I was surrounded by Red-coated and Revolutionary soldiers. Doesn't get any better than that. Handsome fighting men everywhere. And ice cream.
Very cool.
Cannon blasts, smoke, people from 1776 - and their ghosts.
Williamsburg is crawling with ghosts. They like me, and I think they like my friend Cindy. We found three in her bedroom.
"I couldn't sleep a wink," she announced the next morning. "All I did was toss and turn."
That's because they were watching her.
"Are you joking?"
"There were three of them, a husband and wife and the wife's mother."
The women were dressed in unbleached cotton skirts and scarveswrapped around their heads, the man in a dirty cotton shirt and three quarter pants. They were slaves - which wasn't surprising because my friend and I were sharing one of the Kitchen Houses - the slave quarters that were built away from the mansion to house the house keeping slaves.
"I'm getting outta here!" Cindy was already packed.
"They're not dangerous," I told her. "Just curious."
She said, "Good! I'm still leaving".
But if they know you can see them, leaving doesn't help.
***
Somewhere off Duke of Gloucester street, behind one of the very large mansions, there's a cemetery fully of revolutionary soldiers. The grass is neatly mowed, surrounded by hedges and trees, but there are no headstones. No markers. It's very quiet back there. The only sounds are the wind in the trees and the birds that fly among them. Unless you stay awhile, and ask, "Who's there?" I didn't even do that. As I was staring across the grassy area, I had the clear impression of soldier standing beside a tall sycamore. He wore the tricorn hat, white britches and a long navy and gold coat. I want to think he was a Frenchman; and he wasn't happy.
"That's because he got blown out of his sleep by the canons!" My friend said. "I'm still deaf from the last one!"
"Where are the rest of the men?" I asked.
Long gone, he said.
"What about you?"
I don't know - I'm the only one here...
"Would you like to be with them?" I asked.
What do you think! Of course! he said rudely.
Well, it took awhile. Cindy was shuffling, ready to go while I tried to persuade him that he could go to them - and I knew how to get him there.
He wasn't polite at all. Gave me a lot of rude back chat.
Finally Cindy lost patience."Hey you!" That was my friend. "Get moving! Chop, chop! Now!"
The ghost swung around, went into a crouch and aimed his riffle in her direction.
"Omg! I've never heard of anyone being shot by a ghost!" I whispered.
"I'm just telling him to move! Where are the canons when you need them."
Cutting along story short, he finally got the message and faded through the trees, and into the light - ungraciously, I might add.
I saw his troops calling to him. He heard them too.
You just can't tell a ghost to move his ass. They go when they feel like it.:)
I hope you have fun this Independence Day. And remember the ghosts who fought for what is still a wonderful country.
***
No comments:
Post a Comment