, pleading in that same old plaintive tone, “Please Betsy Bell, don't have Joshua Gardner,” repeating the entreaty over and over, until the lovers were overwhelmed with dismay, when the melancholy voice died away gradually as the waves rolled by and were lost to sight with the passing current. The color faded from the poor girl's checks as quickly as if a dagger had pierced her bosom, and Joshua, though courageous as he had proven before on similar occasions, felt the pangs of a broken heart, and was powerless to sooth the anguish that told so plainly on his affianced.
They sat motionless and speechless for some minutes, as if awaiting an awful doom. At last Betsy broke the silence, proposing a walk up the hillside to the spring for a drink of water. There they drank and discoursed on the excellency of the cooling draught, the beauty of the foaming bubbles that broke away in diminutive billows rushing with the trickling stream down the craggy hillside, then gathering a few wild flowers, and thus they whiled away some twenty minutes in an effort to dispel the gloomy forebodings and regain composure, but all was in vain. Finally Betsy summoned the courage of her convictions, telling Joshua frankly that her mind was made up, and that she could not brook the storm which threatened all the fancied happiness which seemed to be in store for them; that she was now clearly convinced that her tormenter would follow her through life with an appalling destiny, should she resist its importunities and dire threatenings, just as it had already afflicted her, and brought her father to suffering and unto death. Even were she able to endure it all, her compliance with his wish would be an injustice to Joshua, and a wrong for which she could never expect forgiveness. Therefore she desired to withdraw her promise and return to him the engagement ring that she prized so highly. Joshua Gardner was suffering the bitterest anguish that ever pierced a heart. He had never known before the strength of his passion for the queenly beauty who stood before him in the perfection of lovely young womanhood, conscious that the stern decision had cost her as much pain as it did him, and was rendered as a sacrifice for his own welfare, as she conceived. He tried to plead his cause anew, but was so overwhelmed with the force of her reasoning and firmness of decision that he for the first time faltered, realizing that all hope was vain, and that every plea but added another sorrow to a bleeding heart, and a fresh pang to his own, and he gracefully accepted the inevitable, begging her to keep the ring in memory of one who loved her dearer than his own life. This she declined to do, telling him that the ring was a seal to her solemn vow, and the vow could not be broken in the sight of heaven, unless he would accept the return of the ring. “I could not,” she said, “retain it without retaining the thorn that now pierces my heart and I know Joshua that you are too generous not to accede to my wish.” Slipping it from her finger as she held out her hand, Joshua Gardner in all the bitter anguish of a broken heart, exclaimed, “Betsy, my love, the adoration of my soul, the long hope of my life, this is the bitterest draught of all, but for your sake I drink to the dregs, releasing you from the promise which I know was earnest.” Thus ended the affair in which the witch had manifested so much interest from the commencement of the “Family Trouble.”
Very soon the three couples retraced their steps across the valley to the Bell home, amid the gay scenes of nature in the full flush of joyous Spring, but the walk was not attended by that levity and buoyancy of spirit which characterized the morning stroll. All were conscious of the shadow which hung so heavily over Betsy, depressing her happy spirit, and which had that day sent another poisonous shaft quivering to her bleeding heart, and the bowed form and dejected spirit of Joshua Gardner, which told plainly that he too carried a crushed heart in his manly bosom, and all hearts were touched too deep with burning sympathy to admit of any alacrity. It was more like going to a funeral, and the accompanying couples kept a respectful distance in the rear, discussing as they walked leisurely along the appalling sorrow which the return of the witch had brought that day. The lovers separated that afternoon never to meet again. A few days later, as soon as he could arrange his affairs, Joshua Gardner took his departure, several days journey to the west, and settled in West Tennessee, the place now known as Gardner's Station, Obion county, where he passed a long and honorable career, esteemed by the people for his true manhood and moral worth. He died several years ago at the advanced age of eighty-four years.
The weird fiend, cast the scene,
Lurid with the seer's blight.
And hope forlorn, shadowed the morn
With the gloom of night.
Thus the sequel, young love unequal
To the wizard's subtle art.
And dreamers await, the hand of fate,
While despondency sears the heart.
The lovers parted, weary, broken-hearted,
Cruel fate coming between.
The blasting frost, the appalling ghost,
Chilled the bower of green.
The flowers withered, the castle quivered
When Cupid fled the scene.
And the beautiful tower, lovers bower
Became a fading, crumbling sheen.
