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| Hernando de Soto |
(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 “Take a trip through the pages of
the past” was originally published in the July 15, 1993 edition of The Monroe
Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)
It would be beyond describing if it were possible to twitch
the nose or rub the ear and return in time to a period long past to visit with
the native Indians of the area. But let us imagine that we are able to perform
this impossible act and return in time to the 16th century.
The year is 1510, long before the time when DeSoto and his
army pillaged their way through what is now the state of Alabama, raping and
destroying almost everything in their path.
The area we selected to visit is the northeastern part of
Monroe County, in and around what is now the Pine Orchard community. This area
is selected because of the many Indian villages that are to be found there at
this time in history.
We find ourselves on a well-beaten trail that runs north and
south. As we approach one of the large villages, the time is shortly before
sunrise. The smell of burning word is in the air as the cook fires are being
prepared to begin the busy hours of the coming day.
Ghostly figures
Ghostly figures can be seen, bending over the fires, turning
the meats and moving the wild yams that have been placed in the coals for
roasting. A dog barks at the edge of the village; the morning activity
increases among the straw and brush huts as the village comes to life.
Small children begin to race around the fires, as they chase
each other in a game of catch. Some of the grown-ups make their way to the edge
of the village, soon to return with fresh corn, or maize, to be roasted over
the fires. Squash and wild berries can be seen in the hand-woven baskets
nearby. The entire village seems at peace.
But something is about to happen; large bundles and
rolled-up sleeping mats rest against the brush huts as though the people of the
village are about to move. Then, you hear a conversation about the coming trip
soon to start.
The journey will be south to the great ocean for a time of
fishing and gathering of oysters. These will be smoked and dried and brought
back to the village for the time when the chilled winds howl down from the
north and ice and snow blanket the landscape. It is now the time of the Moon of
the Blood Red Cherries; soon the time of the Moon of the Changing Seasons will
be upon the land. The season is at hand to begin preparations for the coming
chills of winter.
Other villages
People from other villages begin arriving, each carrying
bundles of food and clothing and sleeping mats; many empty baskets can be seen
also. The activity in the village is at an all-time high as the large groups
slowly begin to move to the large gathering place in the center of the village.
From one of the brush huts steps a tall figure of a man. The
holy man, or the Wind Walker, steps to the center of the crowd; a quick silence
settles. Even the morning winds in the treetops nearby seem to stand still. The
Wind Walker raises his arms toward the heavens, and the words of a prayer float
upward with the morning mists.
O Great Spirit that
guides the moon and sun across the heavens, guide our steps as we journey to
the great waters that flow beyond the sunset. Fill our net so that when we
return to our villages, our baskets will be laden with plenty for the coming
winter.
Let us be ever mindful
that without your hands to guide us, we are nothing. Push from us the evils
that may cause us to stray. And cast to the winds the sickness and pain that
sometimes befall us when we forget.
May our campfires ring
with happiness, and the sounds of laughter ride the winds of the evening. As we
grow old from the passing of many winters, may we rest forever in that land
where the water is pure and the sky is forever blue.
Winding south from the village can be seen several hundred,
slowly making their way southward, toward the great waters somewhere in the
distance. Quietness has settled over the area, as the elder members of the
tribe who are left behind slowly mend the fires and gather the corn and squash.
Cook fires
As the evening sun sinks on the western horizon, the shadows
of darkness slowly gather across the fields and brush huts. The cook fires grow
dim from lack of attention, and the old ones gradually disappear from around
the fading fires and make their way inside the huts for the night.
Another day dawns as the eastern skies slowly turn to a
bright red with the coming morning. The hurried activity of yesterday is not to
be seen around the cook fires. Many of the fires have been allowed to burn out.
As the morning creeps across the quiet village, the old ones
slowly emerge from their protective shelters. The faint smell of food cooking
slowly mounts the morning air. A time of waiting has begun within the village.
When the moon becomes full once again in the skies above, the time will have
arrived for the return of the villagers from the great waters of the gulf.
We, who have ventured on this journey back into the pages of
yesteryear, have witnessed the dawn of two mornings. We have witnessed the
beginning of the journey as many headed south to the great ocean. We have
witnessed total happiness that is unknown within our century. But time won’t
permit us to wait for the joyous return of the villagers.
Return to present
The moment is at hand when we must return to our place in
time and begin our lives once again. A feeling of sadness hovers over those who
are to return to the present. We have seen happiness and contentment in its purest
form. Such a pity we cannot bring with us the tribal secrets of peace and
contentment into our moments of time.
As we begin our journey southwest to the place we know as
Monroe County, we see strange goings-on. The old Indian trail that we walked
earlier is not made of sand as it was yesterday. It is now covered with an
asphalt-type covering. The surface of the trail burns our feet.
We know that we have returned to the present when the loud
blast from the horn of a speeding log truck causes us to dive for safety. As
the wild and careless driver races his speeding vehicle down the hard-surfaced
trail toward the community of Burnt Corn, we become fully aware that we are
once again in the rat race of the present.
Home, to a time of war and hunger; home to our world of make
believe.
(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, graduated from Sweet Water High School, served in
the Korean War, lived for a time among Apache Indians, moved to Monroe County
in June 1964 (some sources say 1961) and served as the administrator of the
Monroeville National Guard unit from 1964 to 1987. For years, Singleton’s
column “Somewhere in Time” appeared in The Monroe Journal, and he wrote a
lengthy series of articles about Monroe County that appeared in Alabama Life
magazine. Some of his earlier columns also appeared under the heading of
“Monroe County History: Did You Know?” 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.)
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