I will not give a list of the terrors that assailed Cuddy from the first moment of his ride home. A rustling leaf, a cracking branch, a sighing wind, were magnified into groans and wails. Every stone, every bush, seemed an uncanny form; every cluster of blackberry bushes, every hay-rick, a looming monster. And when Dr. Greene decided to return by Pender Zeke’s corner, and thus pass the old church foundation of the Narragansett Church and its cluster of deserted gravestones, Cuddy’s terror found words.
“Don’ do it, Doctor; don’ go by dat darminted ole church foundashum. It’s a dreffle lonely road, an’ ebberybody knows dere’s ghosts in dat ole church-yard ebbery night. Ole Mum Amey seed one a-dancin’ on ole Brenton’s table-stone. Fer de lub ob praise, Doctor, don’ less go dere to-night. Ole Tuggie Bannocks an’ all dem dashted ole witches gadders in de ole noon-house dat stan’s in de church-yard an’ brews dere witch-broth; an’ ef anyone sees ’em a-brewin’ dey can nebber eat nothin’ else, an’ pines away wid misery ob de stummick an’ dies.”
The Doctor only answered, gruffly, “Go by the corners, Cuddy; I’ll drive off the ghost.”
As they approached the haunted church-yard Cuddy was fairly speechless with apprehension. His teeth chattered, and he held the whip in one trembling hand to ward off any ghostly or witchly attack. Words would fail in attempting to express the horror, the agony, which seized him, which overwhelmed him when he saw as he passed the old noon-house an unearthly, an appalling, object, which he could not bear to look at, nor could he force his staring eyes to look away from. The Doctor saw it, too—a tall slender column, about seven feet in height, of faintly shimmering light vaguely outlining a robed figure, not of a human being, but plainly of a ghost. It appeared to be about a hundred feet from the road, though it could be clearly seen through the mist, and it seemed palpitating with a faint, uncanny radiance. “Stop, Cuddy,” eagerly roared the Doctor, “I want to see what that is!” And as Cuddy showed no sign of stopping the horse’s progress, he seized the reins from the negro’s shaking hands. Cuddy, frightened out of all sense of respect or deference, shouted out, “G’lang, git up,” and attempted to whip the steed.
“Cuddy, you black imp! if you dare to do that again, I’ll whip you within an inch of your life. I’m going to get out and see what that is. It is a very interesting physical phenomenon.”
“Oh, Doctor dear, you’s bewitched a’ready. Dere ain’t no physic about dat, it’s a moonack. Fer de lub of God, don’t go near it—you’ll nebber walk out alibe”—and with that the unhappy black man fairly burst into tears and threw his restraining arms around the Doctor’s neck.
The unheeding Doctor jumped from the side of the chaise with a force that nearly dragged Cuddymonk with him. The weeping negro’s affection and interest would carry him no farther, and as the Doctor walked sturdily across the church-green, Cuddy, moaning and groaning in despair, gathered up the reins, ready, at any motion or sound of the ghost, to start the horse down the road and wholly desert the Doctor.
The brave ghost-investigator walked up the four narrow stone steps that once led to the church door—but now, alas! lead sadly nowhere—then turned into the graveyard. As he stumbled eagerly along through the high grass and tangled blackberry-bushes, and as he passed under the shading branches of a wild-cherry tree, a most terrifying catastrophe took place—he plunged and slid into an open grave containing about a foot of water. Cuddy heard the splash, and it indicated to him the Doctor’s utter annihilation. He gathered the reins up with a groan of despair and prepared to drive off with speed, lest the moonack chase and overwhelm him also, when he heard the Doctor’s voice. The instinct of obedience was strong in him—for he had been born a slave—and he delayed a moment to listen. “Come here, Cuddy,” shouted the Doctor, “I’ve fallen into the grave they’ve dug for old Tom Hazard.” Cuddy groaned, but did not move, either to drive, or to fly to the Doctor’s rescue. “Come here, I say, and help me out; I shall die of the rheumatism if I stay here.” Another groan, but still no motion to render assistance. “Cuddy, if you don’t come, I’ll conjure you with that big skeleton in my closet.” Still no answer, and at last, the Doctor, by dint of struggling and breaking away the earth, managed to drag himself out of the shallow grave. Undaunted by a mishap that would have both mentally unnerved and physically exhausted anyone but a country doctor, unchilled in spirit though shivering in body, the determined investigator walked up to the ghost.
He took one glance and at once turned, and, avoiding the open grave, ran down the steps and across the green. “Come here, Cuddy; if I die of rheumatism I’ll take you up and show you that ghost. I’ll conjure you with every charm in the witch-book if you don’t come.” Cuddy was weak with terror, and the Doctor seized him by the collar, pulled him out of the chaise and up the steps. With chattering teeth and closed eyes he stumbled along by the Doctor’s side, clutching his leader’s arm and muttering words of Voodoo charms. When they reached the faintly shining ghost, the Doctor shouted, “Open your eyes, Cuddy,” and his power fairly forced Cuddy to comply. The Doctor raised his whip and brought it down on the shining ghost; a great swarm of fire-flies rose in the air, leaving disclosed a juniper-tree, which had chanced to grow somewhat in the form of a human figure. This strange phenomenon I cannot explain, but it is not the only time that a juniper-tree on a misty night in fall has attracted a swarm of fire-flies to light upon it.
Cuddy nearly fainted in revulsion of feeling. Both returned to the road and clambered into the chaise. The Doctor was now thoroughly chilled. He took from the medicine-chest that he always carried (“the Doctor’s bag o’ tools,” Cuddy called it) a flask that may have contained medicine, but which smelled more like “kill-devil,” and bade Cuddy drive with speed to Zeke Gardiner’s; for when the heat of the chase was over, the valiant old Doctor began to feel the twinges of an enemy that he dreaded more than any ghost—his rheumatism—and he dare not ride home dripping with icy grave-water, even if he were full of Jamaica rum.