Seizing the wreck, scuttling the deck
Witches vaunted ghoulish spleen.
The vile freak, with exulting shriek
Cavorted the dale unseen.
The jack-o-lantern glare, flitted the air.
O'er the valley of doom.
And the pall of night, shadowed beacon light
Filling the vale with gloom.
Down the hill and o'er the rill
Horrid spirits delighted to prowl,
The piercing thrill, of whippoorwill,
Giving place to the hooting owl.
From the mill and old still
Came songs of the weird,
Voices shrill, with horrible trill
Hushing the joyous mocking bird.
The old pear tree, hoary it be,
Still shadows the happy scene,
Spreading its boughs, over the vows
Witnessed beneath its green.
Where lovers plighted, hearts united,
The vows they would redeem.
And continues weeping, lovers sleeping,
For the return of the dream.
The witch exulted freely over the victory won, but troubled Betsy no more; rather tried to soothe and strengthen her depressed spirit, promising to leave soon, as it did, bidding the family goodbye.
Several Weddings
Some months later a brilliant wedding took place at the residence of James Johnson. The whole community gathered in to celebrate the nuptials that united Theny Thorn and Alex. Gooch. Six months after this affair, James Long and Rebecca Porter were happily wedded. Both couples settled in the Bell neighborhood, sharing the burdens of good citizenship, and their descendants still reside in that community, worthily sustaining the honored names inherited, ranking among the best people of the county. Next followed the marriage of John Bell, Jr., and Elizabeth Gunn, whose honorable career and success in life is recorded in the family biography.
It was a long while before Betsy Bell could overcome the shock of that notable Easter Monday in April 1821, which almost extinguished that effervescence which had characterized her girlhood. Vivacious as she was, it was difficult for her to conceal the depression that had so long menaced her young life and overwhelmed her on that memorial day. Some while after this, however, the Professor, Hon. Richard Powell, became her persistent suitor and was finally accepted, and in this she kept her promise that the Professor should be at the wedding. Richard Powell was many years her senior, but was a handsome gentleman of elegant manners, and bore all honorable name and reputation. He was in fact a leading character and politician, represented the county several times, or as long as he desired, in the State Legislature, which was then considered a very high honor. He was also prominent in all public affairs, and one of the most popular men in Robertson County. Their married life was comparatively short, about seventeen years. Mr. Powell died, and Betsy remained a widow the balance of her life. About 1875 she moved to Mississippi, where one of her children and other relatives resided, and died in 1890 at the age of eighty-six years. She has grandchildren still living in Robertson county, who have inherited that vivacity and charming wit which characterized her young life. After mature years, Mrs. Powell became a large fleshy woman, and physically very stout. She was high spirited and noted through life for her industrious habits, good nature, and splendid social qualities, always entertaining in any circle. The fearful thing known as “The Family Trouble,” so called to this day by the descendants, was the plague of her life. She had borne with great fortitude and womanly courage the afflictions visited upon her, but the story set afloat by parties failing in their investigations, charging her with the authorship of the mystery, after she had submitted to all manner of tests, was crushing to her strong spirit, yet she murmured not, hoping to live down the misrepresentation, and that her innocence would be demonstrated to all intelligent reasonable people, and so it was to the people of Robertson County, acquainted with the facts, but a mischievous lie once set afloat travels far beyond the reach of truth. So it was in her case; wherever the story of the witch had gone among strangers, her name has been coupled with it as the author of those most wonderful demonstrations, and all through her long life the story was frequently revived, which to her was like a cankerworm that never ceased torturing; and still she endured it patiently. However, the time came when patience ceased to be a virtue.
About 1849 the Saturday Evening Post, published either at Philadelphia or New York, printed a long sketch of the Bell Witch phenomenon, written by a reporter who made a strenuous effort in the details to connect her with the authorship of the demonstrations. Mrs. Powell was so outraged by the publication that she engaged a lawyer to institute suit for libel. The matter, however, was settled without litigation, the paper retracting the charges, explaining how this version of the story had gained credence, and the fact that at the time the demonstrations commenced Betsy Bell had scarcely advanced from the stage of childhood and was too young to have been capable of originating and practicing so great a deception. The fact also that after this report had gained circulation, she had submitted to any and every test that the wits of detectives could invent to prove the theory, and all the stratagems employed, served only to demonstrate her innocence and utter ignorance of the agency of the so-called witchery, and was herself the greatest sufferer from the affliction.