Letter found in the Medlock Register being prepared by Monroe Pickens before his death and

continued by his wife Emma and daughter Julia Pickens Hunt. This book is in the possession

of Ruth in Ware Shoals.

“Under the Banks of Saluda River, Laurens, SC”   June 1861

To Jno. Higginbottom, Esq.

Murfreesboro, Ark.

My much esteemed friend, after leaving you, I arrived safely at Little Rock and then by Rouic

? Road, here in 4 ½ days !  Of course you will say I am a ‘happy dog’, not so my friend. I’ll

give you a short description of my arrival here, I landed at Donaldsville about ½ hour after

nightfall, hired a conveyance and intended in 2 ½ hours to shake my old friend Travis Medlock

by the hand in his own house (you knew Travis). Oh how my bosom throbbed as I hurried across

the beautiful Saluda, but scenery was all drowned in the anticipation of my meeting up with

friends. I urged my steed  ____? ______? House on sight. The sight was a beautiful one. One

of purist loveliness.Here I go jogging on half way between where Pardee used to live, don’t

know who lives there now. Five years has made a change. !! I look toward Travis all is done.,

but Hark Hist-! What sound is that? Cat hiss is my fear. I am not deceived-it is a violin! I

stop,                     

I’ll look a little farther, no light, no living being ______? Midnight and music. I’ll examine

perhaps this lone place. I’m not deceived but a thought struck me (+ nearly knocked me down),

“Travis has moved or died ! Poor Fellow, sighed me, strange I never herd of it in my far off

western home. I went no further. I knew his nerves too well to think such a thing, as far him

to be a musician. Ay my friend  5 years has wrought  a sad house in my old eastern home. I

turned my steps and started for Joel’s, my old home,  I passed Sanford Knight’s ( you know

where he lived of course). I naturally expected his old dog to attack me as he used to do but

I passed by and not a word was said—All! All Dead !,  muttered I. I began to look for lights

at Joel’s upper window but it was dark. I proceeded on until I was nearly opposite to where

old Spences (Spencer?) house used to stand when I heard a low sweet sound as of “Musics on the

Water”. I at first attributed it to imagination and I thought of my little “Sanctom” where I

had spent so many pleasant hours, where I had made but little money and drank lots of brandy.

Ay my friend, you can only guess the home yearnings. You may call it childish or what you will

but , Sir, I could not resist taking a peek at that little cabin! I had got nearly against the

store (stone?) house when thunders—ghosts and goblin such a break loosed, I never herd before.

Ay Sir, it was another fidle!  I stood confounded! I thought, is everybody dead and has

everything _____? To musics? Then I thought it might be some blind fidlers preparing for a

concert. Then it might be a ghost, “So be it ghost or goblin, damned, I’ll speak to you”. So up

I rode (remember there were no lights) and announced myself by a sound rap. A ____? Church voice

spoke the name “Miss Howell” Houell? And the music increased, the hair arose on my head, I

trembled as an aspen leaf would. ______? Myself, I rapped again and the only answer was, “She’s

gone” and  “Susannah” was on it’s highest key. I knew then that Joel and family was dead. Some

poor hallucinating creature was “fidling himself away”. I mused, I studied, and I thought with,

or rather after the “Bard  of Avon”---- “If music be the food of love, play on Take ____? of it,

That surfeiting the appetite, May so die.”

You can imagine my feelings, sad and dejected at my disappointment and the fate of my friends.

I turned off and was going, I don’t care where when I thought perhaps the “poor fidler” was in

need and  I would drop him in a dime or so. So having a 2 bit piece (as we call them in the West),

I slipped it under the window and he herd it fall and I could hear him shuffling it towards him

with his feet, still playing , and he muttered as he got a glance at me, “thank you, will buy cat

gut and rosin”. I now dismissed him and never found him out. Strangers occupied my old home or

ghosts of departed fidlers. I could not learn which. I now wended my way down the road, every

house was dark and the “Still Small Voice” could be distinctly herd at every house until I reached

Arnold’s when it seemed as if it were two instead of one. I slipped up and listened for by this

time I was fully prepared for anything. There was the same store house and the same back room but

Jim was not there. “Nothing but a Musical Ghost” and ____?  Was singing and playing the well known

tunes of Tom Moore, “I’m Sitting by the Style, Mary”. All was dark and I hurriedly left the place.

I was truly sick to see all my friends gone to “Musics Monopolizing”

I landed here last night, tomorrow morning I shall start back to my western home, with the feelings

of sadness. When I arrive, I’ll tell you all. Sir, five years ago, I stood on this spot a jovial

aspiring young man, I bid adeui to the many friends hoping to be able to meet them all again, but -

alas!  Time- that fragment of eternity- changes everything.

           I can’t stay no longer than tomorrow, so you may look out for me in a few days.

                                           Yours Very Truly and Sorrowfully,

                                                Hiram Peterson, Jr.   

“Next Morning”

P.S. I am on the way – I learned this morning that our friends were dead, sure enough and the strange

musical noises, were supposed to be ghosts, some kin to Hamlet or other.

                                             Yours H. P. Jr.

“Direct to Murfreesboro, ARK.