Nancy Mountain's ghost walks at Davis' Ferry

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 “Nancy Mountain’s ghost walks at Davis’ Ferry,” was originally published in the Oct. 20, 1988 edition of The Monroe Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)

Should you travel along the dirt road that leads down the hills to Davis’ Ferry during the wee hours after midnight, don’t be surprised at what you might see. Do not be alarmed if by chance you sight an old woman walking ever so hurriedly down the hill toward the river, or down one of the many paths that crisscross the top of the hill.

She will be dressed in a long gingham dress, as was commonly worn during the late 1800s by the womenfolk who lived on the farms in the rural areas throughout the South. She will be carrying a small pail in one hand, and in the other she will have a long walking stick of a sort.

An old bonnet will be on her head, tied under her chin by a faded piece of ribbon. And her hair, long and the color of pure white snow, will hang down her back from under her bonnet. Her hair will reach almost to her waist.

In a hurry

She is a tall woman and walks straight, despite the fact that she seems advanced in years. Her steps are long, as though she is in a hurry to get where she is going.

Don’t be surprised if she disappears or steps off into the woods, then to appear again farther down the road as if you are seeing her for the first time. Should you encounter this old woman, don’t be afraid because the ghostly figure you are seeing will be “Aunt Nancy.”

The story of Aunt Nancy goes quite a way back in time. Back during the hectic days of the Civil War, Aunt Nancy, her husband and their only son lived a way off the dirt road on a small farm on top of the high hill.

When many of the menfolk were answering the call of the Confederacy, Aunt Nancy’s cast his lot with the army of the South, and the story goes on to say that he enlisted in Jeb Stuart’s cavalry.

The weeks came and went. Then one day, word was received that Aunt Nancy’s only son had fallen in battle. She and her husband wouldn’t believe it at first, but as time went on Aunt Nancy began to have periods of deep depression.

Looking for her son

She would awaken at night and get dressed in one of her gingham dresses. Then she would walk the road and trails the remaining hours of darkness in hope of meeting her beloved son as he made his way to the small house at the top of the hill.

Aunt Nancy always insisted that her son was not dead and would return. She knew that when she found him, he would be thirsty, and she would have a cool drink of fresh spring water there to greet him.

The sad story does not end here. One cold winter morning, Aunt Nancy’s husband saddled his horse and began the search for the whereabouts of their only son. He vowed that he would not return until he had stood beside the final resting place and proved beyond of a shadow of doubt that this was the grave of his son. Should their son be alive, he would return home with his son at his side. He mounted his horse and rode away.

The years came and went; Aunt Nancy now walked the road and pathways day and night – each time, expecting to meet her beloved husband and son, home from the war. Home, where their lives could begin again, where they could start anew and take up where it had ended some years back.

But fate sometimes deals in strange ways in the game we call life. The war had been over for almost two years. The local folks had, by this time, nicknamed the lonely old woman “Crazy Nancy.” The high hill that overlooked the river began to be known as “Crazy Nancy Mountain.”

But the stories and nicknames did not phase the old woman. She continued her midnight walks along the road and paths that she had traveled many times before. But still no word came as to the whereabouts of her husband and only son.

By this time, everyone assumed, except Aunt Nancy, that her husband’s band had fallen to foul play or had joined the cause of the Confederacy, and had fallen in battle on some unknown battlefield near the closing days of the war.

No one knew for sure where the rumor came from, but one day Aunt Nancy received word that an old man fitting the description of her husband, who was dressed in a torn and ragged Rebel uniform, was found frozen to death sitting beside the grave of a Confederate cavalryman. The Confederate cavalryman had fallen in battle near Lookout Mountain in Tennessee.

Where did she go?

Then, one cold night in early November, Crazy Nancy disappeared from Nancy Mountain. No more did she take her midnight walks atop the mountain that bore her name. The old house where she lived fell into decay; the doors and windows hung at crazy angles, flapping in the winds that blew across the high hill. The limerock chimney crumbled from the lack of use. The old home place was deserted.

Crazy Nancy was never found; some say she died while on one of her midnight walks. Others say she just walked away early one morning. But whatever happened, Crazy Nancy was never seen again.

But there are those who say Crazy Nancy still walks the old road and paths of Nancy Mountain. On moonlit nights, when the shadows creep out from under the tall pines there on the mountain and the winds whisper through the treetops, one might see Aunt Nancy, searching to meet her loved ones, there on the road, or on one of the pathways that lead down to the river.

(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. 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.)