Ghosts

By Fredericksburg Area Tourism Department

The spirit of the past still lives in Fredericksburg, Virginia. George Washington's foot-steps seem to echo on the paths and streets of his hometown. The voices of Thomas Jefferson and other colonial leaders seem to resound through the Rising Sun Tavern.

When Phyllis Reynolds was in first grade, she had a hard time making sense of the stories her teacher wrote on the blackboard. Those little, squiggly characters danced crazily across the open space and didn't mean a thing to her. One day, her teacher asked her to read a story out loud. Phyllis didn't hesitate for a second. She plunged into an exciting story-- her own story-- about a cat and a tree and an autumn day. The teacher shook her head sadly at Phyllis. No, she hadn't gotten it. But she had gotten it-- the desire to tell stories. In time, she did learn to read, and soon she was writing her own books on notebook paper. Phyllis had found a love for writing that she has never lost through the tough times and the good.

By The Daily Star—10 August 1921

In an advertisement on the second page of this issue it will be noted that all trespassers on the grounds of Chatham Manor between the hours of sunset and sunrise will be there at their own risk. Watchmen employed by the architect and contractor declare that ghosts invade the domain during the midnight hours and five individual watchmen have tendered their resignations after staying at the historic mansion one night. The watchman on duty Tuesday night declares that a stumpy black figure, accompanied by a grotesque shape in white passed within a few feet of him at midnight. He fired a double-barreled shot gun at them point blank and was greeted by a hollow guttural laugh as they continued their rounds about the manor. This was too much for the guard to stand and he left the premises for good. Another watchman relates that he saw three women in white roaming around the estate exactly at 3 a.m. a few mornings ago, while others tell of strange noises and strangling sounds.

At times, a sense of things past seems to envelop tourists and residents who stroll quietly along Fredericksburg streets at twilight or drive through a countryside still scarred by the battles of the Civil War. Some swear that more than a general sense of the history of the place overwhelms them. At twilight, at midnight, or even at high noon, specters and shades of those whose place this was may return to their homes and habits to pray, to flirt, to dine, and to stroll, to fire their rifles and march in formation, or lie wounded in hospital beds, wearing uniforms of gray or blue.