Saturday, November 29, 2014

Does a mysterious preacher's ghost haunt the backwoods of Marengo County?

George 'Buster' Singleton
(For decades, local historian and paranormal investigator George “Buster” Singleton published a weekly newspaper column called “Somewhere in Time.” The column below, which was titled “The ghost of the circuit-riding preacher visits,” was originally published in the Oct. 27, 1994 edition of The Monroe Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)

Journey with me into the back roads of northwest Marengo County. The sun is about to set in the western sky, and there is no traffic along the narrow dirt road that winds its way through what used to be a thriving farm community.

The farm houses that used to dot the landscape have vanished from the scene as the rich, fertile fields that used to grow an abundant amount of cotton and corn now are planted in thousands upon thousands of pine trees.

The deep, heavy sand that makes up the old road bed was once marked by the wheels of the local farmers’ wagons. As the families traveled to the grist mill and the country store for their meal to be ground and to purchase the few needed supplies, many happy memories waited around almost every bend in the country road. Laughing children ran along behind the wagons, jumping back on and off as they grew tired of running or the deep sand grew too hot for their bare feet.

But down the road a ways, all would jump into the wagons and sit down in total silence as the slow wagons made their way by a small log church that sat atop a steep hill near the narrow road. All in the wagon would turn their heads and look in silence near the sagging front door of the small log church. Leaning back against the log wall of the church in a rough, handmade straight chair sat the preacher.

The preacher was dressed as usual. He had on his tall stove pipe hat and his frock-tail coat. His long snow-white beard covered his face so completely until all that could be seen was his piercing dark eyes that seemed to look straight through you. And, as he stood behind the crude hand-carved pulpit while delivering his sermons, hell fire and brimstone were always his subject and the order of the day.

No one really knew for sure where the preacher stayed during the time he was in the area. Some said that he slept in the loft of the old log church. Others said that he camped down the hill behind the church beside a large, freshwater spring.

Once in a great while, he would appear out of nowhere at one of the local farm houses at meal time for a free meal and some feed for his horse. Then, he and his gray horse would seem to disappear into thin air for a few weeks or so. But, he would always return to the small log church and his crude straight chair that rested by the front door.

Rumor had it that he had been married at one time to a very rich lady in northeast Alabama. No one knew for sure. He never talked about his family. The rumor went on to say that one day when he was away on one of his circuit preaching tours, his very rich wife disappeared from the area, leaving only a goodbye note bidding him farewell. The note went on to say that he need not look for her, she was never to return. The story goes on to say that the life of the circuit-riding preacher was never the same from that day forward.

Years would pass, but the old man continued to ride his horse around the countryside, preaching wherever he could in the small churches that would permit him to do so. Always, he would return to this small log church to sit for days in the crude old chair and stare down the narrow dirt road at those who passed.

The small church had now been almost abandoned since a large newer one had been built nearer to the center of the small community. Large holes appeared in the wooden shingle roof of the small log church. Rain poured in on the crude church pews. The large oaks that grew next to the old church shed their leaves to almost cover the small log building.

An air of mystery seemed to have settled around the aged log structure. Many times, there would be no one for Sunday service but the old circuit rider preacher and one other old man who lived by himself down the road a ways. But regardless of the number, the sermons were said to be preached as if the church was packed full.

Seen for the last time

Then one morning the old preacher was seen for the last time as he slowly mounted his thin gray horse in front of the abandoned log building. Over a year would pass before word finally reached the small farm community that the old circuit rider preacher had been laid to rest in a small family burial ground near the town of Centreville.

By now, the decaying log walls of the little church had begun to crumble and sag. No one went inside for fear of being hurt by pieces of the falling roof or the decaying walls. But, outside the sagging front door, the rotted and broken old chair leaned crazily against the crumbling log wall.

Word began to circulate in the small community that the old circuit rider preacher had been seen as he sat in his old chair in front of the church, there by the door. He was dressed in his tall, stove-pipe hat and his frock-tail coat. Both feet rested on the chair round as was his usual custom, and over under one of the huge oak trees, the preacher’s tall gray horse was tied to one of the tree limbs. And down under the hill, near the large freshwater spring, the smell of a burned-out campfire filled the early morning air.

Very few of the community would travel the narrow dirt road by the old log church during the late hours of the evening. Stories were told about those of the community who had passed the abandoned log church on horseback during the hours of darkness. These frightened riders told of suddenly feeling someone or something sitting behind them on their horses as they approached the ruins of the abandoned church. The ghost or spirit of the old preacher would ride for a distance of about 200 yards before it would disappear from behind the rider as suddenly as it had appeared.

Walk with them

And those who had to travel on foot by the old church during the night hours told of seeing the ghost of someone dressed in a tall stove-pipe hat and wearing a long frock-tail coat. The ghost of the old preacher would walk alongside them for about the same distance as reported by those who had ridden by.

Those brave enough to glance up the hill at the ruins of the old church reported seeing the faint light of a small coal oil lamp that had been used to furnish the light for the evening services all those many years ago.

If one dared to linger for just a moment, words of hellfire and brimstone rode the winds of the evening around the crumbling old pulpit and throughout the ruins of the small church.

A few days back, I traveled the narrow dirt road through this once thriving farm community. Nothing remains of the small log church but a pile of rotted timbers and old wooden roof shingles. The fallen limbs of the aged oak trees has only added to deepen the solitude of an era that has passed almost into oblivion.

Parking my motorcycle, I ascended the hill up to the pile of rubble that once was the small log church. The remains of the crude, straight-back chair yet rested by what was once the small door of the front entrance. Looking around for a while, I started down the hill to where my transportation awaited.

Turning back and looking up the hill at the pile of rubble where the remains of the crude old chair yet stood, my blood ran cold. There, leaning back against the wall in the rickety old chair, sat a shadowy ghost-like figure of someone with a long snow-white beard. He was wearing a long frock-tail coat, and on his head, he wore a tall stove-pipe hat.

The stories were true. The old preacher had returned.


(Singleton, the author of the 1991 book “Of Foxfire and Phantom Soldiers,” passed away at the age of 79 on July 19, 2007. A longtime resident of Monroeville, he was born on Dec. 14, 1927 in Marengo County and served as the administrator of the Monroeville National Guard unit from 1964 to 1987. He is buried in Pineville Cemetery in Monroeville. The column above and all of Singleton’s other columns are available to the public through the microfilm records at the Monroe County Public Library in Monroeville. Singleton’s columns are presented here each week for research and scholarship purposes and as part of an effort to keep his work and memory alive.)

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