University of the South - Cap and Gown Yearbook (Sewanee, TN)

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C JP o GOWN CfiDEMIfflEPT (13)

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C WPS GOWN BOARD OF REGENT. ' (12)

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G JP fi GOWN Sewanee ' s Ghosts WTURALLY, Sewanee has her ghosts — not A ghost, but ghosts! I do not know if anyone of this generation sees the Headless Dog or the Perambulating Professor; but if he does, he wears his hair pompadour, you may be sure. The Headless Dog, as older boys will remember, had his walk between the present printing office and Miss Johnnie ' s old home, Palmetto. He was white as to body, and nothingness as to head — literally nothingness; for Twiggy Branch once struck with a cane the place where a head should have been, and never quite recovered from the shock of finding empty space. The Perambulating Professor haunted the road from where Professor Tidball lives to Green ' s View. He was a sociable ghost, though a silent one; and his habit was to walk, shoulder to shoulder, with any belated student who might find business along that route, late at night. It is true that no one ever remembered what the business might have been, after the Professor joined him; it is also true that the student made what is tech- nically known as tracks immediately upon finding that he was not alone on that solitary road; but the Professor was some little runner also, and finally disappeared of his own accord instead of merely being outdistanced. All this may have had something to do with the unusual fraternal spirit of that particular frat, that once owned a house, in which they held their meetings, out that way. They always returned to the supply store in a body. That frat house was haunted, too. It made no difference with what care everything was restored to order at the close of their meeting, the first man there the next morning would always find at least four chairs drawn up to the table, and a subtle odor that, in some indefinable way, suggested the nocturnal presence of departed spirits ! But the Crying Baby ! That was an uncanny ghost, if ever there was one. This ghost haunted the old chapel steps, and cried and wailed with a small, pitiful voice that sent the cold chills up and down the spine of the boldest. Scornful ones might scoff, and the skeptical laugh (by daylight) ; but there were too many witnesses to permit any theory of hallucination; and, furthermore, I saw that myself, in company with another man! A crowd of us had spent the evening together at Mrs. Wilmerding ' s, and the closing discussion of the evening was on the subject of ha ' nts. We were all keyed to a high pitch of receptivity; and when Camille and I left for the dormitory we carried the discussion further. We were commenting on the well-authenticated story of the Crying Baby at the moment when we passed the chapel. The night was inky black, and we had each other by the arm for support — moral and physical, I may as well confess, for it was a veritable witches ' night. Suddenly there sounded a low, plaintive cry. Being on the left of Camille, my arm hugged to his breast, I felt his heart cease beating for an instant and then race. We stopped dead in our tracks, cold, but sweating profuseyl I said something to Camille, but my words were voiceless. And then — ten or fifteen yards away, approaching slowly, (14)