Annie's Song: Sunday Hunting

Following are excerpts from stories written by my Great-Grandmother, Annie Biggs Adcock as they were written to her daughter Clara.  They were compiled in a book entitled No More The Wild Country by my cousin John R. Coles.   He graciously gave me permission to use these in hopes that future generations of our family will know a little bit of our history. 

Sunday Hunting

"The Reeder Graveyard is an old place where a bunch of people was buried over a hundred years ago.  But the ghosts have walked the hills in the territory all these years according to old legends.  It is located about a quarter of a mile from Sycamore Creek on the left side of Huffman Road.   

One of the Huffman boys was going to church at Bethel one night.   It was about eleven when services turned out.   He as in an old buggy with no top on it.  He had to go by Sycamore Creek and up the hill by this graveyard.   All at once something dipped down over the buggy and got his hat. He got out of there and he never saw his hat again.  

Another time, my husband's oldest brother and a neighbor made plans to go hunting one Sunday morning.  Their names,these two men, were Dave Adcock and Will Smith, better known as Ras.  

So, they met at the place where they planned on.  It had been a shower of rain and settled the dusty road that ran along by this graveyard.  They went down below this place and there were some mulberry trees.   They heard squirrels barking up these trees because it was early spring and these mulberries were ripe.   They were both marksmen with a gun.  There was a squirrel up this mulberry tree, just sitting on a limb.  So, Will Smith told Dave to shoot.   So, he did.   That squirrel said, "Oh!" Dave said he never even touched the squirrel.   So, Dave told Will Smith to try his luck.   So, he shot.   The same thing happened.   The squirrel said, "Oh, Will!"  

All at once they heard an old surrey coming down the road, up above here they was at. This graveyard was between them and the road.   This surrey stopped at the graveyard. They heard people talking and they hid for a while, not wanting anyone to see them hunting on Sunday.   They never heard no more, so they looked for the squirrel.  He was gone.  

They went to the graveyard.  I mentioned before, a little shower of rain had settled the dust on the road by the graveyard.  There was no sign of wagon tracks.  There was no sign of anybody's tracks.  So they didn't know what to say or think.  Dave told us it was a mystery. He said he was broke from hunting on Sunday.  I never knew or heard of anymore Sunday hunting."